Well, that’s my holiday over.
Unfortunately, the budget wouldn’t stretch to the kind of flashy 3D graphics you see Jeremy Vine swanning about amongst during elections. If it helps to visualize any of this, imagine me waving my arms around furiously in front of a pie chart, before handing back to Huw Edwards.
Here, then, in the kind of detail normally reserved for any TV science programme featuring Brian Cox, is my holiday in numbers:
2: The number of friends who stayed with us, before we abandoned them at Oxenholme station during a cloudburst even Noah would describe as “biblical”.
2: Visits to the allotment, where the coin I dug up turned out not to be Roman, but a 2p from 1977.
276: The number of bites received from unidentified stealthy insects at the allotment, whilst waving a fork around and pretending to know what I was doing.
5: The number of family members met in Grange-over-Sands for a stroll along the prom. Prom, Prom. Tiddly-om-pom-pom. (Including 1 under 2 year-old whose amazed and joyful face when seeing a passing train close up was the highpoint of the day.)
8: Large pounds, to park at the station long enough to pick friends up, because there were only three short-stay spaces, and you can bet your boots we’d have got a fine if we didn’t pay the full day rate.
10: The number of days of not shaving it takes before I can be easily mistaken for a yeti.
180: Miles travelled in the car, visiting local places, so we can show our friends and family that we live somewhere nice, even though it does rain a lot.
1: Scary elderly guide in a National Trust house, who glided silently up behind me in a dark room, before starting to tell me about the fireplace so close to me that I thought my ear was haunted.
2: The number of friends converted to the delights of fruity Swedish cider.
10: Seconds until I realised I like wasabi peas, and my nose wasn’t actually on fire.
50: The approximate number of pounds spent on frothy coffee-based beverages.
5: The number of hilly miles I have walked every weekend for over a year, without ever getting below 1 hour and 15 minutes... until last week. To be strictly accurate, some of it was a terrifying kind of fell jogging, and I apologise unreservedly to any other walkers who had to witness what looked like an enraged, hairy, hippo wheezing past.
0: Total number of Lotto wins, which meant I couldn’t extend my holiday indefinitely, and further improve the breakfasts with additional luxury bacon.
1: Achingly long year until the next holiday...
This post first appeared as my "Thank grumpy it's Friday" column, in the North West Evening Mail, on the 15th of August 2014, where it was retitled "Taking a break by the numbers". You can view it on the paper's website here including a very minor edit.
There was an additional item from the list that I dropped, due to probable lack of space (I've learnt that lists take up more space, due to the number of paragraph returns!). It went something like:
180: The number of emails waiting for me when I got back to work on Monday, the more alarming part being that I was pleasantly surprised about what a low amount that seemed to be.
Unsurprisingly, it already feels like a long time since the week off.
(This blog blogged in a bloggy kind of way to "Caro Emerald presents: Drum Rolls & Heartbreaks", which is a frankly splendid collection of stuff that influenced her first couple of albums.)
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