Levens Hall and Arnside

I have been wanting to go to Levens Hall for years - literally, years - but it is quite a long way from Grandma's and, crucially, isn't always open, and certainly not at the times we've been likely to be in the area. This time, however, I stamped my little foot and tossed my pretty curls (metaphorically in both cases, as I have neither) and on Monday off we went. I will admit that I have no interest in the house but only in the gardens, where the topiary is the main feature, which is why it is such a shame that the gardens are not open in winter when their structure would be most appreciated.

It wasn't a great day, weather-wise, but it remained dry, and possibly the lack of sunshine deterred others from visiting, so the gardens were fairly empty and it was possible to wander freely. Beyond the topiary, which was amazing, the gardens were laid out in a formal structure within which there was just the amount of wildness and disorder that indicated some very careful and well-considered gardening.

And there was an excellent cafe, which always helps. Not that it stopped us diving straight into the Ramblers Cafe (excellent Brie and walnut sandwich, which please don't mention to Daughter, who is my diet guru and certainly wouldn't allow Brie and possibly wouldn't have allowed sandwich either, especially if she had found out about the lemon drizzle cake at Levens Hall - she is very (and quite rightly) strict) when we went on to Arnside. (Silly question, really, and Husband should have known better - "Would you like some thing to eat now, or after your walk?" Why not both?) Not that Arnside looked exactly like the photos on the tourism website, but it is a nice place, with a long railway bridge across the estuary and fantastic views across Morecambe Bay. The sun came out as well, and we pottered along beside the water and then came back to sit in a sheltered spot, just like all the other old biddies. I'm not sure I would describe it as "holiday resort", as most of the accommodation seemed to be old folks' homes, and there wasn't a lot to do if you wanted more than pottering and grazing. But then, who would?

Maryport

Yesterday we went to Maryport, which is only about 20 miles from Grandma's, on the coast. It is seaside. So there I was, expecting seaside fun. And where was I taken? To the Roman museum. Yes, the Roman museum. We live in St Albans, remember, where we are surrounded 24/7 by the ruins of Verulamium and you can hardly walk through town without finding someone dressed up as a centurion. I've had it up to here with Romans.

Now, to be fair, it was an excellent museum. (Despite the crucial lack of a cafe, so no sustaining cup of tea and wedge of homemade cake). And we did get to go on a guided walk to the current excavation, which was interesting. No, it really was.

And then we went to Allonby - more seaside. Another nice place, but its glory days long gone, as witness the tourist information board.

We had an ice-cream, eaten in true English style, in the street, eyes streaming from the bitter wind and everyone else huddled in fleeces or 4x4's, or both.

And then, after a walk along the new cycle track (Hadrian's cycle track, apparently. And you thought he only built walls?) we tried to find something to eat, which was a lot harder than it should have been, but after finding a fish and chip shop (up for sale) and a recommended pub (closed), we finally settled at the Royal Oak at Curthwaite. Not bad, although their claim that all food was locally sourced was true only if you counted buying the balti sauce at a local supermarket. And the music (a Beatles compilation) was on a tape loop which repeated every hour, so we could play a memory game of trying to remember which song came next... But service was friendly (we were strangers and they didn't try to stone us) and God bless them, they were open and willing to feed us, which made them pretty exceptional in West Cumberland.

The soldier's return, by Melvyn Bragg

Now that there is no second-hand bookshop in St Albans, not since Paton's closed, I am thrown back onto the Oxfam bookshop which, to be fair, isn't bad. However, the stock isn't large and the range isn't great, so any choice is based upon serendipity. I picked up Melvyn Bragg not because I am a special fan of his writing but because we are shortly (tomorrow, in fact) going up to Grandma's, and the nearest town to Grandma is Wigton, which is where Mr Bragg was born and educated (at the same school as Husband, in fact, though not at the same time). This book is based in Wigton, and to such an extent that the town is practically one of the major characters.

Set just after World War 2 (hence the title) it is quite a gripping read and I was genuinely curious to find out how it would end, which wasn't how I expected, but I'm not going to give the plot away. It is well-structured and well-written but I am never sure who books like this are written for - it doesn't have the clever-clever tricks of style of a really literary novel (and not necessarily any the worse for it), but neither is it a rollicking romp, so perhaps it is aimed at Mr Bragg's Radio 4 audience, and I suppose I probably count as one of them.

Knowing that I would finish the book today and wanting another to take away with me, and not being in St Albans, the next book came from the hospice shop in Marshalswick (you do get a better class of cast-offs in Marshalswick, so the charity shops are worth a browse, though precious few books amongst them) and only when I got it home did I realise how similar the two books are in appearance.

This next one is an account of the last five years of the life of the poet Edward Thomas, so we all know how that's going to end.