It's the first meteorological day of winter today. How do I know this? It's just like yesterday. It's raining and it's dark and it's sooooo cold.....
Since I last blogged we've been to Liverpool - loved the Klimt at the Tate. The kids thought he was smutty - they don't do nudity yet. I spent the rest of the morning in the equally good 20th Century exhibition answering the question 'Why's that art then, mum?', posed by my nearly 11-year-old. I'm still trying to sort that one out for myself.
After the city delights of the Albert Dock, we mosied on up to our glampsite in the Forest of Bowland. Thank the heavens for satnav. We would still be looking for it. We visited a Featherdown Farm (www.featherdown.co.uk) and it was fantastic despite the fog and the drizzle and the inability of anyone to bring us a meal in under 30 minutes.
We had a lovely few days boiling an enormous kettle, lighting candles, setting fire to tea towels and pretending to be able to watercolour. I, rather incongruously had brought a book called 'The Other Hand' by Simon (Andrew?) Cleave which I loved but its refugee/fleeing/terror theme didn't really sit well with the more Bronte-esque surroundings in which we'd found ourselves.
We took ourselves off for a walk, accompanied by the supposedly expert walking book written by Lancashire's ramblers. We got lost. We were doing beautifully until a bemused farmer told us about a short cut. We should have known. It was wonderful in a slightly scary way. There was a moment when I thought we might not be able to see our way to the end of another bleak field without tripping over an angry bullock. We managed though and tomato soup has never tasted so delicious.
We're home now and I've rediscovered electricity in a big way.
Knitting at the pub tomorrow and back to school on Thursday. Yippee!