The flood gates open. No, panic not, we’re not being inundated by Derwentwater.

When we first tried booking this out-of-character trip we were a little surprised to find that Christmas had availability but that New Year was full to the gunwales – no room at the Inn. We could only surmise that people were staying at home with family for Christmas and then going away to do their own thing.

‘T was another grey day with a rainy start. Frankly, had it not been  Friday with all its attendant potential traffic issues, I’d have thought of hitting the road. There was also the fact that we were a little late up and would’ve been on the road too late for comfort at about 10:00. So, once the rain had abated we did our now usual circuit around Derwentwater and Keswick finishing up at Booths for this evening’s shopping.

We walked back into the campsite approach road and were amazed to see no fewer than 13 assorted caravans and motorhomes lined up at the gate waiting for admittance (pitches are available from 13:00). We were inundated by new arrivals having escaped the shackles of their families.

One instinctively knows when it’s time to leave/move on. The inundation continued pretty much unabated all afternoon. It feels busier than high summer. Our erstwhile quiet little corner has changed in character, not that it is yet noisy. Given that tomorrow’s forecast is for more heavy grey overcast, there seems little point in staying for one more dark grey day.

We’ve decided to hit the road at about 08:30 mañana; 6 hours towing should get us home before dark, traffic permitting. Here’s a parting Derwentwater shot of seagulls lined up on posts preening.

“After the Lord Mayor’s Show comes …”

Christmas Day had been brilliant – well, relatively speaking for the UK at this time of year. Today looked like being quite the opposite. The morning at least remained dry, though very overcast, and we took the opportunity to go and get additional supplies for Boxing Day. A hot roast, or in our case a barbecue, is all very well on Christmas Day itself but in my view the best part of Christmas is cold meats with bubble and squeak accompanied by pickles. We’ve got half a cold pheasant left and some Brussels sprouts but we needed potatoes to mash. We stayed dry going to Booths and back for some spuds, Branston pickle and piccalilli.

There really wasn’t much light to speak of and what there was was as flat as a pancake. It would’ve been pointless pointing our cameras at anything. Besides, just after we got back to Guillaume to stash our new purchases, the rain began. It began gently at first but built steadily; quite unpleasant. We settled in for the duration and finished our remaining cold paella for lunch.

The day’s excitement was offered by my losing the case to my reading glasses. To be accurate, it isn’t actually lost; I know precisely where it is. Our caravan has a central heating system with radiator fins tucked away behind the backboards of the bench seats. There are air vents about 30cms long and 2cms wide to allow the warm air to rise into our living space. Mr. Bozo [no, not the one in Downing Street] managed to knock his glasses case down one of said air vents. It could be seen resting on the radiator fins out of reach.

Baldrick came up with a cunning plan and whispered it in my ear. Guillaume is equipped with some barbecue skewers that were just long enough to reach down. Guillaume also has some duct tape. (Well, if duct tape could get Apollo 13 back in NASA’s greatest emergency, it must be indispensable.] I rolled up some duct tape sticky side out and attached it to the round end of a skewer. Lowering the skewer down the air vent onto my glasses case, the duct tape dutifully stuck onto the glasses case. I began lifting. All was going well but then, oops. Naturally the case was lying on its broader side and was too wide to pass back through the vent. I tried to grab it with my fingers, hoping I could re-orient it, but it fell off again and this time clattered from sight. “Bother”, said Pooh, crossly. So near yet so far.

The glasses case is still down there somewhere, I’m just not certain quite where.

The piccalilli (Aunt Lena’s Piccalilli) was disappointing, too – much too sweet. Why do piccalilli recipes vary so? Some are really mustardy and tangy, like Heinz, for example, while others are sweet and still more seem to be almost all turmeric and very little else.

And whatever happened to Panyan military pickle? I used to quite like that. A swift search reveals that the sole copy of the original recipe was destroyed by fire in 2004. How sad is that?

Fortunately Branston remains reliable, as long as you avoid that modern “small chunk” nonsense.

