Review of the Rothay Garden Hotel, Lake District

Writers have been inspired by the tranquil surroundings and rugged hills for centuries. Popular characters including Peter Rabbit and Mrs Tiggy Winkle were born after their creator Beatrix Potter’s holidays to the area, and poet William Wordsworth penned his most famous poem about daffodils there.

I am, of course talking about the Lake District, home of some of the most spectacular scenery in England. And where better to enjoy that view than from one of the luxurious loft suites in the Rothay Garden Hotel, where I was invited to spend a long weekend. Having never visited the Lake District, but hearing rave reviews from friends and colleagues I was only too happy to pack my hiking books, camera and imagination in the hope that I would be inspired as many before me have been.

Nestled in the heart of Grasmere the Rothay Garden Hotel offers visitors the chance to relax in comfort while taking in the views of the majestic Lakeland fells. Following a £3 million redevelopment in 2008 the hotel has secured its place as one of the most popular lakeside retreats. It is ideal for both people who want a relaxing few days away from it all and those who are keen to challenge themselves with a hike up one peaks.

The hotel boasts 30 beautiful bedrooms, including five loft suites. From under the eaves you have a breath taking view, and it is suddenly very easy to see why people fall in love with the area.

The restaurant is based in the conservatory, overlooking the gardens. Visitors can relax in the contemporary settings, while head chef Andrew Burton, who has been at the hotel for 20 years, and his team work tirelessly to give you a meal you will remember.

The menu features high quality local produce, from handmade cheese and home cured meats to the Lakeland’s famous lamb and salmon. Reading the menu was enough to get my taste buds watering, and I was not disappointed when I tucked in to my smoked salmon starter. This was quickly followed by an equally delicious fillet of Lakeland Beef, and sticky toffee pudding. In fact the only disappointing thing about the whole meal was that I couldn’t eat every single dish on the menu, I really was spoilt for choice.

A new addition to the hotel is the Riverside Spa, a little oasis where you can take time out from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. With a herbal pine sauna, hydro spa and heated infra-red loungers it is guaranteed to relax you after a day spent out and about exploring.

I left the hotel and the Lake District with memories to last a lifetime and a yearning to return.

For more information on the hotel or to book visit www.rothaygarden.com or call 01539 435334.

My life as an Eddie Stobart addict

It is something which started out as a harmless piece of television viewing but has ended up with me running across service station car parks brandishing a camera grinning like a crazy fool.

I am talking about my not so secret and slightly over the top obsession with Eddie Stobart lorries.

This obsession has cost me my dignity on many occasions and almost cost me my relationship, with my long suffering boyfriend Joe witnessing my crazy ‘spotting’ behaviour more times than he would like to say.

Like most people’s obsessions it started innocently enough, when my parents started watching the Eddie Stobart television series. I quickly became fascinated by these truckers, and more importantly the trucks, with their girls names.

This mild fascination saw me looking out for Stobart trucks on car journeys, and reading the names. However it quickly spiralled out of control, as I cut cars up to read the names, and swerved lanes to get closer to trucks.

On my birthday I joined 24,999 other fanatics with a membership of the Eddie Stobart fan club, thanks to Joe’s mum. This membership came complete with a sticker and spotters book, so I could record the names, dates and locations of the trucks I pass.

But recently my obsession has reached new levels, and I have the photos to prove it. I am excited, and just a little bit proud to say that I have sat in the cab of an Eddie Stobart truck.

The poor driver of Nina Jonet had no idea what was coming as he stopped off at a service station to grab a bite to eat. Leaving his truck unattended he walked into the petrol station to pick up his evening meal. Unbeknown to him I had been watching him from the restaurant where Joe and I had stopped for food on our journey back from the Lake District. Quick as a flash I had thrown my KFC down my throat, grabbed Joe and my camera and hurtled over the car park to reach the truck. Having my photo taken in front of it was not enough, and as the trucker emerged from the shop I begged to be allowed to sit in the cab. Imagine my surprise when he agreed and I did not have to resort to trickery and deception to get there.

