Bowness-on-Windermere, The Lake District, UK

We wanted to show the kids The Lake District, so we left relaxed Seahouses and headed west, noting the proximity of Hadrian's Wall just to our north for much of the journey, and the change from fields and trees to more rugged moorland as we drew closer, finally negotiating some narrow country roads to drop down to Bowness. I had drunk one too many coffees that morning, judging by the number of times I had to stop for a 'can't wait' toilet break, too; turns out there are few service stations on the A-roads across the top of the country, so it's just as well I can do roadsides!

The Bowness Camping & Caravanning Site is right in the heart of the town, tucked just behind the big cemetery and spread out over a large area with wide gravel tracks connecting the various fields. We had got two plots, one for us and one for Roy & Lynda's motorhome, and we were greeted soon after arrival by our friends André and Anita, who'd come to spend a couple of days nearby to hang out with us. After a catch-up sat around our van's camping table, we wandered into Bowness to grab ice creams and explore together. It was great to catch up with André and Anita, who had moved from Gibraltar to Bath a few months earlier, and who were excited to tell us that they were heading to Jeremy Clarkson's Diddly Squat and his The Farmer's Dog pub on their way home for a meal the next day. We took a lake islands tour with them on one of the big cruisers, and also had a good meal out at The Boardwalk Bar & Grill, giving Roy the chance to quiz André over whether he will now support Bath Rugby as a new resident of the town (thankfully for the bonding process, André answered with an enthusiastic 'yes!').

Windermere and particularly Bowness proved to be a culture shock in more ways than one. Firstly it was so, so busy compared to Seahouses, heaving in fact - it felt like the place was struggling to cope, with rammed pavements, queues for shops and bars, and cars, campervans and coaches everywhere. Also, there was a noticeably large number of British Asian families, literally arriving by the coachload. On top of this, there were lots of foreign tourists, giving the place a decidedly multicultural feel - a marked difference from the older, almost completely white 'hiker and camper' demographic I remember from my time here, admittedly 30 years ago. The change was so pronounced that I checked online for Muslim festivals, but it just seemed that nowadays, Windermere is a 'done thing' for a whole new section of society.

Right on cue for this summer in the UK, another heatwave had hit on the day of our arrival, the weather staying warm and sunny for most of our stay - it was all people were talking about in the streets, and the queues at the ice cream shops were particularly long. The kids and I cooled down on one afternoon by swimming off of one of those tiny, grassy 'beaches' you see dotted around UK lakes, this one just ten minutes' walk away, at Cockshott Point. The rocks and stones on the bed were rounded but slippy underfoot, so Crocs and sandals were worn, meaning we could wade out until it was deep enough to submerge ourselves. At one point we heard an earsplitting, long yelp, looking up to see a small dog bombing it from the lakeside path away from its owners and into the lake to cool off. No sooner had it done so, having instantly quenched its excitement, it ran back to them and trotted by their side as if nothing had happened. It made everyone jump, but judging by the owners' lack of reaction, this was not the first time...

There was a fair in town while we were there, set up on an impossibly picturesque green right on the banks of the lake, dominated by a traditional Ferris wheel. The kids visited it several times, dragging mum along to go on the waltzes with them on one day, and promising to take me too - although sadly it had moved on, Faraway Tree style, by the day I was due to go with them, leaving me waltz-less and Dylan with a pile of fairground tokens in his pocket - he's been jangling them when bored ever since.

One afternoon we took a self-drive electric boat out onto the lake. Lynda didn't really enjoy the bobbing around in the wake of speeding boats, the ear-splitting navigation alarm that kept going off arbitrarily to warn us away from non-existent obstances, and - in all truth - the bickering of the Morse family about how best to navigate the thing. So after a short while we dropped her and Roy off (they promptly headed for solace in the nearest bar) and set off by ourselves. We settled into it finally, weaving among the lake's many islands with Bobby McFerrin's 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' and Afroman's 'Because I Got High' blasting on the boat's Blaupunkt speakers. Well-meaning but slightly hooligan - that's us!

Another day, Faye and I took the kids and dog off for a hike, destination: Brant Fell, a small hill with great views over the whole of the lake. Leaving the car park and boatyard that were next to our campsite, we soon headed uphill on ever-smaller lanes and tracks, down overgrown footpaths, and finally through a field of cows and onto the fell to the summit. We saw deer, rabbits, and even a line of five dried-out dead rats, pinned to a barbed wire fence - proof of pest control by farmers, apparently. But best of all was a large flock of sheep, who were tame enough to be right beside us, dog and all, something the kids loved. We don't go walking enough with the children: This is one they'll remember. (Oh, and there was a large Orthodox Jewish family at the top, all gathered for a photo - more evidence of Windermere's cultural shift?)

We'd been using the bikes quite a lot - the kids exploring, Dylan heading off to play Pokémon in all kinds of corners of the town, and Maya and me heading to the (invariably over-busy) little Co-op and Tesco stores to grab groceries. On the final evening, I grabbed the bike one last time to head to the Vinegar Jones chip shop to get a fish supper for us all, which we ate all together from the trays, sat around our camping table, the sun setting over the hills on the other side of the lake - perfect.

Unsurprisingly, there was some great running to be had, although to fit in our planned training did take a bit of juggling. I did a hilly half marathon, heading up the (thankfully footpathed) road along the west side of the lake to Ambleside, where I ran past the Epic Lakes Swim Windermere in full flow, as it were. My next run was an easy 13k, and I went south on the same main road towards Newby Bridge this time, sadly minus footpaths, but just about OK, despite having to jump in a hedge a couple of times. I also fitted in a hilly 10k, in which I explored Windermere town itself, looking for a running track around a football field I'd spotted on the map. That - the Phoenix Running Track - was where I headed the next day for my 800s into 400s interval session, and it was lovely first thing in the morning, bucolic and peaceful, surrounded by trees, the 300m simple gravel path around the field proving to be a perfectly serviceable training surface.

Faye, meanwhile, was in full-on 'explore' mode. Her first run was a 12k trail run to the top of Orrest Head, and while she kept it relatively local for her 10k hill session and her 11k hilly recovery run, her standout effort was what she called 'the Lap', a round-the-lake full marathon, heading clockwise down to Newby Bridge before negotiating the much less developed and often barely pathed western side of the lake from south to north, in the rapidly warming morning. Windermere has several Joey's Cafe establishments, her godsend as she used them to stock up on coffee, sugary drinks and calorific snacks, and where she chatted to fellow runners. On the way she spotted both usual and unusual farm animals (llamas, anyone?), returning to camp from Ambleside on the same safe, footpathed roads that I ran on my half-marathon. An amazing effort, all said.

It had been a brilliant few days, but we agreed that we wouldn't like to live there with that level of tourism, and I wasn't surprised by a noticable lack of easy friendliness from the locals when compared with laid-back Seahouses. They must get fed up with it all at times. We didn't have time to get fed up with it, of course - because after our five nights, we were off again, this time heading south...