From Holy Island we made our way towards the Yorkshire Dales, where spring had arrived – blackthorn blossoms, daffodils, lambs. Am in two minds about the daffs – they did brighten our days, but in this hilly sheep-farming country, are they not a bit much?

Anyways, lovely drives and walks, good times were had by all, and good food, too! The UK has come a long way since I was served unedible green peas accompanied by unrecognisable meat, followed by and undigestible pudding. This was thirty years ago, when coffee was not to be had for love or money. Nowadays, good coffee has reached The North – which is not bad, not bad at all.

Gambled with my life on some very steep hills. Truth to telll, part of the goat trail we navigated was traversed on my bum. And no, I took no pictures … this not being top-of-mind in my survival mode. Images posted here were all taken with my feet firmly anchored on a flat bit of ground.

I wondered about the economic realities facing sheep farmers – having read ‘a shepherds life’ I know it isn’t easy. Our next door neighbour, when asked about the financial viability of her raising sheep, said ‘I just looooove them’, which was end of discussion. Am now reading ‘Watching the English: The Hidden Rules of English Behaviour’ by anthropologist Kate Fox. This made me realise that my question might have violated some “complex set of unspoken rules or byzantine code of behaviour”. Being embarrassed by being embarrassed, that is the english for you.