I was a natural at sitting in the truck, pretending to drive and looking the part! However getting down was a different matter, and almost resulted in a hospital visit. It is high! Sadly I was not allowed to drive it, but that is next on my agenda!

My mission is to travel the country to find the Laura Jane truck. Joe is not keen, he said one Laura Jane in his life is more than enough. I am not sure what he is trying to say.......

There are more than 2,250 Eddie Stobart trucks, and the distance travelled by the fleet each day is the equivalent to 24 laps of the Earth. So the next time you are on the motorway keep your eyes peeled for the trucks. You never know, it could be the start of an (un)healthy obsession.

I may be one step away from a train spotter in a tatty anorak but I am proud to stand up and say My name is Laura Tremelling, and I am an Eddie Stobart spotter.

Pumpkin fun!

I did something last weekend that a lot of people probably take for granted. Indeed it is a simple task, carried out by thousands of people every year. But for me it was the first time I had done it, and I came away with no injuries!

What am I talking about, you wonder? Well last weekend, at the age of 26 years and five weeks I carved my very first pumpkin!

Add this to the fact that to do so I had to use a knife and you will understand why I am finding my lack of injury amazing, as I am not gifted with the common sense needed to use a knife. I am just about ok using a small knife to eat my dinner with, but anything with a larger, sharper blade causes a real problem, and danger of DIY amputation of one of my fingers.

Joe naturally panicked when I suggested we could carve a pumpkin, and immediately insisted that I was to go nowhere near the knife! He just about permitted me to scrape out the insides with a spoon. Well, obviously I set about getting him to change his mind!

On the night in question a few glasses of wine had been consumed. I believe this made Joe feel more relaxed, and was what led him to changing his mind about me using the knife, even though he kept a close supervision on me.

It all started well, but Joe had a slight panic when he realised that I was cutting through the pumpkin with my hand on the inside in danger of being sliced off.

Keen to avoid another four hour trip to A&E with me he trustingly held the pumpkin while I sliced. Now this is trust indeed, as my knife slipped dangerous close at various times when I got carried away!

However disaster was avoided, and I now have a wonderfully carved pumpkin called Percy sitting in my kitchen.

Ironically I survived using the knife and caused more damage to myself lighting the candle to go inside, burning my hand!

Bye bye Velma, hello Connie

It has been said that you never forget your first car. Ask anyone and you will get stories about battered old cars that have broken down, been the source of many a teenage adventure, or lost important parts along the way. But no matter how much hassle they are most people remember their old cars with a smile.

I am no different. The only thing that is different for me is that, unlike most people, I have only just lost my first car. Velma, my faithful companion of nine years has finally given up the ghost, and is now resting in the big scrap yard in the sky.

Velma has been with me through thick and thin, from the scary days of A’level exams, when I used to hurtle into the student car park and bump into the same tree almost every day, to the more recent days of the long drives to Bath for work. She has seen so many repairs to her that I joke she is a new car, and is well known to the recovery men, who have been called out to rescue us. She also seems to have a regular spot in our local garage, with the long suffering mechanic never surprised to see me. But despite this my robust little clio carried on, proving to be a very loyal companion. This was until she finally stopped altogether.

On a relatively normal Wednesday afternoon I had just come off the motorway into Clevedon when I slowed down for traffic. At this point all the lights on my dashboard lit up in red....and Velma would not start. Now I do not have a big knowledge of cars or their workings, but even I could tell that this was bad. The car oracle, otherwise known as Dad, was on his way back from work, so rescue duty was down to super mum, and my knight in shining armour Uncle Cliff, who turned up on a motorbike not a horse. After a few hours spent peering under the bonnet trying to explain different parts of my car to me he was none the wiser as to what was wrong, and I was totally confused! So car oracle arrived to tow my broken car home.

