Shaking All Over

Apparently, there was an earthquake of some variety in Cumbria last night. Can't say I noticed, myself, which perhaps says a lot for the building quality of my parents' house. I'd always wanted to sit through a 'quake, for some reason, and was bitterly disappointed when LA stayed steady during my visit there.

Which is also a roundabout way of being able to say I'm back in the safety of home. Driving back here was probably the most mentally exhausting thing I've done in years (constantly watching for bits of ice on the road takes it out of you) but it was worthwhile if only to eat some decent food for the first time in about three months.

When I do come back here, I'm always reminded of one of the stories my dad told us when driving on the A66 between Penrith (his hometown, where we would visit relatives) and Whitehaven. Driving past Bassenthwaite Lake, there's a lump of chalk on the scree slope of one of the hills.

The story, as I remember it, was that a guy resolved to climb this hill on his faithful horse and attempted to do so. Trust me when I say this was a stupid idea. as the incline is steep beyond belief, but it would appear he didn't do too badly, as the lump of chalk that is supposed to mark how far he made it is pretty far up. But still a long way from the top. The mark was always the "Horse's Head" to my brother and I, as it did look so from the distance you see it from the road.

Now, I've tried looking this up online and found zilch to collaborate anybody else is aware of this story, so it may turn out my dad was just making something up to amuse two small children on a car journey. I'll choose to keep buying the myth for now, though, as it's become one of those symbols on the drive back that reminds me I'm almost home.