We are up early,though not as early as yesterday. When in Cornwall we are almost always out by 9. I wonder if it's Sophie's sense of hectoring urgency we miss. We are heading for the lake district today. No real plan in mind,though I have a specific objective for the first visit of the day.
We drive for much further than we thought we'd have to, heading for the town of Ulverston. On the way into town I spot the "Stan Laurel Arms", for this is the birth place of the comic genius.
I am not much given to hero worship, but Stan gets as close as anyone in my book.
The "Laurel and Hardy Museum" is an absolute treat. It is so ramshackle it could have been built by the lads themselves, and that on a bad day.
There is scarcely anything of value there, but it is all engaging to a fan. there are letters and posters stuck to every inch of available space, including the ceiling. Piles of magazines and books are left lying around with no order or logic. The curator could have stepped straight from an L&H flick, wearing a woolly flap down cap and tottering about talking forever to anyone who'll listen in the broadest of agricultural Lancashire brogues. He corners H and starts to relate some never ending story about Stan's toilet seat (which now holds pride of place on the museum bog).
Meanwhile in an adjoining room (there are three living room sized areas) is an antiquated cinema, complete with torn velvet seats, arranged on a slope, maybe a dozen in all.
A group of pensioners are watching "The Music Box" and shrieks of laughter are coming from them. We all sit down and soon our laughter unites with theirs. How wonderful and durable their comedy is. seemingly so simple, but actually incredibly sophisticated. Just so, so funny, and so enduring.
We stay for another hour or so, watching a collection of calamities until we can take no more. Great stuff. We stop at the SL Inn for a drink. that too is great, full of Stan (and Ollie) memorabilia.
We head off into the lakes. The scenery is fine, but not breathtaking, and I fell we are skirting the region rather than really discovering it. We take a car ferry to Windermere, and then head for the Beatrix Potter museum.
I find it a bit twee, though it's certainly tad better organised than Stan and Ollie's affair.
Back to the caravan, a bowl of spag bol is prepared, and once eaten everyone disappears. I tuck into my book, bought from the museum; a bio of Stan.
After a few chapters I venture to the "entertainment" complex. It is truly hideous. A brash bright hall full of every money grabbing machine known to man. The kids love it of course, and Emsy and Flo have set their hearts on winning a giant Winnie the Pooh toy with one of those mechanical grabbers.
The entertainment itself consists of a pretty if near anorexic singer who wears very little and sings very loud. The audience for the most part consist of deeply unglamorous families sipping on their cokes whilst Dad has a last pint of lager and mum a bacardi and coke. The singers more intimate fans consist of the two dozen young kids, aged between 12 and 15 who are finding this the height of sophistication, the older ones trying (and failing woefully) to look cool, the younger ones just sure that they must look cool in such a happening environment. A few older kids are their too, clearly not the full ticket, maybe with Downs syndrome or a similar affliction, but happy with their trip away from the humdrum of everyday life. It's hard to be dismissive when people are having harmless fun. Or at least it should be.
A few more chapters of Stan and then off to the land of Nod.
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