A Day at the Lake

On Sunday, Providence sent respite from pages of accounts and worries about the Felting Lads, in the form of a camper van full of Patsy123 and her friends from London.

The weather could hardly have been better, so after the obligatory visit to stand at the feet of Gormley's Angel of the North, we headed off into deepest Durham, ending up at the Derwent Reservoir.

It's years since I've been to the Reservoir. It used to be a favourite of my parents. They'd wait until a Bank Holiday came along, then join the other motorists filling the little roads up into the hills of County Durham. Never could see the point, and the Reservoir held little attraction for me then.

But now I'm older and perhaps a little wiser, and there's a great deal of fun to be had laying out a picnic of pasta salad, green salad, prawns with a sweet chilli dip, some crusty bread and a couple of bottles of red wine.

And even more fun in wandering down to the edge of the water where the beach of millstone grit gives way to rather sticky mud. We added to a small pile of stones someone had left there until we had our own Andy Goldsworthy, then carried back on our shoes rather more of the mud than we might have liked.

After driving from the Reservoir to the campsite at Acomb where Patsy123's friends were staying, we walked to the nearest pub. It was one of those country pubs which seem to be stuck in a time warp; forever 1950. Fizzy beer, no food and a box of Liebfraumilch.

But it was a beautiful evening, so we sat with our fizz at a table outside and watched the sky dim.

No sunset to speak of but I assured Patsy123's friends that they could look forward to another gorgeous day the following morning.

Angel of the North

I'm knackered. The Scottish trip took it out of me and Sunday I spent walking in the sunshine with Patsy123 to the Angel of the North. She's not seen it before, at least not close to. I have, of course, but it's always worth a look. I still think it's probably not good sculpture, but it's certainly achieved iconic status, and that's not all bad. More interesting than the big man, however, are the people who come to look at him. This time there was a long procession of big bellies eating ice cream. Several of the big bellies were carried on the short fat stumpy legs of American women, so that's to be expected, but an awful lot more were wobbling on the fronts of local Geordies. What's becoming of people here? Too much popcorn, beer and burgers, I guess.

Anyway, they all took their turn at standing with arms outstretched in ludicrous parody of the metal man, then sat on his feet and had their photos taken there. Gormley would be thrilled to see how popular his creation has become. There was even a family from Africa, dressed in really great yellow baggy outfits who were genuinely pleased to let Patsy123 take their photo altogether with their camera. They didn't have big bellies.

After all that fun, there was nothing left for it but to walk in the continuing sunshine to the Ravensworth Arms. There I was forced to try out all three of the guest beers, brewed by the North Yorkshire Brewing Company. It's a hard job, but Mr Zip is up to the task, and the beers were not found wanting. But the long walk back to Stately Zip Manor and the subsequent bottle of Baron de Barbon rioja took their toll.

Said goodnight to Patsy123 and fell sound asleep in the armchair. Woke up at 5 o'clock with a stiff neck and tumbled into bed. Plans for blogging put on hold.