LAKE WINDERMERE
Sing songing whiled our time away towards Windermere. You are not officially allowed to say Lake Windermere, apparently, as Mere is the old English word for Lake. Its all a bit overkill to say Lake Winderlake even if it is the largest natural lake in England. You know, you'd probably get away with it. But it does feel a bit like the excess of place name endings involved in a village in the county of Hertford (only Hertingfordbury is actually the proper name for Hertingfordbury). On this matter, Cannon Street Road in Wapping East London is also a bit strong isn't it?
As is Hertingfordenburyvillieshamhamtonshire-next-the-sea, only that obviously doesn't exist at all.
Another apt translation of the acronym T.E.S.C.O. - totally engulfed society with corrupt operations. Not that we are saying that's what they do, people. They're just big supermarket, right?

We are now close to the shores of Windermere and any passing, casual observer may have spied us getting dressed in the car-park. 'Where is Beatrix Pothole?' was the refrain, or maybe we said 'head' or something. When regaled with this question the friendly, jolly parking attendant who gave us directions, commented  'there's something missing....a horse or something', indeed there was, but we did have a van. A horse would surely have inhibited our approach by stealth, we informed him, in our hunt for wild animals. We proceeded to the Beatrix Potter museum - a-hunting wild beasts. We loved it - they took our photo and we sat with a hedgehog for tea.

Then we took our Kendal mint cake to the shores of Windermere in full hunting regalia- feeling a tad self conscious but making great attempts to 'style' it through our justified embarrassment. We admired the grand vista of the 'Mere' and savoured the high sugar content of, walkers' favourite, Kendal mint cake and watched a woman get subjected to an attempted eating by a swan which was mildly amusing.

And back in the car, to muse on the majority of folk's inability to take a picture for random requesting tourists, dressed perhaps as hunting types or similar, without
a)      cutting out their heads or
b)      cutting out essential or significant touristical details or
c)      failing to include one or other of the sitters or
d)      including the closest ugly thing in the attempted picturesque representation- generators/ bins, broken things/ half an arse.