Early this morning with a spring in our steps we decided purposefully that it was time Laurel got on a tram and that we would go to Blackpool. We breakfasted, packed ourselves up, changed a very messy nappy and gollee if it's not one in the afternoon already. We still don't quite get where the hours between eleven and one went - perhaps something about washing. Who knows. Undeterred by such time dilation we got in the car and headed up the M61. It started chucking it down. It was around this point that we spotted a brown sign pointing to Martin Mere and went there instead as it was good weather for ducks. The brown signs took us past Chorley (Lancs) quite a lot of countryside some place called Euxton, through some more countryside and a long way into the very middle of nowhere.

Martin Mere itself turned out to be very pleasant - there were lots of ducks. Millions and millions of them. BIg ducks, little ducks, geese, swans, flamingos, pigeons, more ducks, ducklings, you name it. Laurel was of course totally delighted by this and was carried around with her arms flapping making wild noises at all passers by. There was clearly a couple of coach loads of elderly bus drivers and their portly wives. They were all wearing rather battered blue suits with big gold dangly emblems on them and inevitably one of them decided to poke Laurel on the way past and tell us well done whatever that is supposed to mean. Perhaps they belong to the Rotarian Lion Bus Drivers Cult and are tasked with making bus drivers evolve into some new advanced species.

There are also a lot of benches, each and every one dedicated to someone or other. We sat on Alma Jackson and ate crisps. The best bit had to be the baby changing facilities which were utterly enormous. You could probably fit about twenty people in there if you needed to. Laurel still did a fine job of trying to wriggle herself off the sizeable bench and onto the floor.