Ah the British monsoon. We had one in Wales the weekend before last. And guess what another one in Cumbria on Day 1 of Woolfest. This is a big fibre show held in the cattle market at Cockermouth so for those of you who have shown at the Bristol Sales Centre, much the same only bigger. We had booked a double cattle pen to set up our stand and we were very slow trying to work out where everything should go. Well actually Chas blamed me! Still all went well in the end although the rain hammered down all day on the metal roof and the steps down from the carpark turned into a rather scenic waterfall. However over 5,000 people turned up – a Woolfest record – and we sold lots of yarn, including some to the USA and Japan. Alice the cavapoo was a hit, she was tied to a table leg and spent some of the time asleep in her basket. But she discovered she could come out into the stand one way to be cooed over and then shoot out the other way into the gangway giving passers by a fright. We were staying in an hotel at Broughton. You had to cross a bridge with a very big river underneath that burst its banks and flooded the fields. They got used to us and as we arrived after another long day opened the bottle of sauvignon.
Post Woolfest we ambled through the Lake district and then drove to Settle and down to Slaidburn where we stayed on Sunday night. Everyone very friendly so we looked at all the For Sale signs wondering whether we should move back up north. On Monday after driving through the Trough of Bowland, one of my favourite bits of Lancashire, we visited my old house Lower Eaves in Chapel-en-le-Frith. It felt very odd to see it again after all these years and it still is a very lovely house. After that it was Hayfield and my friend Maggi’s wedding. Maggi and Eric decided to marry on the anniversary of their first meeting 25 years ago. Eric and his jazz band were playing at the entrance to the church until he was persuaded to relinquish his trombone and try out being a bridegroom. No driving was required as the church, the village hall and our hotel were minutes apart which probably explained why the congregation, mostly reprobate pensioners, could be found in the pub well after midnight.
Driving home, feeling rather sick and very tired, was an ordeal. I had to talk very loudly, not difficult, to Chas to keep him awake and I slept for 12 hours on Tuesday night. Ah the trials of old age now that staying up very late has to be paid for.