Such are the excitements of sheltering from a wet winter day in the Lake District. Just for a little light relief, here are a few Lake District sheep, who don’t seem too concerned about the weather, and what I assume is some kind of sheep storage device on the same hillside. Hmmm?

In a complete week forecast to be generally grey and wet with the odd smattering of wind, the weather gods smiled on Keswick’s Christmas Day; 25th December dawned dry and calm with some breaks in the clouds. Francine went out with her camera at about 08:30 and I followed at a slightly more leisurely pace about 15 minutes later. Much of the campsite was up and about enjoying the Christmas morning weather which was a dramatic improvement on yesterday. Much of the local birdlife was about as well, being a mixed collection of Greylag Geese, Canada Geese and Pheasants. Given the prevalence of barbecues, the latter would be wise to exercise some caution.

The view down Derwentwater form the campsite “beach” was its usual appealing self. It became more appealing a little approaching 09:00 when the sun snuck up somewhere and tinged a few of the clouds with a little pink. Something other than a decidedly monochrome shot made a pleasant change.

Our Christmas lunch was to be barbecued pheasant; no, not one of those wandering about the campsite but a ready boned and stuffed pheasant from Booths just outside the campsite. How wonderful to have such a fine shop on the doorstep. Loosening myself with a couple of whisky macs, I set about making sure that the bird would actually fit beneath the lid of our portable Weber, otherwise I’d need an alternative cooking strategy. ‘T was fine, there was room so all was well. Gas may be convenient but you really cannot beat charcoal.

While I readied everything for a 13:00 kick off to give time to get the bird cooked in our continuing sunny daylight [it’d take about an hour)], Francine wandered off again to make the most of the current lighting conditions. I went out shortly after but could find no sign of her on the campsite. Now being about midday, the light down Derwentwater had changed completely  and entertained me for some time. I used a longer lens to try and capture some detail at the farther end of the lake. A couple of islands interested me and I tried several line-ups which were OK but when a canoe turned up the composition seemed better balanced: this is about my favourite of the set, I think.

Having locked our van, I didn’t wander far for fear of missing Francine and keeping her locked out. Eventually she came sauntering back in and found me at the beach. She’d discovered a different point of access to the lakeside, with some photogenic clouds. Staves generally make an attractive subject and she’d snagged one of those, too. A bit of decent weather really does open up more opportunities.

There’s a couple of mundane items that Booths doesn’t appear to stock. For example, I could see no run of the mill rums, like Captain Morgan or Lamb’s Navy, so I had to go for Havana Club instead. [Shame!]Similarly, we could see no regular Spanish Cava. There was Freixenet, which I personally think is overrated, so we plumped for a New Zealand sparkling brut instead. We supped that while the pheasant was nestling in our Weber.

Once cooked, our pheasant was accompanied by sautéed Brussel sprouts and Chantenay carrots with red chilli and garlic for a little added interest. Oh, sautéed potatoes, too.

Given the prevailing weather system, we considered ourselves lucky; Christmas Day had been a success.

… otherwise known as Christmas Eve.

Today was a bit of a repeat of yesterday; repeat, that is, except the wind had dropped and conditions were now calm but it was raining more frequently. Being calm, when it came the rain was falling more or less vertically.

First order of business, after two coffees, that is, was to hit Booths for our Christmas supplies.  No sooner had we left Guillaume and begun walking through the campsite to the exit than it began to rain. This was very wetting rain which soon dripped off my waterproof jacket and saturated the front of my trousers. I love it … NOT. I HATE getting wet. I really should have brought some waterproof trousers with me. No matter, I’d dry.

I did dry, too, once in Booths. We chose a boned and stuffed pheasant to sling on the charcoal barbie. Yes, I’ve brought the charcoal travelling Weber with us. Mercifully, the forecast for Christmas Day is considerably drier, even with some spells of sunshine. Let’s hope the forecast is somewhere close to accurate. [Yes, I know, what chance of that?] Should I be unable to barbecue, I’ll cut teh stuffed bird up and cook it inside.

