My operation* has been postponed again. Of course I’m disappointed, but I’m a patient patient, so it’ll be OK.
This was going to be a post about knitting. But then my brain went galloping off on a tangent, so here we are. Photos show the actual experience we had, whereas the words are about My Very Strong Opinions On The Matter Of How Things Should Have Been. Just after surgery was delayed the previous time, the Stoic Spouse, twinnage, and I last-minute-booked a week’s stay in an old converted stone barn up in Derbyshire, from where I’m drafting this post. (Now that it’s typed up and you’re reading it, we’re back home.)
The cottage was beautiful, with views across the Peak District.
We had plans. We’d hike up big hills, play badminton in the garden, go running, and poke about in streams. But it was SO HOT… and I say that as someone who normally loves heat.
For those of you not based in the UK, I should explain about holidays in the Peak District (and the Lake District, Snowdonia, etc). YOU DO NOT VISIT THESE PLACES IN ORDER TO LOUNGE AROUND IN THE SUN. I’m not going to write this entire post in capitals, BUT PLEASE IMAGINE THAT I AM SHOUTING THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPHS FROM THE TOP OF MY SOAPBOX, YEAH?
No, you go for the opportunity to hike across rugged and chilly terrain, weighed down by home-made sandwiches and relentless drizzle. Your destination is the summit of a distant peak. It takes several hours to stumble/scramble/stagger up the slope, crossing peat bogs, streams, scree slopes, and worn-away paths. Every so often, you pause to pick a few bilberries, because they’re delicious, and yet so tiny that nobody else has bothered to eat them. Still, the rain comes.
At last, you reach the summit. There’s a horizontal brass plaque on the top of the summit cairn, pointing towards all the geomorphological features you’d be able to see if only you weren’t standing in the centre of a low-flying cloud. Fortunately you have a splendid imagination, so your mind’s eye can picture it all, bathed in gentle golden sunshine.
You and your companions celebrate your collective achievement by wringing out the rainwater from your sandwiches and huddling on the leeward side of the little cairn in order to eat. Then you argue about which plonker left the chocolate biscuits in the car, and someone accidentally drops the Very Last Banana over the edge of a precipice which, two seconds later, confuses the hell out of the sheep that had been minding its own business 150 metres below.
Your ‘waterproof’ clothing is by now not so much leaking as enthusiastically ushering in the rain to make itself at home between your toes and down your back and up your nose and down your legs, and in between the very quantum particles of your soul. You take a silent vow to never ever engage in this mad masochism again. Next year, you’ll book a sedate watercolour-painting holiday in the Dordogne.
But for now, you’re facing a long descent down this stoopid mountain. Compared with the ascent, it’s easier on the lungs but harder on the legs, as you try to hold back from tumbling into a treacherous gallop down a slippy-slidey scree slope which would end in pain and the worse pain of all your companions laughing at you. Just for the record, it’s still raining. Even the sheep look miserable – especially the one who’s trying to figure out why a banana fell on its head.
Whilst you’ve been walking, somebody has moved your car three counties away – at least, that’s the only plausible explanation for why ‘down’ is taking so much longer than ‘up’. Nevertheless you continue because (i) you’re not a quitter, and (ii) you’re a bit lacking in other options. It continues to rain. All of you aches. Even your rucksack aches. Your boots ache, your socks ache, and they’re channeling that pain right back into your feet.
Then somebody needs a wee, so the rest of you shiver, stationary, on this barren moor, whilst the traitorous bladder searches in vain for a large enough clump of heather behind which to maintain its modesty, not that any other fool is out on this hellscape right now, and – even if they were – they really wouldn’t care that your mate Sid is fertilising a gorse bush with the remains of last night’s beer. You continue. Downwards and downwards. (And sometimes upwards again for a bit, to find the stile across a dry stone wall or to evade a slavering farm dog that’s convinced you’re here to rustle its sheep.) Slowly, the terrain softens. There’s grass! And trees! And mosquitoes! And you can see all this because the rain-clouds are at last heading off to harass some other poor blighter. The sun briefly comes out (it’s still cold, mind), and you can at last look back up at the majestic beauty of the peak you just blindly climbed.
