Saughy Rigg ...

We spent two nights at Saughy Rigg, lolling on huge red sofas, laughing, sharing fears of truculent bullocks, feasting on trout, planning future adventures - 

The farmhouse was over two hundred years old, hidden in a fold of dark moorland - when we arrived, the sun was low in the sky - clouds were gathering over Windshield Craggs - we'd walked along Peel Crags, from Sycamore Gap to Steel Rigg, and from there to Saughy Rigg - 

We wrenched off our boots, drank an anker of Northern tea - I told Julia about The French Hairdresser's Husband - later, I spoke to a balloonist over a Pennine Pale -

I woke up at four in the morning - pale light lit up my scarlet bedchamber - I lay there, unafraid and happy - 

9 July 2014

Saughy Rigg