Considering that this was 10:30 Christmas Eve, Booths was remarkably sane and civilized. Back at home our Waitrose would be absolutely heaving with people filling trollies with much more than they could possibly eat without exploding. I don’t get it; why do we do it? It’s just another day and you can only eat so much. By all means buy something more special but excess quantity just gets wasted. Booths was not heaving and everyone was proceeding in an orderly fashion. How very refreshing.

Breakfast appears to be scrambled eggs with smoked salmon bits stirred in. I really must make a mental note to try it with salmon caviar stirred in. There was a jointed wild rabbit saying “buy me” so tonight, for Christmas Eve dinner, we’re going for paella. Yeah! Any excuse for a paella.

We’ve discovered a cheese called Black Dub Blue which goes down well with a glass or three of sweet Madeira. So, I bought another chunk of that and another bottle of Madeira. There’s Havana Club to throw in the coffee and whisky macs to make sure we don’t sober up too much.

Happily we did not get wet again walking back to stash our booty. We did, though, spot an interesting lighting effect on one of the mountains towering above Derwentwater. Naturally, once we had readied ourselves, the murk returned and the mountain became socked in. Francine waited patiently and eventually conditions improved such that the mountain looked impressive once again. Here’s what she managed to capture.

I went to join in and had missed the dramatic stuff. I was, however, captivated by the wake being left by a swan as it glid past. I think the shot has turned out quite well, if given a letter-box crop.

Continuing our wander, back at Derwentwater proper, Francine was again playing with her new Canon R-series lens, an F2.8 70-200 RF. This trip is really her first time using it in anger and I must say the results are little short of stunning. It seems to be a truly amazing lens for sharpness and clarity. The island just off the shore in Derwentwater looked wonderfully clear. It must be that F2.8 lenses really are worth the extra money.

Help!

There can be something vaguely soothing about rain pattering on the roof of a caravan over night. UK winter nights being rather long, I had been awake and soothed for a couple of hours. The same is not true when the rain insists on going for a reprise, rather like a bad 70s album, just as you thought the end was in sight. [Just why were “reprise” tracks so popular back then, I wonder?] The early morning rain gave Francine plenty of time to make our traditional first morning bacon, eggs and mushrooms breakfast. Scrummy though it was, we’ll have to plan something a little more special for Xmas Day, methinks.

As forecast, the rain did cease and we were able to go out and explore. Guillaume is parked right on  the edge of the campsite in the shelter of some trees. I thought the provision of a life ring, just in case Derwentwater bursts its banks, was a considerate touch. Let’s hope we don’t need it.

As we left Guillaume in the lee of his trees and ventured towards the lake edge, we realised just how stiff the forecast “breezy conditions” were. For those parked in the few prime locations beside the lake itself, this is a rough snap of the view that greets them. The breaking waves are a clue. Though this may look monochrome it isn’t; there is some distant colour on the far shore. As idyllic as the situation of this campsite may be, I’m still surprised that permission was granted to develop it immediately beside one of the main lakes in the Lake District National Park. There’s another just around the corner, too.

We continued our walk to a spot where, several years earlier, Francine had taken a splendid photograph of a partially submerged fence and gate. It was still there but almost completely submerged. Its formerly picturesque setting was currently rather spoiled by numerous unsightly white bags which may have been deployed as flood defences – we couldn’t quite figure them out. Further round the point at the handful of boat jetties, we found that their more traditional view, straight along a jetty, with or without a boat, was also now destroyed by an ugly white building glaring through the winter skeletons of trees on the promontory acting as a backdrop. Keswick seems to be in need of some photographic knowledge within its planning department. Some of the scene-spoilers may be temporary in nature but I rather think the building is permanent.

It is still possible to get an unencumbered view across Derwentwater looking straight up Borrowdale beyond. Here’s a half-way serious attempt at a real monochrome representation of said view, albeit with the mood exaggerated a tad.

