Review
Friday
The long haired one and the bald one set off to Keswick for a second crack at Scafell Pike, we were defeated last time due to cramps, rain and beer, and a couple of lightweights! Entered lakes on time and located digs which were strategically booked well away from the ‘Appletreesgate’ ( see previous Keswick write up).
Nice place, nice room, nice people, RAINED. Went into town, RAINED, to purchase a map and a compass for next days excursion, 16 quid later we hit the Keswick lodge for a hearty bowl of pasta and some Lancaster Bomber ( Dave drank tap water!) we spent most the evening swapping the phrase “ how the fuck does this compass work then?” confidence in our ascent dwindled somewhat. This was further undermined as when Dave engaged the shapely blonde barmaid from the Lakeland Inn in conversation beneath the soggy smoking gazebo, she dissolved into hysterics when informed of the boys intentions for Saturday-whether this was due to the weather forecast, our compass (non) reading skills or just our general demeanour we’ll never know. Either way it was disconcerting Went back to digs for biscuits and a kip. Phil’s mood was somewhat boosted before bedtime when he spied a hairdryer in the room-as this meant he would no longer resemble Paula Wilcox-the later years !!!!!!! - RAINED
Saturday
(RAINED) Pre-booked breakfast was spot on, just what the Edmund Hillary brothers needed, our host enlightened us to the fact that rain was due all day and visibility was down to about 1000ft, that’s up in the air not along the high street! Plans of our 2nd attempt at Scaffers were seriously in doubt. Plan B, we’ll hit the coast and wait till tomorrow. Checked the map, A66, however, our host recommended an ancient and little known pathway that led via a route used only by leprechauns once every hundred years, to a mythical opening that led you straight onto the most beautiful, golden beach in the whole of Christendom, Wow! we were so taken in by the local knowledge of our cockney non-psychotic landlord that this journey became our new destiny., we packed an egg sandwich and a couple of jaffa cakes and went in search of the Holy Grail. Turned out it was called Wrynose and Hardknott Pass , fantastic views a must for any sight seeing driver, I enjoyed it too much (after watching too many car adverts-you know the sat nav one, “turn right at Glasgow”) etc etc and hit a rock puncturing a front tyre! RAINED, we got over the magical, mythical road used only by leprechauns and sat for 2 hours waiting for RAC (won’t tell you why-but Phil the chaps deserve to know) plans for the day were buggered, lucky it RAINED so not too guilty about missing out, went back to Keswick via Whitehaven for a new tyre. Decided to have a trawl round Whitehaven for a couple hours, what a shithole! We saw nothing but fat blokes with no hair, fat women with no teeth, fat kids with no shoes! From that day on it is for ever known as Walsall-On Sea! Dave realised that as this was the birthplace of current under-fire Villa loanee Mr Scott Carson-that this would explain his not being the sharpest ostrich on the farm-anyway Don’t go there it’s nasty. Got back to Keswick RAINED , went for a bite in some pub or other and due to a big smelly, hairy poo the day before I decided to order a salad compared to Daves pasta dish, and a pint of local wallop compared to Daves tap water (with ice) food got delivered by burly gent who commented to Phil “that’s a bit healthy for you” !! cheeky bastard! Dave was in fits of laughter!! (a weekend highlight for sure) Went to the token Irish bar where a very pleasant dark haired girl from Wigan, having mistook Sherpa and Bonnington for some sort of dukebox custodians-was happy to share the free 15 musical selections that had been mistakenly given to her courtesy of the bar staff. She was undoubtedly more Fairport Convention rather than Metallica though-Mr Walters you should have been there Couple more beers lead us on to some back street place, down an alleyway, I ventured down while Dave lagged behind and toked on a cuban snorter, some fucker stepped out the shadows into me face and said “what you lookin at” fellow was about 5ft tall and had no hair I said “ im waitin for me mate” he took a step closer, pushed his shoulders back to their full height and said…..”wait for yer mate then…” what a twat! What was that all about?? Luckily I contained myself and no violence ensued, anyway couple more Bombers and went back to digs. RAINED.
Sunday
Sun, Sun Sun, Home……booo! decided to head back home via coast ( Walsall-on-Sea, Sellafield Nuclear plant, Las Vegas etc…) Hit a deserted beach located next to a gunfire range somewhere in the vicinity of Ravenglass, where Phil managed to get chased by two apparently placid local dogs -something of a role reversal for sure but I was sober after all. Dave noted a coastal mountain on the map called Black Combe and suggested that we attack it? Got to bottom of hill which we swiftly renamed Black Pudding (humour was thin on the ground due to a washed out weekend of RAIN) we rounded the hill. Found a parking space and headed off for at least one ascent that weekend, nice climb, sheep, sweat, cracking views! Hit the top (ish) took some piccys, Dave headed back down the well trodden path Phil headed, as the crow flies, and went over the top, no broken bones but needed a couple of stitches in his underpants! Set off for home error free and in good light, didn’t have to stop for a poo, which was a bonus. On the whole a wasted weekend as Scafell Pike and weather defeated us again, but then you have to make your own fun don’t you? We shall return.
Scribed by Phil Edited by Dave
3rd April 2008