Then at last, AT LAST! there’s your car! Back at the accommodation, you change into some refreshingly non-drenched clothes and head out for whatever looks largest on the local pub’s food menu. If you happen to have an experience like the one enjoyed by my friend Maryanne and I, you’ll return from supper to discover that in your absence, the landlord of your accommodation has removed all of the drippy clothing from your room – INCLUDING YOUR ILL-CHOSEN UNDERWEAR-DU-JOUR – and has hung it up to dry for all to see in the conservatory. You realize this as you return to the house and notice your shabby scarlet knickers hanging up for all to see. (And if you have an experience like the one not-really-enjoyed by my friend Toby and I in Norway, you’ll return to find the owner of your accommodation conducting strange witchcraft rites outside your room.)
Some time short of 9pm, you fall into bed. You’re smiling, because THIS HAS BEEN THE BEST DAY OF YOUR ENTIRE LIFE! Your sole regret is that you didn’t walk FURTHER, FASTER, HIGHER, MUDDIER! This is proving to be the PERFECT HOLIDAY, and tomorrow, you’re gonna be even more ambitious. You fall asleep with an orange-series Ordnance Survey map clutched to your breast, and you dream happily of contours.
THAT, my Fine Fibrous Friends, is a proper holiday – in my arrogant opinion. That’s how to enjoy the hillier and more northern/western bits of the UK. That was how we’d planned to spend this week, indoctrinating the next generation into the masochistic hell-joys of hill-walking. But the unprecedented heat has been a challenge. Climate change is rubbish. We did some hilly walking, some early-morning-badminton, a good deal of poking about in streams, and far too little running.
I can only hope that next year will be different.
*By which I mean the operation to reduce big-boob to the proportions of small-boob, post-cancer.
I love your humour. Reminded me of Ilkley Moor a few years ago. Nothing better than getting soaked and peeling it all off in a cosy Airbnb at the end and enjoying a nice cuppa and slice o’ toast!
Oh YES! That sounds like the best experience ever. ❤
Really sorry to hear about your operation! I hope it’s not too long in coming – it sounds really stressful to be postponed – again. Your photos are always beautiful and your description of every holiday in the peak or lake district ever was painfully accurate! Though I’m wondering whether you got confused and accidentally took a holiday in the south of France? https://courtauld.ac.uk/highlights/montagne-sainte-victoire-with-large-pine/
Oh yes! That sounds like heaven! And thank you for your kind words.
My absolute empathy on the again delayed op. My investigation into my pre cancerous cells from the back of my nose to my anus has been delayed for the 3rd time. Everything crossed that they are not skipping over the line while I wait. Loved your verbal description such a reminder of teenage holidays and your photos. Take care, you are in my thoughts
Oh yikes. I hope from the bottom of my cold old heart that you get some decent information about your pre-c cells very soon. I hope that the result is not too alarming. I hope so much that you will be absolutely fine.
Thank you. I believe we’ll both be fine – we still have a lot of living to do :-))
<3
Oh my — such delightful writing! Gave me a lift this afternoon — thank you,
Thank you so very, very, much. Seriously.
Wonderful photos! It sounds a perfect vaction!
Thank you. It sort-of was, but a little less heat and a little more exercise and hypothermia would have perfected it.
We went on a coach holiday which involved a train trip through Snowdonia. Cloudbase was sea level at Porth Madoc, only held back as the train chugged through forested bits. Nothing (much) to see there.
We returned the following year, which was so hot and dry that we got great views of Snowdonia, though few photos due to lineside bushes photobombing! In fact it was so warm I had to buy a sunhat in Betws-y-Coed. As you might imagine, there wasn’t a lot of choice! The violent lime green has faded a lot this summer!
Walk up Snowdon? Not yet. I had my right knee replaced last December. It’s fine now, though I am having to work back up to both speed and distance – hampered by the recent heat! Can’t even garden, besides perpetual watering, as even a mattock bounces off the so-dry, so-solid ground!
Do hope the NHS gets its act together for you soon.
Yeah, you never really know what you’re going to get in places like Snowdonia, do you? And conditions can change so fast! May your new knee be up for the challenge of both speed and distance.