After a visit to the garage the next day I was informed that the cambelt had gone, and it would be too expensive to fix. So Velma was retired to the scrap yard in the sky, a sad moment. It honestly felt like I was losing a part of me.

But this sad story has a happy ending, and I am pleased to announce that I have entered the 21st century with a new car. Connie the Corsa stood out to me because of her nice turquoise colour. After being checked out by car oracle and a mechanic (apparently the colour is not a good enough reason to buy a car) she was mine.


I was like a kid in a sweet shop playing with all the modern gadgets like electric windows, power steering, and a working clock, complete with date and temperature!


So while I will never forget Velma (I still have my key) I am excited about the prospect of a new future with my trendy new Corsa Connie.

My trip to B&Q

There is something about the showroom sections of DIY stores like B&Q and Homebase that make me feel excited about visiting. I class them as the adult playground, the chance to try out the beds, lift the lids on the toilets and clamber in all the shiny new baths. However I don’t think Joe shares my childish excitement, as we found out during a visit to one of the ‘playgrounds’.

Joe is getting a new kitchen and bathroom, and like the supportive girlfriend I am I offered to go along and help him chose. I think the word help would be used very loosely, as I would bet that I was actually more of a hindrance!

On the first of these visits I pottered into one of the fake bathrooms, and decided to sit of the edge of the sturdy looking bath to take in the surroundings. I soon realised that the bath was not as sturdy as it looked when the side cracked, and I beat a hasty retreat with a red faced Joe close behind.

After a lecture about not sitting on anymore of the furniture wandered into a few walk in showers and lifted the lids on a couple of toilets. When the noise of me crashing down the lids and slamming shower doors reached levels that were too high in a quiet almost empty showroom I was confined to looking from a distance.

I entered the showroom on our second (and final visit) with instructions not to sit on anything. This time we were in the aisle where the flatpacks were kept. I think too long spent looking for the right pieces had affected Joe’s common sense, as he allowed me to go and fetch the big trolley to put it all on - not a wise move.

He was alerted to my presence but the sounds of me crashing it into a stone fireplace, though I still maintain there was a wonky wheel! After a few more incidents like this I was demoted from ‘the person who pushes the trolley’, to ‘the person who walks behind not touching anything’. A role that was nowhere near as fun as my previous role.

Apart from me dropping a heavy pack on my finger as we attempted to load up the car the rest of the trip passed fairly smoothly.

Though I do think my help will no longer be required in the DIY work, and I may just be banned from B&Q in Cheltenham.

My best friend Faye

A lot of people say that you meet the love of your life and potential husband/ wife at University. While this is not true for me I did meet a lot of amazing people, who have gone on to become lifelong friends.

In the case of Faye Machin (my tiger buddy) some of them have even become my lifelong carers! Poor long suffering Faye has spent the best part of six years trying to stop me from injuring myself, while at the same time trying to avoid me injuring her.

How often do you remember the first thing you said to your best friend? The answer is not often. Well, I can remember the first words I said to Faye, and in typical Laura fashion they were ‘I almost died!!’

This is no exaggeration, and will forever stick in my mind as the day I nearly met my end after taking a paracetamol. Still shaken by my near death experience, which saw me choking on the tablet and my friend having to perform the heimlich maneuver  on me, I entered the drama studio to find someone to recount my tale of woe to. Lo and behold there was Faye, merrily sewing away.

To this day I still wonder why she decided to become my friend her first encounter of me was when I shouted in her face that I almost died! The look of confusion on her face as I proceeded to tell my tale soon gave way to laughter as I mistakenly told her that my friend had done the ‘Heineken removal’ on me.

Fast forward a few hours to Faye being interrupted once again to be told that I had super glued my hand to a chair. She came to rescue me, and here we are six years later still best friends.

Over the years we have stuck together through the highs and lows of our crazy lives. We have many memories from Faye’s birthday fancy dress party where we dressed as Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, to the time when I fell down the stairs at a night club and threw my bottle at her head! We have laughed so much that it hurts, but also cried, and known that we can depend on each other to make things seem better. And that is the mark of a best friend.

