Mud, Mud Glorious mud.

So goes the first line of the Flanders and Swann Hippopotamus song.  Usually I feel having to prep the lodge means I am missing out, today I thought I had got the best job.  The rain had hammered on the caravan roof all night.  When I set off to the car water was standing a couple of inches deep on the grass.

As I drove back towards Penrith the weather improved and while I worked at the Lodge the sun shone at times.  An early message about a sale made me think things must be the same in Dalston.

Wrong.    I drove into the area where trade vehicle were allowed and parked on tarmac.   I was more than a little surprised the public car aprk was empty while the field across the road was full of cars.  I turned the corner to be greeted by a sea of ankle deep mud (glad I had my wellies on).  The rain was falling steadily as I plodded my way to the stand.  I found out then it had rained all day.

The blip is the view from the stand, where the mud isn't too bad.