01-02/11/25 Goodbyes on Sunday.

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The sun shone brightly between streamers of cloud on our last full day in Huddersfield. Unfortunately it was my turn to be ill.  I waved the family off for a nice day trip to Slaithwaite, with a walk along the Huddersfield Canal and lunch with a lovely British couple who had provided invaluable practical help to those settling into a new country.

They sent me photos of the canal, and messages waxing lyrical about the food. Napping on the couch while cuddling a sick bucket, I didn't care.

That's all we need to say about Saturday.

On Sunday we went back to Slaithwaite to walk the canal again. 


Back when the mills closed down and the towns were dying, the canal was filled with concrete. Years rolled by and gentrification happened, the Canal Rejuvenation Society was born, and the canal was emptied of concrete and took its place as an attraction along which to walk, run, and ride. Now it's possible to travel coast to coast across the admittedly rather skinny waist of England entirely by canal and river.


Narrow boats in various stages of repair and disrepair moored along the canal, and the last autumn colours shone brightly in cold sunlight.  




None of us were brave enough to dine outdoors: we brunched in a cosy warm Cafe. Not the smartest of ideas for me, as it turned out. I wasn't quite as recovered from yesterday as I had originally thought but no matter, I survived without undue mishaps and my son got to eat the uneaten portion of my meal so that was wins all round.

Back in town we walked around the University, quiet on a Sunday morning.

One of us is not like the others. One of us is crazy having fun.

Old university buildings under renovation.

Back at home the inevitable caught up with us. After 8 days with loved ones it was time to say goodbye and start the journey back to the other side of the world.  After 57(ish) days our holiday was over bar the tedious bits and a week in Fremantle. There were tears and hugs, more tears and hugs, and then just like that we were on our way.

We prolonged the inevitable by avoiding the highway and taking a winding route across the moors, along green valleys and through small villages toward Wilmslow.



We skirted the edges of Manchester,

Manchester city from the hill.


and landed for the night back in the Wilmslow Lodge with time for a quick walk downtown to stretch our legs. I'd been told Wilmslow was where all the rich footballers lived and although I couldn't in any way guarantee the facts of that statement, Wilmslow did have an air of prosperity and wealth that had been lacking further north.

Piratical mural on the wall of Sainsburys, Wilmslow.

I liked the building.

Home for the night: Wilmslow Lodge.


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