So I know that in 50 years time, when we are both 76 years old, grey and wrinkled we will still be best friends, out on the dance floor with our zimmer frames laughing so much that our false teeth fall out!

“A best friend is someone who knows all about you and loves you anyway.”

My new Venus Fly Trap

I have never had much luck with plants, and the phrase green fingers is not one that is applied to me. When my parents go on holiday and I am charged with looking after Dad’s plants it is a stressful time for both him and me. So why then, have I bought a Venus Fly Trap, a plant that is notoriously hard to keep alive.

The short answer is because of the musical Little Shop of Horrors.

When I was about 16 I was in a production of the musical, which sees orphan Seymour find a mysterious plant that looks like a Venus Fly Trap. The plant, named Audrey II, goes crazy after getting a taste for blood, and ends up eating Seymour and his love Audrey.

Since then I have been fascinated by Venus Fly Traps, and when, on a recent trip to the garden centre with  Joe, I saw a selection of them I had to buy one. Though not on the scale of Audrey II I was still delighted by my new toy, and couldn’t wait to see it in action.

At first I sat and watched the plant, waiting for an unsuspecting fly to come along, and the jaws to close.

Nothing happened, and I resorted to making the jaws close myself, using a pen. However I found out that this damages the plant, and so had to stop my new found form of entertainment.

I am still waiting to actually see a fly go into the plant, as my room has been typically fly free since I bought it. Though that could be down to the fact that my plant has eaten them while I was not looking.

I am continuing to water it (maybe too much) in the hope that it will grow big and strong. Maybe I will end up with my very own Audrey II, though I don’t think Joe would be happy if he was eaten by it in the middle of the night!

My abseil adventure

A 150ft cliff, a set of ropes, a thorn bush, and me....when you put it all together you have the makings of a disaster.

Though I am proud to say that I completed a charity abseil down Uphill Quarry with just a cut elbow, a few scratches and aching muscles.

I had organised an abseil in aid of Sunshine Hospital Radio, and in my role as fundraiser this not only meant me taking part, but also being the first one down the sheer cliff face.

Sensibly (or stupidly?) I had not visited the site to see I would be throwing myself off, so when I arrived I was not prepared for the size of the drop.
I so convinced that the instructor was joking when he pointed to the cliff that it took him a while to convince me he was not.
But before I would be attempting to abseil down the cliff I had another challenge to overcome - correctly putting on the safety harness.
Now anyone who knows me will know that a safety harness is a very good idea. Two safety harnesses would be even better.
First I had to master the strange looking contraption, which once I had struggled into it was as uncomfortable as it looked.
After a short practice session on the ground, where I managed to fall on my bottom, we headed up the steep climb to the top.
Putting on a brave face, with gale force wind battering me, I inched towards the edge of the cliff, preparing to descend.
Above all the hardest part was actually taking the first steps off, and I was shaking so much that I could hardly feel the rope.
However after some coaching from the lovely instructor I was over the top, and on the side of the cliff.
At this stage I had a false sense of confidence, and even managed to wave at the supporters on the ground.
The confidence lasted until I was half way down where the cliff side seemed to slope in and I lost my footing.
This resulted in my spinning round, and ending up facing the other way, which highly amused everyone watching.

After a bit of motion sickness I managed to steady myself and carry on, at a much faster pace as I was so keen to get to the bottom.

Once I reached the bottom I gracefully  landed in a thorny bush, instead of the flat, clear ground that had been marked out for us.

The pain from the thorns was welcome though, as it meant I was on the ground, not suspended 50ft up spinning round and round.

Now that I have safely completed the abseil I feel a sense of pride, though I am in no hurry to ever do it again!

Well done to everyone else from Sunshine radio who completed the abseil, and thank you to all the people who came along to support us.

Things to do before I am 30!

