The train was jammed full, so we let it travel on alone. Leaving Hellifield we took the back lanes to Hawes, where we attempted a spot of gardening. But fish and chips called. Now the fun part arrived travelling over Buttertubs and onwards into Cumbria, passing yurts and waterfalls, as curlews glided above. Whilst being watched by black faced sheep. A ancient hill pub called for a sudden right hand turn. Taking a steeply climbing narrow track which had abrupt curves just like a flamingos neck. We entered the world of Tanhill pub, remote with a history going back at least into the seventeenth century. A pint of black sheep beer beckoned. Locating hotly contested seats we joined in the chatter. Bikers mixed with walkers whilst tired dogs found spots near a rouring fire. Lightening flashed as the heavens offered a welcome deluge. Decision made, we head for Kirby Stephens along narrow roads awash with running water. Past ancient derelict farms with their abandoned stone sheep pens. Old drift mines have given way to grouse shooting in this area. In Mallerstang Dale we pass the haunting world Pendragon castle. Coffee at the Moorcock? Not today. Home calls we tired travellers.
Footnote: More a blog perhaps than flash fiction, but the flamingo’s curving necks managed to appear, just.