Just so you know, the hospital cannot postpone your operation a third time. To ‘breech’ a third time incurs massive financial penalties on said hospital….good luck, Cariad
Thank you, I didn’t know that. I wouldn’t want them to incur penalties they can’t afford. I honestly don’t mind the delay very much, except for the inconvenience it’s causing to my patients/husband/boss etc. I’m just grateful that when I needed the actual cancer removing, they acted fast, even in the middle of a pandemic.
Hilarious !! – you’re such a POM, Phil ! [grin]
I am sorry, though, about the heat; it will actually make a lot of people ill – especially the ancients like me (were I there, I mean). Whereas Downunder, of course, we revel in it .. but I shan’t be saying that soon, I fear, when the temperatures have risen to 45 daily. How lucky you Europeans are to be able to simply pop off to another country for a short break !!
Fingers crossed that them medicos find they can fit you in ere too much longer ..
Yup, guilty as charged on the Pom front. I did one of those ancestry DNA tests once, hoping to find out about all sorts of interesting heritage. Nope. There’s none. My forebears are relentlessly British. It was very disappointing.
Yes, I realize that down under, you do high temperatures to a slightly scary degree. Hope you manage to stay cool enough when summer swings round to your bit of the world again.
Yes climate change is causing strange weather! I’d love some heat though as having a wet cold winter in N.Z!
If only I could waft some heat in your direction! Sadly it seems stubbornly determined to remain right here. Hope your winter eases soon.
So enjoy your writing. Be safe and carry on as you always do.
Thank you so much. And may all go well with you.
Your photos are amazing. The landscape is incredible. I’m sorry your cherished rain ended up here instead! We finally get the irrigation system in the gardens and instead of our usual summer 6 week drought, we get rain. Buckets and buckets of rain. Double our average monthly total and on 3 weekend’s! My gardens are lost or on life-support.
I love your “knitting” posts. They are always entertaining and fun. Your post on dealing with covid when you put on your professional hat last year was in my Google articles when it was posted. That’s how I lucked into your delightfully Twisted World. You never fail to make me smile. Thank you. I salute you with crossed knitting needles.
Ah, so that’s who has stolen our rain! Seriously though, I’m so sorry that your garden is drowning. May the world right itself very soon.
And thank you so much for your kind words and encouragement. With the covid post, I just wanted to offer a tiny little bit of encouragement to people at a time when we were all figuring out how on earth to cope in this pandemic.
I love you and everything you write ✍️! Take care and be well 🙂
And I’m humbled by your generous words. Thank you. May all be well with you, too.
I so enjoy your posts but am truly sorry for all the crap. you’re going through. Your toughness is something I admire
Thank you, but honestly it doesn’t feel like crap. I’m forever grateful that they acted fast to remove the cancer. This evening-up surgery will be good, but isn’t clinically urgent. I can wait.
Brilliant writing…reminds me of youth hostelling school trips in the Peaks. One April Easter ee even had snow! Hard to imagine Derbyshire in a heatwave. Hope your op comes soon. I’ve previously had 2 ops postponed so know the frustration
Thank you. Ah, Youth Hostels: that’s doing t properly!
And yes, over-hot Derbyshire just wasn’t right.
I’m sorry to hear that you’ve experienced op-delay too, and I hope that you eventually had the treatment you needed.
The Peak District does look lovely in the sun. I have only seen it wet likewise the Lake District and North Wales seems like I’ve had real holidays ! And the story of weeing, we were tramping across Exmoor not a soul for miles no bushes either but there was a big hollow so modesty saved. I went into the dip ,relief ,as I clambered back up there were a couple smiling at me (or my moonface) . Now husband has strict instructions to start singing if he sees anyone. Please take care of yourself xx
Ha ha! Sorry, but I had to smile at that anecdote. We’ve all been there…
Am sitting in my kitchen this morning reading your post with a magnifying glass (perfectly good reason for strange behaviour) glasses don’t fit over bandage on nose, did have op all cancer removed.