Ok, so in 1 month and 1 weeks time (or 41 days) I will turn 26. While age is only a number 26 has always been my 'scary' age. I can no longer say I am in my 'mid twenties', and instead have to face the fact that I am on the downward slope to 30. So I have decided to embrace that fact, and have complied a list of things i want to do before I reach the big 3 0. Over the next four years I have set myself the challenge of completing them all.

I would love to hear your suggestions, and if I like the sound of them I will add them to my list! Wish me luck!!

*Go in a hot air balloon

*Go in a helicopter

*Visit Australia

*Own a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes

*Get a new car with power steering, and electric windows (and not one that is prone to breaking!)

*Write a book

*Do an abseil

*Visit New York and do the Sex and the City and Friends tours

*Go paragliding

*Learn how to whistle

*Swim with a dolphin

*Go snorkelling

*Make an origami animal

*Go wingwalking

*Win a toy on one of the grab games

*Hit a bulls eye on the dartboard

My almost cake disaster!

I am useless at baking. I am always envious of people who manage to make delicious cakes with seemingly the minimum of effort. However there are moments when I kid myself that it is not that hard, and that I can make tasty treats from scratch.

One such incident was when I decided to hold a charity cake sale, and needed to bake something to sell.

Mum beat a hasty retreat from the kitchen when at 7pm one evening I decided to create my masterpiece. Fairy cakes were the plan, as they looked pretty simple.

Following a recipe from one of mum’s old cook books I was ready to go. All started off well, with me carefully weighing out the ingredients, and putting them in the bowl. Disaster was narrowly averted by mum, who informed me that I needed a tea spoon of baking power, not a table spoon!

However chaos seems to follow me around, and I ended up wearing most of the ingredients when I got a bit too adventurous with the electric mixer. A quick clean up and an apron later and I was ready to try again.

This time it went to plan, and I soon had cakes in the oven cooking. Feeling smug I was ready for my next challenge, making the icing.

20 minutes later, there was water and icing sugar over the floor, and a bright blue runny mess in my bowl. So I did what I usually do in times of need, admit defeat and call for mum. She is used to sorting out my messes, but I don’t think she expected to be making icing and washing the kitchen floor at 10pm at night though!

With mum on the case things went much more smoothly, and soon there was a line of neatly iced cakes. Step forward guinea pig Dad, who was given the task of trying a cake. He looked pretty apprehensive, but is still alive to tell the tale, so I believe my baking attempt was a success.

Relieved I put the cook book away, and packed the cakes into tins. Next time I am thinking of buying cakes from Tesco, and passing them off as my own. I think mum would approve of this plan!

My windsurfing adventure

Windsurfing is not usually the best thing to do if you have a severe lack of coordination and balance, however I am not one to shy away from a challenge.

And a challenge it was when I went to Poole to take part in a windsurfing lesson with Joe.

This time though the tale does not end in a hospital visit, and the only injury I have is a bruised and slightly swollen knee.

Maybe this means that my balance is getting better? Though the amount of time I spent in the water instead of on the board may contradict this!

When we arrived at the watersport academy we were immediately handed a wet suit to put on.

Here I would like to smugly add that I got mine on the right way, while Joe had merrily put his on the wrong way round with the zip going up the front.

I feel I can gloat about this, as I am usually the one who gets things wrong!

With the wetsuits properly in place we headed down to the lake for a lesson in how the different parts of the board worked.

Maybe I should have paid attention to this, as it would have saved a lot of confusion later.

In my defence I was distracted by an ice-cream van that passed us.

So with our knowledge of the board complete (well Joe’s anyway) we paddled out into the lake dragging the boards.

Looking at the board I couldn’t see it being that hard to stand up on, so I leapt on it....landing face down in the lake approximately 3 seconds later.

This happened again too many times to count until I proudly stood on the board in a crouched position determinedly not moving for around five minutes.

Joe meanwhile had taken to it a lot easier, and was able to surf a short distance.

