Yesterday I ate breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast, fruit salad, coffee and juice. Then I walked about a mile and had a latte. I did a little more walking and some browsing in shops and then had one of the two best meals I have had on my holiday so far—a set menu with a main of chicken on a pear, rocket and walnut salad with arancini on mash and cream dressing followed by a ginger barkin (cake thing) with raspberry ripple ice cream and rhubarb and a shortbread biscuit. I walked a quarter of a mile and caught the ferry to Ambleside. Once there I did a major walk of about one and a half miles before catching a bus back to the ferry. While I waited for the ferry I had a latte and a blueberry scone with rum butter and a pile of cream. I was in the bathroom and I noticed they had a scale. Like an idiot, full to the gills on sweetness, I got on it.
Today, because I was depressed about not seemingly having lost any weight, I had breakfast—scrambled eggs with salmon and toast, coffee and juice. Then I walked about a mile and after dropping my bottle for the forty-eight millionth time and then dangerously inverting my backpack-laden back to retrieve it before it rolled down a hill, I bought a new bum bag with water-bottle spaces built in. Having to swap everything from old to new was more easily facilitated by a large latte. At lunch I stopped for one of three best meals I have had on my holiday so far—seafood chowder and a slice of the biggest lemon and blueberry cakes I have ever seen in my life. This cafe took cake to a different level. Most people were having some, but I was the only one having it on my own. Now I am down the road from the youth hostel in the Britannica Inn and have just eaten pheasant stuffed with venison on a haggis slice (apparently one of the highest calories per square inch of all foods), with sweet potato mash, new potatoes and vegetables. But I feel quite good about it because I didn't have the roll (carbs are bad for you).
What a difference the sun makes. It was joyous to walk today. When I could pull myself away from food I managed to catch the ferry to a place called The Ferry and walk to Near Sawrey which is a village with a house called Hilltop House which was Beatrix Potter's house. Hawkshead has some link to her too and they are cashing in on that. I met a couple, one New Zealander, on Singaporean, who are travelling all over and will later be making a documentary about The Famous Five, so keep an eye out for that. I walked in sunlight and dappled sunlight. I walked over hills and along rivers. The sheep have changed. There are millions of black babies but all the mummies are grey, brown shaggies with white heads and feet. There is either one randy black ram around or they will be bleaching through to mum's colour at a later time. I am on the Cumbria way now. I have done all of about a kilometer and a half of it so far and am loviing it. Don't know if the flat paths will last though—think I am back over mountains again tomorrow, and, thankfully, away from pubs, cafes, restaurants or any other temptations unless I make it to a town through quite a long day. Wish me well.
Good night to Elterwater, good night to you.
It seems to me that through life's journey we always remember the great meals we have had the pleasure of eating. I have come to the conclusion that not only having Christmas Day off and not working is overrated but losing weight is equally overrated also. You deserve great meals on your many many kilometres CEG!
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