Out Of My Tree
“The trouble with holidaying in Britain,” said Mrs Z., stuffing the last bit of banana fritter into her mouth, “is that we’re running out of places to visit that are any nicer than where we live ourselves.”
We were sitting in a Chinese restaurant in Bowness treating ourselves to the all-you-can-eat-for-nine-quid deal. It had been a long day, most of it spent on the water. We’d taken the cruise boat up Lake Windermere to the Lakeside Aquarium. A sign outside the aquarium had warned us that it contained “menacing pike” but we went in anyway. Call us foolhardy. It also had otters, field mice, live crabs and British sharks. You could tell they were British sharks because they kept apologising to their prey and then actually refused to eat them until the keepers agreed to produce a deep-fryer and some ketchup.
Then, this afternoon, we went for a swim – no, not in Lake Windermere but in a local country club. You see, we’ve rented this cottage in Windermere village. The cottage sits in the grounds of a hotel. That hotel has an arrangement with the country club so that we’re able to use their facilities.
So here’s where I tell you another problem with holidaying in Britain. It’s the jobsworth mentality of the people at the heart of our tourism industry. They’re a small minority, but a vocal one.
At the country club, for example, we weren’t allowed to have a quick look around the facilities until we’d completed all the necessary paperwork. In fact we were physically barred from climbing a set of stairs by a Kim Woodburn look-a-like. She blamed “fire regulations” for this rule. As you know, when firefighters rush to the scene of an inferno, they wont rescue anyone unless they’ve got the required chit and docket.
It was the same thing yesterday in a local motor museum in Keswick which had enticed us with a brochure advertising the “cars of the stars”, including the original Batmobile and Chitty,Chitty, Bang, Bang.
“No photographs, “said the man at the door, relieving us of fourteen pounds for a family ticket, “and all mobile phones to be switched OFF.”
I protested that half the fun of seeing these famous cars was to pose beside them like a dooly while other family members snapped off half-dozen out-of-focus shots.
“Sorry, “ said Mr Jobsworth, “but our hands are tied by international copyright regulations.”
I was going to argue the toss about the mobile phone rule because Mrs Z.’s phone (as she continually points out) doesn’t have a camera. But then, maybe we’d also be in breach of copyright rules if we even phoned a friend from the museum and described the finer points of that car from the Dukes of Hazzard.
All of which brings me to something I heard yesterday on BBC Radio Cumbria. The presenter went live to a man who had decided to spend a fortnight 80 foot up a tree. There was a worrying moment when the phone line went dead and listeners were left to imagine this poor bloke tumbling to the ground.
In fact he had simply climbed higher up the tree to get a better signal and then told us how he had spent his first night in a hammock being battered by rain and wind.
I can’t for the life of me remember why he was doing this. Something about a tree charity, I think. But I do admire his bravery.
Imagine doing something like that in this country….and without a permit too!
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