Now our instructor Steve decided that I was ready (?!) to try and surf and shouted instructions like ‘left foot by mast’ and ‘right foot behind centre board’.

I felt this was the time to point out that I have trouble telling my left and right, andI hadn’t been listening earlier and so didn’t have a clue what he was talking about!

There was one thing I can say for Steve is that he does not give up, and he was determined to get me up and surfing by the end of the lesson.

He achieved this by pulling the sail along as I stood on the board holding on tight. But he said I can count this as windsurfing!

So now that I am a windsurfing expert I am looking at other sports to try.

Kite surfing looks fun, though Steve went pale when I suggested it and said I needed a bit more windsurfing practice first!

Why I am never helping my brother move house again!

Moving house is always a challenging time, even more so when it involves my family.

My brother Jon has almost finished a placement year at University, and was moving from one house to another in Bristol.

Being the good sister I am, and sensing the opportunity for brownie points, I offered to help.

When I said help, I didn’t think I would be doing almost all the packing on the actual day.

Now what is it about boys inability to pack in advance?

I entered the house expecting to see it bare except for a line of neatly packed boxes, the sight that greeted me was very different.

Wet clothes were draped across airers as he had picked this convenient moment to do some washing.

Heading upstairs I saw a bedroom that looked as if it hadn't been touched for weeks, complete with empty water bottles, mountains of paperwork, and wires connecting his many electrical devices.

But it was ok, he cheerfully told me, as he had managed to pack a holdall full of socks and his XBox.

The look on mum’s face was a pure Kodak moment, and we decided it would be easier to just do it ourselves.

The packing was relatively simple, chuck all of his ‘stuff’ into bags and into the car.

Jon likes to keep everything incase it may be needed again. And I mean everything, from year old receipts to a miniature skittles set that had come out of a cracker and countless wires.

However, I was unaware of the trauma awaiting me in the kitchen.

On cleaning out his food cupboard I was not expecting to pick up a bag of onions so past their sell by date that they were growing shoots, and dripping brown sludge everywhere.

A few choice words and a very through hand wash later and I was ready to head to the other house to unload.

This went more smoothly than the packing, probably because I left him to get on with it and flaked out on the sofa.

Now Jon is settled into his new place for the next year. And when the question of moving comes up again I will be washing my hair.

Time for a new pet!

I have decided that the time has come to for me to get a new pet.

Since I lost my goldfish Weasley last year I feel as if something is missing in my life, and am now set on the idea of a new addition to the family (no dad not one of the human kind, before you panic!)

I have been doing a lot of thinking about what pet I should get, with many of my suggestions being rejected by my very patient boyfriend Joe.

According to him a baby elephant would not be practical, as it would not stay small for long.

Similarly dolphins, pandas and sea horses were also rejected - though I thought they were all great ideas!

Hamster was on the list of possibilities, but I have been there done that.

As children my brother, sister and I begged our parents for hamsters, and were delighted when they bought us three Russian ones.

My little Cement – named because he was the colour of cement - proved very entertaining.

During the few years we had the hamsters there were fights between them, and arguments over who would clean out their smelly cages, a task that almost always fell to mum or dad.

There was also the time when my sisters hamster Smokey was flung across the room by mum after he bit her finger and wouldnt let go. Luckily he survived to tell the tale, and the RSPCA did not need to get involved.

So with hamsters, and other animals whose cages I would have to clean out, off the list I feel I have come up with a brilliant idea.....ducks!

So taken am I with this idea that I have even decided on their names, Doris and Douglas (known as Dougie for short)

The problem just remains where do I keep them?

My mum is very particular with her garden, which currently sports hundreds of solar lights, stone animals and a bird table, so digging up her lawn to put in a pond may not go down well.

Joe lives in a flat, with no garden for my ducks, so I am thinking of a blow up pool in his living room?!

I already think I know the answer, but until he actually says no (a few times) I think the plan could go ahead!

Why travelling by train is not for me

As a nation we are encouraged to leave out cars behind and use public transport.