Your comments reminded me of a holiday as a teen with parents in the Clent Hills, set out in sunshine then …. Down came the rain!!! It was warm rain though, eventually arrived at a convenient bus stop climbed aboard, much to the disgust of other VERY DRY passengers. Never forgot how happy a day we all had that weekend. Thank goodness for hot bath and toast, predictive text very useful at moment!!!
Good luck with op it will be sorted
Trudie, thank you for such a warm-hearted comment. VERY glad to hear that all cancer removed, and may the stupid c-word never ever trouble you again.
(And can totally relate to your holiday anecdote.)
We’ve had many many holidays like this! I’m dragging 3 teenagers round Mull at the moment. Lots of photos of them huddled in raincoats, but I’m sure it’s character-building! At least that’s what my mum always told me at that age. The joys of British holidays! Good luck with your eventual treatment Phil xx
Oh, Mull is the absolute best place in the world – though I’m sorry that you’re having to experience it through wet weather gear. We went there a few years ago and it was heaven. We couldn’t move for wildlife. We arrived at the cottage that we’d rented to find a stonking great big stag in the back garden. May you and your teenagers enjoy the best of that wonderful island.
Bad luck with the op cancellation. I’ve finally had my post-mastectomies lopping-off -the-lumpy-bits-and-evening-out op, after a year of delays – such a relief! The only comfort is in reflecting that at least you’re not an emergency case any more and *can* wait for treatment.
Glad you enjoyed the Peak District, despite the un-British weather. We’re sitting on the highest point on the IoW doing much the same.
HUGE congratulations on finally achieving your own lopping-off surgery! May the c-word never ever darken your door again.
Enjoy the marvellous IOW. Hope you’re having a fabulous holiday.
Reminds me of a week in the Lake District last year – in October – what were we thinking! It’s not called the Lake District for nothing! I do hope they can sort you out soon. Your blogs are brilliant and the photos are gorgeous! Good luck with the op. Xx
Yup, the clue is definitely in the word ‘lake’! Hope you had a good time, nevertheless. And thank you for your generous words about my blog.
Those photos are lovely but they bear no comparison to your beautiful, neat, pucker-free, smooth stranded colourwork. I am very, very envious. I am knitting my first stranded colour work at the moment – and sadly, it looks NOTHING like yours… Hope all goes well when op does come around.
YOU CAN SO DO THIS! Seriously, you really can. Just stretch your stitches out a little to make sure that the float is sufficiently long.
(Also, thank you for your kind words.)
Thanks for the laugh, dear. I’ve experienced it there just like you described, even the campervan, who had never leaked before, started leaking. Upgrade the wetness up with little boots and raincoats and you can imagine the campervan was fogged up, I left after a couple of days longing for some dry place. Even the little ditch rivers went big. Somehow it sounds better with sun, but he ho, who am I. Darn, delayed, again. We’re two years behind with operations here. Massive stress for all involved.
Oh goodness, leaky campervan sounds like a whole extra layer of stress.
And sorry to read that you’re so far delayed with ops there, too. Tricky times.
Dear Phil – sorry to hear your op postponed again. An entertaining read as always – but the last photo – the view from the window is so beautiful – but – I can feel the heat by just looking 🥵 – today, in NW Lancashire we have rain clouds 🙏 (happy dance ) – hope you have the same xx
Thank you. Also, thank you. And thank you. Yeah, the heat was a bit too intense, though less so than the mega-heat we encountered when we drove back down south to home. You have actual RAIN CLOUDS?! Oh wow! May they deliver a deluge on your garden.
I always adore reading your posts. They are such a treat! I’m in the US on Cape Cod where the summers are usually cooler. Not so this year, very hot also. Though the humidity was fairly moderate. I think you are wonderful even with crooked boobs!
Eek, I’m sorry that you’re experiencing problematic weather too. May your temperatures settle down soon.
And thank you regarding my wonky boobage!
It must be so disheartening, not to mention exasperating, for your surgery to be delayed AGAIN. Hang in there! Your pictures are gorgeous — so much beautiful green, and so much beautiful topography. England is a lovely country. And look how tall the twinage has become — they’re growing like weeds (and I bet they’re eating you out of house & home, too). Please forgive my ignorance, but is that peak paved? Or is it naturally occurring? Most interesting. But, as for vacation spots? I’m going to the beach! Too much of a wimp to subject myself to such rigors. I’ll live with the shame, easily.
