Don't blame The Townies

As lockdown restrictions finally begin to properly ease - hopefully for good this time - there will be some people dreading the thunder of a million feet heading towards the Lake District.  This is understandable, last year there were some dreadful scenes of people disrespecting the landscape, leaving litter, wrecking trees, parking inconsiderately and, sadly, leaving gates open that resulted in the deaths of livestock.  Hopefully things will be better this year but, if they're not, please don't collectively blame 'the townie'.

I was raised a townie.  I had no control over where I was born and raised and, as soon as I was able to, I escaped to greener pastures, but it was drilled into me at a very early age to respect the countryside.  (For anyone who knows the West Mids, Walsall Arboretum was our nearest decent sized area of greenery, trips to Sutton Park were a *massive* treat and Cannock Chase was like taking a trip abroad!)  

Closer to home we'd play in the rough strip of ground behind the house, making dens and swings and eating enough blackberries to make us sick.  Although we promised that we would never to go further than the end of the road, clandestine trips to Reedswood were the highlight of many a summer - untethered by phone calls demanding to know our whereabouts, or trackers to show where we were at all times, we explored and adventured far beyond where we were supposed to. 

We may have wandered beyond our boundaries, but we never left litter or caused any permanent damage - although there were no mobile phones, or CCTV, we all knew that our mums had eyes everywhere and would somehow know if we'd left an empty crisp packet in one of our dens.

Me, somewhere in Wales, circa 1977

I was lucky enough to holiday in Wales regularly, and that always included a daily walk somewhere.  I was taught how to dress properly and wear the right shoes and I was expected to observe 'The Countryside Code' at all times (as well as being sure to 'Keep Britain Tidy')

Because I grew up far away from the countryside, to me it is still a rare and beautiful thing and I still get excited every time I see lambs, or calfs, or birds, or the sea, or a million other things that I never saw regularly as a kid.  I am keen to protect it, plant the right flowers and bushes to encourage bees and butterflies and try to keep my 'footprint' as small as possible.

Grange Prom

Being controversial, in my experience, sometimes it's the people who grew up with all of that around them that take it for granted.  We live in a conservation zone and have neighbours who have lived in the area all their life, but they have ripped up every flowering plant and concreted over their entire garden, turning it into a natural desert.  Every leaf is swept the moment it touches the floor and jet washing of the paved backyard is a monthly event. A very few, select, green things are allowed, but they are strictly confined to colour co-ordinated tubs.  On the brightside it's inspired me to go a little bit 'wild flower crazy' to try and compensate for their concrete wasteland.

The point is that it's never as straight forward as blaming one type of person or another, that simply causes division where there doesn't need to be any.  We need to focus on doing more to educate everyone about what, I absoultely agree, should be basic common sense, such as taking your litter home, closing gates behind you and not parking like a wazzock.  

I don't have all the answers to the big questions, but I do know that there are amazing groups like the Lakes Plastic Collective who are doing fantastic work to keep the region looking beautiful - check out their Facebook page here and support them if you can - we can achieve a lot more by working together than we can by creating more division.  (You can also find them on Twitter here and Instagram here)

We don't cover the blog in adverts and rely on a steady sale of our books to fund the site.  You can find them all here - please feel free to have a browse. Thank you.

The Lockdown Blog - Work and Panic

I've been racking my brains about what to write.  I am never usually short on ideas but, right now, I am.  At least when it comes to this blog.

Lots of folks have been writing about their experiences of lockdown, well, I can summarise my experience in two words:  Panic and Work.  With my income wiped and us not qualifying for any government grants we have both worked incredibly hard to reinvent my business skills training online.   

Luckily I already ran around 20% of my courses online but even so, this has been a MASSIVE shift for us and has required us learning seemingly endless pieces of new software.  See - not very interesting is it?  (For the record, yes we could apply for a loan, but really do not want to put pressure on the future business or we could furlough ourselves but would then be unable to work on the business and, consequently, not have a business to come back to.)  You can find all of my courses here - and I promise they're fun and excellent value for money!

Other than work we also managed to create a radio studio in our spare room, allowing me to continue my shows on Lake District Radio.  At one point I was presenting 7 shows a week and it provided a much needed break from the work worries.  I'm still on air Weds/ Thurs/ Fri 5 - 7pm and Saturdays 9am - 12 noon and you can listen in here.

We walked along the prom a LOT - even venturing as far as Kents Bank a couple of times.  Never once have we taken where we live for granted and every single time we go out we are thankful for where we live.

For a bit of variety we also wandered up into the woods, which were really pretty when the bluebells and garlic were out.  Now long gone.  We discovered new paths and got lost a few times too.

It's also been incredibly hard to know what to write about the lockdown.  One small word can be taken and twisted out of context.  Usually I do everything I can to encourage people to come up here and discover this amazing county for themselves, but that is wildly inappropriate just now.  I also didn't want to post too many photos from our walks in case it came over as gloating - "oooohhh look how lovely our views are" if folks were stuck in lockdown somewhere less green and lovely.

Over the last week or so, as things have eased, we ventured a little further afield - all the way to Lindale - where we enjoyed a blissful walk and didn't see a soul all day.

As I write this I still plan on staying home, or close to home, as much as possible.  Visitors have descended and, despite government rulings, there are plenty of people staying overnight in holiday homes, second homes, camper vans, tents etc.  Sadly, many are not observing the 2m distance guide so, to be safe, I'm staying away and only heading out very early, or very late.  The road near our house has been busy all day long, so I'll stay in the garden for now - even though I'm as desperate to get back into the fells as everyone else - I can, and will, wait.

