It’s a bit of a scary time at the moment. Scary, frustrating, good, fun, bad stressful….
With the money situation, I suppose, actually having remained static – insofar as I worked for half my bloody holiday just so that I could…. spend it all on repairing Rebecca. So, my attempt to get back into credit with Lauren failed somewhat (I had hoped that I’d end up paying her rent in advance, not in arrears, as I seem to constantly be).
I had kinda hoped to buy the paint to do up my bike, and maybe the gear to get the welding done. But nooo.
Noooo.
I guess this is just kinda the way the world is. But it’s seriously frustrating; especially with the last one of the TV I want in Sainsburys at the moment. But, instead of doing that, I’ve got a 1275 engine coming. I hope that it’s okay, it was taken from a running Morris Ital, so hopefully…. Unfortunately, my manual covers the flipping 1800 variant, not the 1300, which is means I need to play hunt the obscure manual at junk shops.
I have to keep this financial situation together for a year. Trey keeps offering to help, but I just can’t take her money. She needs it to go to school with, and I don’t want to suck her into my horrendous money pit of a life. sigh I just wish I’d never got into this situation – sometimes it’s really hard to keep my mind on that I wanted this… Want this. I want to be a nurse. I want to. But trying to keep my money situation under control seems to get harder and harder – each month seems to be more of a struggle.
I feel like one of those plate spinners, trying to keep them all up in the air, but these sods keep putting more and more plates spinning, and it’s just harder and harder to keep them all up there.
Anyway.
I guess I’ve kind of got a list now, revise (should be doing that now), fix the car (get engine, get insurance, fix paint on chassis leg, take head off engine to check it’s condition, reassemble, put engine in car, get running), fix bike (weld up frame, spray tank, get some vinyl repair on the seat, fit new seat, mini-fairing, new instruments, new tank).
Earn enough money to pay for above….
I think that my TV set is dead. Although the fault isn’t that ‘big’ in terms of faulty components, at least, it is big in terms of time and effort that need to be expended. And parts don’t seem to be readily available, so I’ll check what John (c0redump) wants from the set (components wise) – and then rather sadly, it’s to the Tip with the TV. But that, again, will have to wait ’til ‘becca’s done. I’m kinda sad to say goodbye to my TV; it served me well for a long time, and was a kinda quirky thing to have around; you don’t see many 30 year old TV sets doing service, but I haven’t got the money, time, or expertise to fix it.
:(
What else? I wanted to say at least a bit of something about my holiday. As some of you know I headed North with Trey, to the Lake District, Rebecca laden with our walking gear. The bit of the Lake District in particular, was Conniston Coppermines Youth Hostel, halfway up a teeny tiny mountain track. I was a bit nervous about tackling the lakes, and the various passes in a minor. A minor with a shudder on pull away, and with a lot of slop in the diff. But I thought, well, no harm in trying.
So on Sunday we piled in and flew up the M5/M6 and into the Lakes. God it was gorgous. Even as the rain spattered against the windscreen I felt at home, the roads instantly reminding me of my childhood, and Rebecca’s engine humming along, the clatter of the just-adjusted valves tunefully pulling us towards our destination.
As we pulled into Coniston we slowed down, trying to spot signposts for the hostel. Having come out the other side of Coniston, and met two very sorry Landys, we turned round and headed, slower still, picking the street we thought it was up and just going. It turned out there’s a huge bloody great brown “YOUTH HOSTEL” sign post, which we missed for some reason. I guess 4.5 hours of motorway does something to your head. Anyway, we came to the end of the tarmac….and ahead of us lay a proper mountain track.
Two large holes, a cattle grid, and then lots more holes with gravel, rocks and mud inbetween. Steeling myself, I engaged first gear and placing my faith in rear wheel drive 30 year old Morris’s we wound, or more accurately, given the noise of a morris in first, whined our way up the mountain…. Gaining stunned looks, applause, cheers and waves as Rebecca headed up.
The Morris Minor’s got to be, well, it is Britain’s most popular classic, and though Rebecca’s not the shiniest example in history, people were I think, pleased to see her in use. She, obviously, made it up the mountain absolutely no problem. Indeed, the last time we went up, the driver of some Renault or other pulled over to let us past as we’d reached the stage where we couldn’t go as slowly up the mountain as him.
Annnnyway. The hostel is gorgeous (piccy). It’s set in the middle of mountains, with a view of mountains (The Old Man of Coniston) and Coniston fells…. so, we chilled out, or something, the first day. Then next day we headed out in a kind of random strike out and wander up something…. ending up with a fairly brief wander round Bakestone Barrow Road. Having sat down and stared at a map we ended up heading for Blea Tarn (up 1 in 4 gradients!), and as was going to be a bit of a pattern with us, we wandered first up one side of the valley (Blake Rigg) and then more enthusiastically up Side Pike. Then Trey threw herself in Blea Tarn… That’s not fair, actually. She kinda waded out to a rock in Blea Tarn, which, it turned out wasn’t quite as exciting as she hoped…. so we piled back in the minor and headed home, picked up some microwave food (really out in the wilds ;-) and wine and lazed.
Tuesday came round and we headed to Ambleside, finding a fabby little sandwich bar that did packed lunch with the world’s best coronation chicken (with Raisins in it) and bloody fantastic Tiffin. Thusly equipped we headed for the Langdale pikes, unfortunately driving straight past them and starting up the pass from Wall End, so we stopped, rather foolishly halfway up a mountain and started our walk from there… first going down the valley, along the valley bottom and up to Stickle Tarn (incidentally, for non-ukians, a Tarn is a little bitty small lake, usually located halfway up a group of mountains). Having been awed by the views, which I’m not going to share with you at this point, and Trey having climbed on a rock (piccy) we headed back down. Reaching entire new levels of knackeredness, and then headed back up the valley to the car…
Wednesday and Thursday we kinda chilled out a bit, heading down into Coniston, bought postcards and wrote them…. then headed into Keswick. And then on Thursday we went Pony Trecking (“Eric mate, could you go a bit faster, like, keep up with the other horses…” “Now Eric, can we maybe go a bit more right? Y’know, on the path” “Eric! Stop trying to push in front of the other horses…”) which was enormous fun… Then we hired a boat and rowed (piccy, by order of Trey) around lake Coniston, skimmed stones, played in the (under 15 only) playground, and then headed home…
Friday was another lazy, easy day, and the only day it really rained. We headed round Buttermere, pursued by multitudes of minature people (also known as children)… but my SLR finally got a work out (with film in it this time) and many, many photos were taken. No, you can’t see them. They’ve not been developed.
And then Saturday. Saturday I had a cold. That didn’t stop us though, up we went, up the Old Man, reaching the summit (piccy) going up via Low Water (where Trey nearly got stuck on a rock….in a lake *grins, ducks and runs*) and coming down across Little How Crags (sort of vertically down) past Levers Water and limping, more or less, to the Hostel, where we collapsed. I mean rested.
We left on Sunday morning (‘cos I was feeling like crap) – leaving behind a packet of K-Y Jelly (oops), the food we’d bought (oops) and killing Rebecca on the way back… Still, it’s the best holiday I’ve had in a very, very long time…and I spent it with the girl I love…. who could ask for more.
