So we're spending a month on the Isle of Man.

This is the little Island from which I proudly originate, but it's a long time indeed since I spent this length of time here. There are many reasons for that. Suffice it to say that I've been intensely looking forward to this visit.

We've based ourselves in Lower Foxdale. (And I found out only today that the name has nothing to do with foxes... Rather, it originates from the Norse "forsdalr". Spellings vary, but the meaning is "waterfall dale", which is not surprising given the number of "foss" or "waterfalls" we came across in Iceland, and the waterfall referenced here is the very one that we can hear from our accommodation.)

This morning we did an awesome little walk, not one step of which I have ever covered before...

It's weird, no? In Nottinghamshire, we were going places that my Notts-born partner had never set foot in; here, we're doing the same. Why is this? I guess that when you're young, you take it all for granted. You follow what your parents do, and then what your friends do. Then you push off out to bigger, allegedly more exciting places. And that's good, of course. But you also miss a lot. Plus -- dare I say it? -- I think that as you age, you not only have more patience and more love for the "smaller" things (and I think this damn pandemic has helped all of us a little further along this road), but also you become more curious. (And having more time in retirement means that you can follow up your little quests, which then inevitably lead to further little quests.)

Long diversion, so let me get back to the point.

We first walked a bit of the old railway line that went from Foxdale to St Johns (and let it be recorded at this point that I LOVE my new boots, which are comfortable straight off the bat, and whose brand new tread gives me a nice, reassuring grip of the earth).









Then you turn eastwards, and for a while you follow the old railway line that ran from Peel to Douglas.




Then you break away from this track, and head off up the hill:



Eventually, you reach the old Cornelly mine, one of the Foxdale mines where they dug for silver and lead. Cornelly was first worked by the Isle of Man Mining Company in 1837, abandoned in 1849, reopened in 1878, and operated until 1886.





Cornelly, of course, is one of the mines mentioned in Stuart Slack's The Foxdale Miner: "Sometimes I work at Cornelly, but Beckwith’s the shaft that I dread. As the dust I despise fills my nose and my eyes, I think I would rather be dead..."

Then, from the mine remnants, you take a mixture of quiet lanes and tracks, until you emerge right at your back door...



You'll remember that I talked yesterday about the establishment of traditions? How we'd decided that when you go supermarket shopping in Peel, you get to have lunch from the harbour fish stall? Well, having discovered all the things we forgot to buy yesterday, we did indeed recompense ourselves with lunch from the fish stall. Today: Queenies, said by some to be the Manx national dish (although I think there would be lots of debate about this). Flash-fried with tomatoes, spring onions, capsicums, and mushrooms, they were super-delicious. Shlup, shlup.


Then home. Storm Eunice is due tomorrow...