In search of fudge
PENRITH is a Cumbrian town inseparably linked in my mind since childhood with fudge; car journeys through it were always broken at a small—and still thriving—shop in the town centre. As a result, I was full of anticipation when I found myself stopping off in the town early this week. Might I be able to squeeze in a visit and secure some fudge?
In fact, leaving the station was far from straightforward: it was swamped by revellers returning from the Kendal Calling festival. They were tired but happy and covered in mud after a weekend of rain. At the entrance to the station, there were volunteers cleaning them down with power hoses and the swirling mist of water vapour gave the impression that I was emerging into a crowded Turkish bath. To add confusion to the scene, someone had a dog suffering from stomach trouble. I hope the power hoses were able to help.
Anyway, what with the traffic and the other events of the day, I was, in the end, deprived of my anticipated visit. It’s a consolation that we’ll be passing through the town as a family later in the month, so I will get my fudge soon. The annoyance is that I will then have to share the box. JG