From Stickle Tarn

I have spent the week with, among others, the person that got me blipping.

We set off early, struggling with mild hangovers, to try to catch a sunrise at Stickle Tarn. As it happened, the sky was very grey, and the only sign of the sun was in the gradual paling of the grey.

It was, however, not a failed mission. Putting our headaches aside and laughing our way up the moutain, it actually became apparent that being virtually alone in a beautiful place, with an old friend and just the sound of the birds, the spring lambs and the waterfall was actually enough. We returned with average photos and tired legs, but happy hearts . . .

. . . forgot to take a key so had to wake up poor Jo to let us in . . .

. . . then back to bed!

(I must add that only halfway up and out of sight of civilisation did I realise that I was alone with the previous evening's murder mystery culprit . . . it was Me, Myself and Catherine, by the waterfall, with the tripod . . . )