July 05 Coniston and Brantwood

 In an effort to maximize enjoyment and ease the effort, I may have overdone it with the "circular walk" add-ons.  Today, for example, since I did not want to do the classic Coniston climb, I opted for an out and back along the lake.  It was fine. When I got to the turn around point, I was just getting to the best part and was tempted to walk all the way back to Lowick, so I checked the bus schedule to see if I could get back to Coniston, and, had it not been Sunday, I could have done just that, but today IS Sunday, which, it seems, is the busman's holiday.  So that was that. 

I turned around and a couple of hours later, as I was nearing Coniston, I realized I could toodle on over the pier whence the ferry goes to Brantwood.  I approached the guy in the ticket booth. Waving his hand, he said, "Speak to those chaps over there."  Over I went and spoke to "those chaps."  "Well, there isn't a direct run today; you will have to circe the entire lake and we will drop you off on the way back." "How long does that take?" About 45 minutes to an hour."  "And when does the next boat leave?"  "About two minutes ago!" Their being late was my good fortune, so I paid the ferry man, and went for the ride (thank God, not to Hades), disembarking at Brantwood, the home of John Ruskin for the last twenty or so years of his life.  Truth be told, and I don't know why, I am just not interested in Ruskin though he did have the saddest love life ever, but in case you crave to know more about the man just clink on that link and you will have all the references anyone would want.

First, though, the grey, drizzly morning.

The rain is why they have such delicious grass:

Boats waiting:

Perfect spot for a 9:00 a.m. pick-me-up:

Except no sooner did I sit down than it started to rain....again.

You look that way, and we'll look this way:

OK, it's safe!

When I reached the A325 or whichever A road it was, it was time to turn around:

toward Coniston, and then on to the Brantwood segment,

After embarking, the tour around the lake narrated by the dude who ties and unties the boat at each pier and whose narration was one loud incomprehensible blur, and disembarking at Brantwood, it was time to visit the loo.

I can say with full confidence that Brantwood offers facilities superior to those of the woods:

The house was lovely.  It really felt like a home, had beautiful views, attractive wall papers, handsome rugs....yet was not overdone, but since it is now a museum of sorts, not all the rooms were fully furnished.  Yet it was easy to imagine people living in the house.

There was a grand piano, which, if you get permission ahead of time, you are invited to play:

That would make Alex Allain's day!

Bible with jewel encrusted cover:

Ruskin had an extensive mineral collection:

Needlepoint:

There was some exquisite embroidery, too. Those pieces and the views did not photograph well, so you will just have to take my word!

Most of the gardens were extensive woodlands on slippery paths, but there were some flowers:

A place to sit:

It seems that a lot of people come to the property—you can drive there, too, and you can walk, but it is an awful walk on major roadways an hour in each direction—to have lunch and enjoy the scenery.  The cafe is first rate!  I had a bowl of carrot soup, which was not only well seasoned, but was served hot!

Critters—not at Brantwood, which is too refined for such gluttony, eating a plenty due to their being fed by a passerby:

I will not be sorry to leave Coniston.  The town and the Inn are a bit dreary, although the room I am in has a decent shower and a frig, but the wi-fi keeps going out, the bed and pillows are not comfy. There is nothing at all pleasant about the accommodation.  Utterly cheerless sums it up pretty well!  But wait!  There is a heated towel bar in the bathroom that works (socks dried in a jiffy), so I guess the place is worth the price. (It was a big price!)

Addendum:  Remember the other day I mentioned Cohens Pharmacy and thought Mr. Cohen was a Jew from Ulverston?  Well, no!  The concern is owned by two Muslim brothers from Kenya, who own  more than 200 pharmacies—or chemists— in the UK, all named Cohens!!  My head is spinning! I simply have to give a listen to  Minyan Man