The motorway drive to Ambleside takes about an hour-and-a-half from Manchester at night. But the bar is still serving when we get there, and Ghyll, a local fruity blonde on draught, soothes the nerves provoked by unlit stretches of motorway and 'A' road perfectly.
We're at the Waterhead Hotel, right opposite Lake Windermere, which on a crisp winter's night is blanketed by stars. The spacious bedroom of our suite faces the jetty, the hotel's short, white-fenced, manicured lawn below us.
After the big, comfy bed has enveloped us in sleep, we wake to the mist rising off the lake, the ducks greeting the morning, boats bobbing on the water, and a hilly view of rust and green behind us.
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