Manchester | Here Comes The Planet

Well, things started out ok. I walked in the sunshine from my hotel the ten minutes to the station, only 30 minutes early for my train. I got some food from the handy shop adjoining the building.

I stood in the sun on the platform. For a regional station there was a surprising amount of art and interesting things along the platform.

It’s a cat curled up… although I could’ve found a better angle.

A post carved with different languages but each statement was about peace.

Two trains were listed on the board, one for Manchester at 10:13 and one at 10:16. My ticket said 10:16 so I asked at the information counter and the lady said to wait for the 10:16. Turns out there was no 10:16 and I missed my train, despite being ridiculously early AND asking for clarification.

My face before I talked to the (dis)information woman.

I waited another 45 minutes for the next train, realising this was going to make me late so I phoned Rick (the widower of my second cousin, Angela… my second cousin in law?) to let him know I was going to be late.

I took a few more photos to pass the time.

Imagine if they put a plaque on every spot in the USA where someone was shot.

Eventually the train arrived and I went one stop to Lancaster to change for the train to Manchester, where I was going to change for the train to Whaley Bridge.

On the platform I talked to a lady who looked about my age but who was originally from South Africa. We had an interesting talk about places you feel connected to – she has lived in England so long she had an English accent and didn’t speak Afrikaans, so when she went back she didn’t feel like she quite belonged. I said I’d always felt a connection to Lancaster as I’d never stopped there but my grandfather was from that part of the world.

Anyhow, I’m sitting on the train to Manchester and the ticket collector very kindly let me off having a ticket for an earlier train and didn’t make me but a new one. I hope the collector on the next service is so nice!

I’ve entertained myself with marking a map of my travel in Cumbria. Green is walking, orange is public transport.

There’s so much I haven’t done!

This post should really be called ‘Amanda accidentally stays in a place of extreme luxury’ because that’s what happened.

Yesterday I booked accommodation for Mum and I. We’d decided one night at the south-ish end of the Lake District and one at the north, giving us a day to drive around or, in the unlikely event that the weather smile on the British public during the half term school break, do some walking.

I searched for something moderately nice and under 100 pounds a night and there was nothing decent in Kendal or Windermere so I booked the Merewood Country Hotel, which is closer to Ambleside (as an aside, how adorable are English place names? We drove through Pudding Norton the other day and there’s a suburb of Birmingham called Mouse Sweet. Seriously.). It was cheaper than the place we stayed in Warrington (Best Western-type establishment next to a motorway) and included a full breakfast. But check this out.

the bar, where I’m sitting now. The view from the windows is over Windermere. Well, mostly it’s rain but there’s definitely some lake-like thing in the distance.

This place has a library, for god’s sake. Every room has a functioning fireplace. If I was denied the Lebua in Bangkok I would accept this place as a strong substitute.

The entrance hall. It’s pretty much every Georgette Heyer book come to life. And if you don’t know who Georgette Heyer is, you’re missing out on the best Georgian/Victorian romance novels since Jane Austin.

It was the country home of some lord and his much more posh hunting lodge is just up the hill. More posh than this! Needless to say I having nothing appropriate to wear but neither does Mum… in fact none of the guests are dressed as nicely as the staff here. I’m slightly concerned about what to wear to dinner in the dining room, which looks more fancy than the rest of the house. I think my dream holiday would involve swanning around somewhere like this in some extremely large and swishy gowns (think Dangerous Liaisons), flirting with handsome men and eating extremely small cakes from large silver platters. Tell me I’m not alone in this.

The Library.

To finish off my massive post-a-thon for today, here’s a picture of Mum from this morning. We drove through Manchester on the way here and stopped in Burnage Lane, where Mum grew up. The house she lived in has been replaced but the street was familiar and so were the shops and the place names.