I’d heard the words ‘The Lake District” for many years, but the first time I ventured there was in March 1991.

I finished my study at Warwick University in the Summer of 1990, and – hardly surprisingly, since I had studied English Literature – left without a job. A short period of working with two friends came to an end and in November I started working in Dixons, the electrical store as a shopfloor salesman. My first salary was £500 per month before tax, leaving pretty much nothing after tax. Holidays were not top of the list of priorities.

However, by March the following year I’d managed to make some good sales and get a bit of commission, which paid for a week’s hire of a tiny Nissan Micra with unlimited mileage. The world opened up to me and for some reason I chose to head to the North of England.

The first night I arrived late in the dark - my commission covered petrol but hadn’t gone as far as paying for a hotel so I was planning to sleep in the car. I drove down a dark alley, put as many clothes on as possible and crawled into my sleeping bag. I had no sense of where I was and awoke the following morning in total wonder.

I was surrounded by green hills, farms and narrow roads lined with dry-stone walls. As I started to drive to Ullswater, my mouth, was wide open as I saw countryside which matched anything I had seen in Switzerland or Austria. Space, fresh air, greenery and charm swept me away.

That sparked a love affair with the area that has never worn off, and some of my happiest memories are located there. One particular day sticks in mind.

Some years after my first visit, I met a girl who lived near Lake Windermere, and we got together. I would drive the 500km journey from the South of England on a Friday night and leave at 4am on Monday morning to get to work by 8 or 9am – yes, I know, insane, but you see, I was in love... Anyway, one early winter morning in 1994, I awoke and realised that there was snow on the hills. I made a decision to call my office, tell them I was sick and take the day to drive to some of my favourite places in the region.

Throwing a sickie is certainly not something I advocate – well, not too often, anyway. But this day was certainly worth it. The old cliché goes that none of us will say on our deathbed, “I wish I’d spent more time at the office” as a reminder to give ourselves more balance in our lives. For once, I acted on that. As the morning broke, the sky was crystal blue and the hills were dusted with snow. I have pictures of that day and always feel a warm inner satisfaction when I think of having a great experience of pure shining beauty instead of driving back to the grey office.

Fast-forward sixteen years to yesterday. After the hellish journey from Schiphol to Doncaster, I’d driven 3 hours across the countryside and arrived in darkness, somehow familiar with my surroundings but not sure what I would see outside my cosy bed and breakfast. I awake and wander out the door and my jaw hits the floor.

Crystal clear blue sky, snow everywhere, sunrise creeping over the hills. It was if I had turned the clock back and never left. I head down to the waterside at Lake Windermere and take pictures as the day comes slowly to life, and I meet a guy who is also standing in amazement at the beautiful site in front of him. “I think it’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen in my life,” he almost whispers. I don’t argue.

It was if I had turned the clock back and never left

Onto Borrowdale, an icy and snowy road before the Langdale Pass – no chance to get through, and a scary moment as I struggle to get back over a remote hump-back bridge. With a couple of goes and a decent run of speed, I slide over the slope and smile my way back to the main road.

I’ve seen this place in rain, sunshine, mist and cloud. But this is only the second time in numerous visits since the first time almost twenty years before that my presence has coincided with the diamond combination of blue sky and snow.

(Part Three to follow)