THIS year, I braved the British summer and holidayed at home in the Lake District. I’ve always felt it’s the perfect place for a family holiday and so it proved. From boating on Windermere to scrambling up the crags of the Langdale Pikes, lakeside fish and chips or simply drinks in the beer garden—soggy or sunny, there really is something there for everyone.
Taking my kids to the Lakes provided a special rush of nostalgia, because I went there every summer as a child. My mum adored it, she thrived in the open air and rugged beauty, the freedom and sense of community. That spirit also remains in good health. A friend’s dog—Chilli, a retriever cross—disappeared on a walk from Grasmere, but the whole community came out to search until, eventually, Chilli was found by a local climber. A little shaken and with a bang to the head, but, I’m pleased to report, now well on the road to recovery.
I accept that ‘man finds lost dog’ is not your typical start to a political argument. Nonetheless, there is something in that story that does capture the quiet, uncomplaining resilience and togetherness of the countryside. I recognise it because I grew up on what you might call the edge of rural England myself. In fact, you could argue that my home town—Oxted, on the Surrey-Kent border— is about as English as it gets: a familiar mix of pebble-dash and Victorian bricks, surrounded on all sides by rolling pastures and the beautiful chalk hills of the North Downs. I loved it growing up. You could make easy pocket money clearing stones for the local farmers and play football, quite literally, until the cows came home.
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