Only in England...

Because my Mum enjoyed the film Miss Potter so much, I took her to visit Beatrix Potter's home in the Lakes, Hilltop House. Before we went I checked the opening times on the website and got the route. When we arrived at the end of the route plan there was nothing to indicate where the house was so I asked in a garage and was told to park up and walk to the ferry!!! When I got the the ferry pay kiosk, the ferryman told me that the house was closed on Thursdays. I told him that the National Trust website said it was open on Thursdays from May 28th. He sent me to the tourist information place to check. They thought the same but checked and found I was right. But I actually had to get the car ferry which meant walking back to the car (for which I'd paid a hefty sum to park for no good reason) and driving on to the car ferry. We waited in a queue for half an hour.

Once across the lake we waited in an incredibly long queue for the tiny car park at which we had to buy a timed ticket. (This was beginning to make the Candle Factory seem like a grand day out!) Eventually a nice man in a luminous National Trust jacket informed us that they were exceptionally busy today and we now wouldn't get in the house before 3pm (it was 1.30pm by now) and suggested that we might like to come back tomorrow. I don't think so! "No worries," I said, "We can park up and get some lunch and come back." Seemed simple enough.

So off we went to the local hotel in Near Sawrey ~ apparently the only place to eat in the village. Hmmm! Now let's make a film featuring one of our attractions and then make it well nigh impossible to find and provide just one place to eat when the tourists finally do find it and descend on the village en masse! Barely had our feet crossed the threshold when the landlord pounced on us to inform us that if we wanted something to eat it wasn't happening there, they were over capacity.

"Is there anywhere else to eat?" Apparently not but we could walk "half a mile" to the next village. The next village was aptly named Far Sawrey. My aged mother was struggling and my teenager was very, very hungry. Like an oasis on the horizon of a dusty desert appeared the Sawrey Hotel. They served lunch between 12 and 2pm and we made it to the bar by 1.55pm. As I reached the front of the queue the minute hand moved on to one minute past two. "I'm sorry, we are no longer serving food." Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?

I explained that we had walked all the way from Near Sawrey and that we had been in the queue since five to two and there was nowhere else to eat. He wasn't budging. I asked him to speak to the chef but he said the chef wouldn't change his mind. Could he just make us a sandwich? No. Could I speak to the landlord? No, it was a family run business and the chef was part of the family. Tom was starving, Mum was flagging, I was fuming. I cannot envisage that happening anywhere else in the world but England. Rule bound, uptight and unable to think outside the box!

Thankfully, there was a lovely village store, Sawrey Stores pictured here, run by the sweetest and most charming lady who summed up the ineptitude of the locals to grasp the importance and opportunities presented by the recent tourism boom with, "They just don't get it." She provided us with delicious and enormous excellent value for money sandwiches and offered us a garden table behind the store at which to eat them. Hoorah for that nice lady!

Finally we got into the house. Was it all worth it? Well Mum said she'd enjoyed every minute of the day, so from that point of view, yes. But I shan't be paying a return visit that's for sure.