Hi Elizabeth, and thank you for your lovely post. The paved bits atop the hill are most definitely human-made, I assume to reduce the environmental damage of so many feet tramping up there in all weathers.
More specific thank yous: the surgery will happen eventually, so I’m cool. I’m just grateful that they were speedy when I needed the actual cancer chopping out. Thank you re the photos – it’d be difficult to take an ugly photo of such beautiful scenery.
Yeah, the twinnage are growing fast. They’re on a mission to look down on me physically as well as metaphorically. I should probably stop feeding them.
Enjoy your beach holiday – there’s nothing to be ashamed about!!!
Your description of a “ holiday” was marvellous! Thanks for this !
And thank you for saying so!
We have just returned from a similar sizzling break in the Lake District where we sweated and puffed our way along paths between rivers and lakes in order to dunk ourselves and the dog at regular intervals. Hills in the heat were certainly out of the question!
Sorry your surgery has been postponed – here is to having similar sized boobage! x
Yes, I imagine that the Lake District is similarly bewildering in this drought/heat. Hope you had a good time anyway, and thank you for your kind words.
For me this is a Clayton’s holiday.
I have had a great day out and not left my seat.
Thank you .
❤ is all that I can say.
Fabulous photos. But what a terrible holiday you clearly had – I feel your pain. I hope the unaccustomed indolence has helped top up your reserves, I suspect you may have needed that more than you might readily admit. Just one question: how do the twinnage play badminton when they are both the same side of the net?
In answer to your (fair) question, the Stoic Spouse and I were on the other side of the net. Parents vs children!
Your description of hiking reminds me of getting out here in the Pacific Northwest. So wet! I can definitely relate! Hope you get sorted out with your surgery soon. Thank you for the humor.
Thank you, thank you, and thank you!
Your writing about how your northern trip SHOULD have been made me chortle: I grew up in Yorkshire and recognised your description instantly! I can’t really imagine it with heat 🙂
Hope your op happens soon, then you can get back to your hilarious life narrations.
Good luck and happy knitting from a reader in España xx
Yorkshire to Spain – I’m guessing there’s a cool story there? Thank you for your kind words. The op date is so close now that I’m daring to hope that it won’t be cancelled…
Much as I admire all you do and write it does appear that many fans have already told you how fabulous you are in so many ways – so I shall write to tell you that my daughter who may be just about your age had a relatively small cancer removed from one breast which resulted in a separate surgery to make the other breast the same size! She now has two perfectly beautiful (smaller – which is a good thing as she was a bit on the too large side of perfection) breasts! And I hope you will emerge from the whole episode feeling it was all worth it – and then live in happiness and joy with your delightful family! Thank you for all you are!
Thank you so much for this. Seriously. And I hope that your daughter’s cancer experience was a brief blip on an otherwise joyful-so-far life. Her story is reassuring: thank you.
Your photos are really spectacular, I was scrolling down and being totally amazed as I came to each one, I always enjoy your humour. However, what I really want to say is I’ve been reading your blog for a while and I admire your courage and resilience with the cancer fight. Good wishes for your surgery. I hope it goes well. I also marvel at your knitting. All the best, Jean in Winnipeg
Dragging grumpy (even though they secretly love it) teenagers up hills in all weathers is such fun and watching them as adults go off and enjoy it is even better knowing that it was worth all the moaning and food/chocolate/bribes it took!
I love visiting the Lake District, but sadly I’m not able to walk much now thanks to ME, but my powerchair Matilda (named after the Robot Wars house robot) and I do manage some outings and got quite a way up Latrigg Fell last weekend. However, the Lakes are wonderful for swimming in, peaceful (avoid Windermere), amazing scenery, wildlife and beautiful water in all weathers. My favourite one is amazing in the late evening with bats and stars overhead if you’re very lucky and only the lights from 3 distant farmhouses visible. I do desperately miss being able to head off into the hills, but swimming has very much come to replace that. I’ve always swum outdoors all my life, but now it’s my main focus rather than walking.