But I think that, despite the rising cost of petrol, I will continue to drive to Bath and back every day rather than face the prospect of getting the dreaded train.

Now, me and trains do not mix.

The first hurdle I have to overcome is getting to the right station.

This I do not usually fail too badly at, but when I do, I do it in style.

One such incident, where I managed to get two Hatton stations mixed up, has gone down in family history, and the tale is often recounted with great hilarity.

I was trying to get to Hatton in Derby, and didn’t realise that the station was in fact called Tutbury and Hatton.

The result? I merrily caught a train to Hatton station (which I later found out is in Warwickshire) and spent the whole day on trains trying to get home.

This might go some way to explaining why I am not a fan of trains, and so when my car breaks (which can be quite a frequent occurrence) and I am forced to take the train I feel a little nervous.

And it is not the fear of where I will end up that gets me, it is the fear of who I will end up sitting next to.

I always seem to meet the most interesting characters on my train journey.

These quirky, somewhat strange people seem to be attracted to me, and feel the need to talk to me.

Like the man who catches the early morning train, and sits drinking vodka out of a plastic water bottle.

I politely declined his offer of a sip of his ‘special water’ at 7am!

Then there was the man who thrust his head into my face while I was avidly reading my book to ask me to smell his hair.

It turned out he had used a new shampoo made from ‘products from the jungle’, and he wanted my opinion.

This I also politely declined, and have never felt so relieved as I did when the train arrived at my station.

But the funniest had to be the man who had travelled to Bath to buy a new telescope, and was keen to give me a 30 minute lesson on the stars and planets.

To illustrate his point he used a rolled up magazine as a telescope, in place of the real one he had failed to buy.

Also train travelling has the added danger of me getting stuck in the doors, falling off my seat when the train suddenly starts moving, and locking myself in the toilets, all of which has happened.

Life is dangerous for me at the best of times, having no coordination and limited common sense, but throw a train journey into my daily life and things get worse!

So I think I will stick to driving whenever I can, it just about wins as the safer option.

My new hobby!

I have taken up a new hobby.
These seven words are enough to worry most people who know me, as they will be unsure exactly what my new hobby is.
However fear not, I am not training to be a lion tamer, or walk the tightrope, and I have not bought a motorbike.
The last option is close though, as I have taken up cycling.

My trusty mountain bike has not been used since the incident known as The Great Crash of 2001, which involved me and 3 others ending up in a tangled mess of bikes in an underpass.

But since  Joe is such a keen cyclist I decided to have another try, and my dad, with some surprise, dusted the cobwebs off my bike and repaired bits that had worn away.

The first outing went well, and it was actually my dad who fell off and landed in a pile of stinging nettles! Now you can see where I get it from!!
However my second outing did not really go to plan.

We set out, Joe on one of his bikes, and me wobbling along on his other, more expensive bike.
Letting me ride his beloved bike was a huge leap of faith for Joe, and he kept shooting me little worried glances.
There was a slight drizzle, but being the keen cyclist that I now am we powered on.
But in a matter of minutes the drizzle had given way to heavy rain, thunder and lightning!
Add this to the fact that we were on a country road in the middle of nowhere and you can imagine the scene!
I am not a fan of thunderstorms, and so asked Joe if we were likely to be hit by lightning

I was hoping he would put me at ease, instead he replied that it was unusual, but could happen!

Heading home drenched and with the fear of being struck by lightening I though things couldn’t get worse...I was wrong.

Halfway across a busy road my shoe fell off, and in my haste to grab it I put my bare foot in a deep puddle, almost fell off the bike, and was in great danger of being run over.

To cut a long story short I survived, and have not been put off my new hobby.

So if you see a women tearing around Clevedon on a turquoise bike stay clear, disaster seems to follow me whether my mode of transport is two wheels or four!

A blonde abroad!

