Holiday-tinted glasses

I'm on holiday this week, in the Lake District. I come here a lot and it's what the word "holiday" evokes for me. This is what I imagine. I've been here most years of my life. Even when it's grey and rainy in the Lake District that feels okay. It's a damp place. The stormy clouds work well as an epic backdrop. The smell of rain is the smell of the holiday. I apologise for the large and unruly photograph of Rydal Water just before I got in it. I'll fix it when I get home. It's spectacular but it's busy. I'm staying in a caravan park and have camped, rather than taking up accommodation locals could be using. I get the bus. I try to be a good tourist. It remains an ethical conundrum. Places rely on tourism but dislike tourists and I understand the contradiction. Tourism is not natural to me - I haven't left the country in twelve years. My passport has expired. I know I should want to travel, that it is good for me as a person, expands the horizons, and so on and so forth. I have…