So there you have it.  Not particularly exciting.  To be honest I wrote this as much for me as anyone else to remember what it was like.  Work and Panic still dominate as we try to figure out what happens next.  

One thing lockdown has taught me is how utterly amazing our friends are - they have sent food, gin (yay!), hard cash, art and even stained glass (see @GlassBasics on Twitter - he's ACE!) to cheer us up and help us along.  Some have also offered serious financial support for which I am deeply grateful - I have politely declined, at least for now, because I know that what we really need is a long term plan.  I am also indebted to the folks who signed up for our courses and bought our books.  Every single sale means an extraordinary amount to us at the moment.

It's easy to say "go out and find a job" but, in a region that is dominated by the decimated hospitality sector, jobs are pretty thin on the ground.  Plus we started our business 14 years ago and have battled long and hard to get to where we are now - I am not walking away without and almighty fight!

Maybe normal service will be resumed soon, or perhaps it will be months, or even years before things return to 'normal' - or maybe they never will be quite the way they were before.  Whatever happens the blog stays and so do we - my favourite line is "I'll think of something" and I will.  I know I will.  It may just take me a little longer than usual...

One last cheeky request - we are still selling our books right here and are happy to sign them for you. We have also signed up to Ko-Fi so you can support us by buying us a virtual coffee right here.

Sink or swim

Ever since I was tiny, I've had a fondness for hurling myself in at the deep end.  Literally.  When I was born my mum was a swimming pool attendant which meant that my formative years were spent around the local pool (or 'baths' as they were then known!).  Not that I remember much about that now, obviously, but I could apparently float before I could walk and had little fear of water. 

One story that is often told is about a trip to the pool when I was aged about 4 - we had been merrily splashing away in the water and I was floating around in my armbands.  We got out onto the poolside and my mum made the fatal error of turning her back on me for a couple of seconds.  Within those seconds I had hared along the side of the pool and, when my mum turned back around, she saw me (still thankfully in armbands) stood on the top diving board.  I can only imagine what was going through her mind as I proceeded to hurl myself off the top board into the deep water below, and emerge, thankfully, unscathed from my adventure.

Although I remember nothing of that incident, it's absolutely typical of how I generally approach life.  If you've followed this blog from the start you'll know that we launched into our life in Cumbria full pelt, living in a campervan for 3 months because we didn't have a house.  You get my drift.

Calming pictue of Ullswater

All of which brings me to the current situation, where we are pretty much all in at the deepend together.  I'm not going to lie, even for someone like me, who has a fondness for deepends, this is scary.  I am a small business and, as things stand at the moment, I have fallen through all the cracks in government support - our only options are a loan (which I'm avoiding becuase I don't want to place any future strain on my business if I can possibly help it) and a mortgage holiday, which isn't a holiday so much as a deferrment.

Rather than sitting around feeling sorry for myself, I've pulled on my armbands and raced to the top diving board again.  My work away from here is delivering face to face training courses, which are clearly all cancelled for the foreseeable future so, within the space of 10 days, we have completely reinvented our business and moved absolutely everying online (when I say 'we', I deliver all the coures, but I couldn't do it without Steve setting up all the IT behind the scenes for me - if you've ever seen the IT Crowd he's Noel Fielding in the basement...!)  You can find full details of what we're up to at the end of this blog, and your support would be deeply appreciated.

To give you an idea of the sorts of things I do, and to hopefully be of some practical use, I thought I'd share with you some tips that help me navigate the deep waters I so regularly find myself in.

1. Don't focus on the big picture - big pictures are scary.  I find it helps to have a rough idea of the big picture and then focus on what I can do today.  As a kid it's highly unlikely that I thought through the whole 'diving board' thing, I just ran up the steps, one at a time.
2. Beware of information overload.  In the current situation it is so easy to become overwhelmed with the sheer volume of information out there.  We absolutely need information, but hone down where you get it from and how often you look. I find the BBC has good updates, but I don't need to keep refreshing the page every 5 minutes.
3. Seek out support.  Even on my diving board adventure I still needed armbands. You may be in isolation, but you don't need to be alone. There are, literally, dozens of apps that will help you connect to people and, once you've connected, don't feel the urge to put on a brave face the entire time.  We're all struggling.  We all understand.  We're all happy to help.
4. Celebrate the small stuff.  Yes, there will be a big celebration when all of this is over, but celebrate small things along the way too.  We were setting up a laptop yesterday and every time something worked we high fived.  It was silly, but we need silly right now.
5. Go easy on yourself.  I may look like I have this all under control, but I don't.  I'm terrified and have broken down in tears many times. If this new business fails we have no money, it's as simple as that, so yes, I am scared - and that's OK.  There have been a couple of days when I've not got much done at all.  That is also OK.  Just keeping taking one step at a time, even if those steps are sometimes wobbly and a bit soggy.

Hopefully some of that has helped in a small way - and I am always here if anyone wants a natter - just leave me a comment, or find me on social media for a chat because, let's face it, we could all use more friends right now.  Stay safe and keep smiling.

For those who are interested in supporting our new business, it's called OnLive Learning and we currently offer over 30 interactive, online, learning events.  The Personal Development modules are just £10 for 30 minutes and the Management Skills modules are £20 for 1 hour.  Discounted season tickets are available - full details right here.