I have recently got back from a two week holiday in Egypt. It was a fantastic experience, but as usual very eventful! My blog would be about 10 pages long if I wrote down everything that happened, but here are a few snippets:

Nasty Mosquitoes!

You can guarantee that wherever I go I will get into some sort of medical difficulties. It’s a fact. My accident proneness knows no limits, and is not limited to the UK. And true to form I had a medical disaster while in Egypt. On a trip to a temple near the Nile I was bitten quite badly by those nasty little creatures mosquitoes. Thinking nothing of it I carried on as normal, but the next day I woke up with massive red spots and very swollen ankles. I had managed to have an allergic reaction! Luckily some antibiotic cream sorted me out, although I still have faint marks on my legs and ankles now. Not content with stopping at the ankles the mozzies decided to have another nibble at my arms before I came home, which promptly came up in blisters!

Sailing on the Titanic

Now how many people can say they have sailed on the Titanic? The answer is none! Well, while on holiday Joe and I took that number to two. Ok, of course I don’t mean the real Titanic, there is not much chance of that! But while heading across the Nile for a camel ride we found ourselves in a small boat ironically called the Titanic. This did not fill me with much confidence, especially as I had already witnessed several boating ‘incidents’ on the Nile! Thankfully we arrived back in one piece!

Being stopped and asked to buy things EVERYWHERE!

Ok, Egypt is mad. Everywhere you go you are stopped by people trying to sell you things, take you on a boat ride, or polish your shoes! I can understand that they are desperate to make money, but it did get a bit much. Especially on our last few days in Luxor when Joe and I decided to venture out of the hotel for a walk. We got about half way down the road, which took 20 minutes as people were constantly stopping us! In the end we gave up, but not before we were accosted by a mad shoe cleaning guy, who was apparently from Scotland and called Simon?! He was intent on polishing our shoes, which I don’t really know how that would have worked as I was wearing flip flops and Joe had canvas shoes on!

Camel riding

One of my favourite parts of the holiday! My camel was called Zeke, while Joe had one called Teto. Getting up on the camel was easier than I had thought, but it was very high up! We went for a lovely little walk, with the only problem being some local children trying to roll stones under joes camel to trip him up! Well, rather him than me! Haha! The eventful part came when we tried to get down. We had to lean backward, which I didn’t do enough, and nearly went shooting over the top of the camels head!

Drunken dancing on a ship in the middle of the Nile dressed as an Egyptian.

One pretty surreal experience! While on the cruise there was an Egyptian evening, where we had to dress up! I got pretty excited about this, as anyone who knows me will know how much I love fancy dress! Joe was slightly less enthusiastic! And when I say slightly less, I mean alot less! I had to force him down to the shop to put on what can only be described as a dress with a towel wrapped round his head. However I thought he looked great! That evening consisted of drinking way too much, taking part in amusing but silly games, and dancing to cheesy songs on the ships small dance floor. One funny part was a guide who I thought asked me if I was having a good time. Cue manic, drunken smile and thumbs up. Suddenly I was being spun around, with no idea which way was up or down. Turns out he said 'Shall I spin you around?!'

Hangovers while walking round temples in 35 degree heat.

Not one of the best ideas Joe and I ever had! Needless to say many bottles of water were drank!

Cairo traffic

I will never again complain about traffic in Somerset. Not now that I have experienced the chaos of Cairo's roads! It is quite simply manic.Our hotel looked over the main roads, and 24/7 we could hear the roar of traffic and car horns blaring! One evening we decided to brave the roads and attempt to cross. Well, that was a mistake! We stood at the side of the road for ages, trying to find a gap, but no sooner had one appeared when a taxi pulled up right in front of us and the driver offered to drive us to the other side. Politely declining we tried again, but the same thing happened! After a few attempts ended like this I spotted a zebra crossing! Yes, we were saved! Little did I know that zebra crossing do not mean the same in Egypt as they do in England. Confidently putting a foot on the crossing I was almost run over! So we returned to the hotel, alive but without having seen the other side of the road.