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Geoffrey Peyton


The town of the sleepy quiet

To the wonderful people of Grange, Cartmel, Arnside and anywhere else in the South Lakeland area. You really must be filthy rich.

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Visiting the Autumn Fall

Britain is one of the very few countries which can produce such picturesque surroundings of prepossessing magnitude at different times of the year. The magical winter snow provides utmost beauty upon the mountains and hillocks of its pleasant pastures, and the same prominence will show a completely different representation during spring, summer and autumn respectively. It is the latter of those seasons that bring a truly spectacular array of colours that become a magnet for tourists across the globe to visit here each October for the Autumn Fall. The further one heads on a northerly route in the UK, the more spectacular the vista becomes. The vastness of the radiant landscape widens as the glory of rare inhabitants becomes more apparent with each kilometre in which one travels.

A few years back, I met a Canadian chap from Nova Scotia who visited both the Lake District and Dumfries in Scotland in 2010. I asked him why he came here to see these mountains and such, when he comes from a land that is utterly full of majestic wonders which are not too dissimilar to ours.

“Because the views here are better than what we have at home”, he told me.

I found his comments rather hard to believe, as I have seen enough depictions of North America to give me a want to visit there myself. I pointed this fact out to my Canadian friend, but he was adamant that Britain is the best country for a scenic panorama than any other country that he has ever visited. It was hard to grasp what he was really trying to say, but I guess the truth lay behind the fact that he was glad to be away from his natural home, and a vacation does trick the brain into believing that you are in some sort of paradise for a few days or so. In fact if I visited North America, or possibly anywhere else in the world, I too would believe that I had found a momentary heaven, simply because you are away from the place that you live and possibly despise.

The following chapters contain the memoirs of my visit to the pleasant town of Grange-over-Sands, which is situated on the Southern Peninsula of Cumbria's Lake District. This is not directly a travel book; it is more of a journal of my rambling exploits during early October 2014.  

Escaping Gulag Luft Birmingham

I was up and raring to leave my home in Birmingham at 6.00am on Monday morning. Pam, my partner, came down the stairs with a suitcase ready for me to load into the trunk of the car. I had expected a smile and the usual ‘would you like a cup of tea’ greeting, but all I received was a face that would need little alteration for scaring the living shit out of the local children for the up and coming Halloween.


“What’s up with you?” I asked, as she threw the suitcase on the floor before my feet.


“Nothing”, she clearly lied.


I took it that because I was typing some gibberish on my PC and not getting involved in packing a few things for our vacation, that I was being idle.


“I’ve packed my mobile phones, and was just about to pack my laptop, and then I’ll be ready to go”, I promised her.


This was clearly not the appropriate time for humour, and she informed me that it would be best if I went on my own if I am going to be funny.



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