I left Mum’s at about 09:30 and reached Tebay, my hotel for the night, in Cumbria by about 16:00.
Due to the adverse weather (rain, rain and more rain), I took it very slowly but Mum’s car went solidly and steadily along. It is a fine car and I am very impressed.
I am currently drinking two mugs of tea, lying on my bed, while listening to David Attenborough on the tv. Dinner is booked for 6pm, breakfast for 8am and then I will wend my way up to Aberdeen to the boat.
I am very tired but relieved to have got here safely.
Here he is, in all his glory and his lovely red jim-jams (Equafleece). Unlike his Shetland counterpart, Ted hates getting wet so Mum puts on his outfit when it is raining. It has been persisting down for the last 48 hours.
Ted loves a good squeaky toy and then he has to destroy it as quickly as possible. None are invincible and few last very long.
Killing squeaky toys is exhausting work.
This is a rescue dog who has fallen on his paws!
I think you will agree, Ted is one very happy little dog person.
Tomorrow, I start the first leg of my journey home.
A busy day today trying to fit in as much as possible as tomorrow is my last day staying with my mother.
I now have wheels! Perhaps not the original ones I came down south in, but certainly ones that work – my mother’s car. I am feeling slightly less stressed now though I have to learn how to drive a semi-automatic car 800 miles. I think we will know each other very well by the end of the journey.
I have also been busy looking through the family photo albums for pictures that are relevant to Great Aunt Kate’s diaries.
Kate’s little sister and my Great Grandmother – Alys.
Me, Alys, my sister and mother. Hamish is the westie.
I still remember everything about this scene. I think I was three years old.
And this photo made me laugh. I have never seen it before. Who knew I like sheep? (I am on the right in the stripes with my older first cousin). I was ten years old. OMG the trousers!
Miss Foxy enjoyed her kipper scraps plus old vegetable soup (hence the saucepan). In the film, she is suspicious of the saucepan and doesn’t stay long but this morning, on our way out for a dog walk at the crack of sparrows, we found it licked clean and carefully placed in the middle of the path by the gate – “please sir/(madam), can I have some more?” We laughed and Miss Foxy is having lamb bones tonight.
Mum and I, spurred on by requests for acorns, started to quickly collect.
Mum kindly donated a clean unused poo-bag and together we gathered up a good pile of acorns. Like I said, I am happy to send them to anyone. Just ask.
They are from a spectacular old stag oak tree that I have known all my life. It is the same age, and originally part of, Windsor Great Park. Some of their trees are 1300 years old! I don’t think “our’s” is.
Mum mentioned there was also a red oak tree that we would walk past but acorns are very rare. We did manage to find a few and will keep looking. It is a much younger tree.
It was a lovely walk – I popped out again later, taking my life in my hands by flying golf-balls – one of which managed to hit the old oak!
Miss Foxy – we’re pretty sure she is a young vixen but we are no experts!
Superb kippers for lunch so their bones and leftovers will make a deliciously smelly supper for her.
We were out early this morning walking Teddy, Mum’s dog.
The land around Mum’s house was originally part of the hunting estate close to Windsor Forest. It is connected by a road called Nine Mile Road that King George III, as part of an expansion programme to the rides, built for Queen Anne to more easily facilitate hunting in Windsor Forest.
Now it is a golf-course.
Like Windsor Great Park, oak trees grow everywhere. Some are very old.
This is from a young tree that Mum “saved” when it was a sprouting acorn and is now tall and well established. If anyone wants “ancient” oak acorns, please say. I can pop them in my pocket and you can grow your own oak tree. Mum’s tree proves it is easily achievable.
So that’s me. My car has been given a vague diagnosis – “an intermittent fault” which is the worst kind in my book. 800 miles to drive home wondering if it will or won’t get there safely.