The Camping and Caravanning Club campsite beside Derwentwater is made even more idyllic by there being a Booths supermarket about 200m from the entrance gate. Booths is like the Waitrose of the northwest; what more could a foodie want? After refreshing our weary limbs in a local hostelry, of which Keswick has many, we sauntered in to Booths, which also seemed to have deployed sandbags as flood defences. [Slightly worrying but hopefully they were left over from earlier when Derwentwater did burst its banks a little.] We were on the lookout for something that might serve as Xmas dinner. Some mallard ducks looked interesting but tomorrow we’ll need to check on the Xmas Day weather guess before committing to an ingredient that really needs barbecuing. I do NOT want to have to use Guillaume’s oven.

We did invest in some Havanna Club rum to add interest to Xmas coffee. I couldn’t resist a bottle of Madeira to help some cheese down, either. It’s coming together. 😀

We have  spent the last four Christmas periods in Spain. For the last two years we have spent the majority of the northern hemisphere winter in Spain, being there from 21st December until the middle of March. However, with mixed feelings and a substantial helping of regret, we have now sold our Spanish property and Casa Libélule is no more. So, this Christmas we are trying something different; we decided to spend Christmas away in our latest caravan, All New Guillaume. Mad or adventurous?

In the middle of the UK winter there are a limited number of campsites available. Hardstanding is a necessity rather than a nice to have. When we began the search in October for a suitable site we were a little surprised to find that New year was already fully booked. We thought New Year might’ve been a fun extension but it wasn’t to be; we could, however, get in for Xmas. The Camping and Caravanning Club’s site at Keswick, right on the shores of Derwentwater, had room for us so we booked it.

All New Guillaume has (we think) a very good heating system including a heated towel rail. Winter caravanning, though, comes with an additional potential complication: our external 40-litre water tank could freeze if temperatures fall low enough. More likely, perhaps, than freezing 40 litres of water is that the submersible pump in the water tank could suffer frost damage and/or the supply pipe from the tank to the caravan could freeze. We’ve invested in an insulation jacket to guard against such an eventualities.

We chose to travel up on 22nd December. It’s a 300-mile drag, mainly up the M1 and M6 from home to Keswick. At conservative towing speeds with comfort breaks it would be a 6-hour journey. I was keen not to be setting up pin the dark, which begins at 16:00 at this time of year, so decided to leave home at 08:00 collecting Guillaume on the way.

The earlier parts of our journey went well. There are road works and 60 mph speed restrictions on the M1 but I tow at truck speeds [56 mph] so they’re irrelevant. Traffic reports indicated some inconsiderate bastard having a prang in some roadworks on the M6 and causing delays so we went further north to tack across from the M1 to the M6 on the A50. It’s a pleasant route, anyway.

We’d started in grey overcast bit the skies brightened around the Midlands. We hit the M6 and continued past Manchester and Liverpool in bright conditions. As we were approaching Francine’s favourite stretch of journey, coming up towards Shap and the excellent Tebay services, bright conditions collapsed into saturating downpours. Although the roads had seemed relatively quiet, Tebay Services was heaving. As is often the case, solo vehicles had parked in the longer caravan spaces making our parking a little difficult. The restrooms in the services were fine but getting food without a lengthy wait was out of the question. In continued rain, we paid top dollar to fill up and bought a couple of wraps from the fuel station.

Turning off the M6 at Penrith, the downpour did abate as we approached Keswick. A small navigation glitch caused a skilful U-turn but we arrived at the campsite at about 14:30. It was quite lightly used and we had many pitches from which to choose. We did need to keep all access on the hardstanding since all the surrounding grass was extremely muddy but we managed to get set up in daylight and, most happily, without further rain.

I’m still reasonably sure this qualifies as insanity. I cannot help but remember a chap we spoke to some years ago at the caravan and motorhome show, who was studying a swish Carthago motorhome muttering, “I don’t want to spend another winter in England”. I know exactly what he meant and confess that I am now missing Spain, somewhat.

We’ll see how we get on.