I’m not much of a country person. Give me the hustle and bustle of a city or, even better, a cosy library and I’m as happy as larry but put me in the vicinity of mud and mossies and my enthusiasm wanes somewhat.
But even I had to admit that I didn’t mind Grasmere at all. Not only does it sell THE best gingerbread ever but it is full of the cutest teashops that make the nature a little more bearable. I may even go so far as to say enjoyable as long it doesn’t go on any records and can never be held against me.
We also popped into the beautiful little art gallery so that my nana, a keen artist herself, could have a quick look around and gather inspirations. Unfortunately my father and I don’t have the same level of culture and got distracted spelling out some of the ruder 4-letter words in the english language with some wooden letters that they happened to have lying around… I won’t befoul my blog with pictures but I’m sure that those of you with cruder minds can work it out.
Grasmere isn’t just spoons and swearwords , however and I dragged my parents to Wordsworth’s grave and the new daffodil garden to read the words of a poet I have both loved and hated, emotions entirely dependent on just how imminent a deadline was. I really hope I can make it in time to see the daffodils in full bloom at some point this year though as I’m sure it will be stunning.
Have you ever been to Grasmere?