“FORGET wine, water is the new snobs’ tipple,” wrote Robert Hardman in a refreshing article in the Daily Mail.

Most readers of this column know of the superb quality of Lakeland water, much of which provides Manchester with a supply, but we have never treated ourselves to deep sea water at £20 a bottle or melted iceberg at £15.

For Cumbrians do not have the opportunity of selecting drinks from the water menu at Claridge’s, in London, one of the world’s poshest hotels.

What’s your choice? Will it be the £21 Just Born Spring Drops, described as “light and not aggressive”? Or, perhaps, the Volcanic Spring Water from the Tai Tapu spring at the bottom of a volcano in New Zealand — a “pleasant, smooth sensation on the palate”?

Another treat from the other side of the world is King Island Cloud Juice, from Tasmania, for every bottle contains 9,750 drops of rain!

The wide-ranging waters on offer — underground, glacier, iceberg, deep sea and rain — sound very tempting, but are ridiculously expensive.

Most readers of this will ignore overseas categories and stick with Cumbrian Lake Supreme, which is pure, refreshing and cheap.

BUOYANT VILLAGE OF CULGAITH

Tramps and pedlars plod from village to village once again, seeking scraps of cash and a barn in which to spend the night — thanks to a revised history of Culgaith.

Then there was the herring man, calling out “Fresh herring, fresh herring” in loud tones, as he moved along the village street in a horse and cart.

A favourite with children was the barrel organ man, a black-haired Italian with a flashing smile. Ruddy Mary and son Jim were more practical visitors, pushing an old pram and selling rudd with which housewives reddened doorsteps and wall tops.

The agricultural scene has changed vastly over the years, although Culgaith farmers still have to endure the Helm wind. Every farm had a few carthorses and the corn was once cut with scythes and threshed with flails.

Time was when the village boasted a brass band, with Jim Huddart as bandmaster. The musicians accompanied parishioners taking part in boundary ridings, as well as playing at local events like Patterdale flower show, Alston agricultural show and the Band of Hope gatherings.

Culgaith must have been a musical village, for there was also a choral society for many years.

A notable achievement was the creation of a recreation ground, with swimming bath and children’s playground — a project which was initiated by the esteemed headmaster of Culgaith School, W. H. Huddart.

The Story of Culgaith and its People, written by Ada Huddart in 1959 and updated by Kathleen Davidson, reflects a friendly and buoyant village.

KISS AND TELL

In the recent furore over an alleged attempt to blackmail a minor member of the Royal family, somebody dug out the memoirs of Hariette Wilson, a notorious prostitute of the early-1800s, whose “kiss and tell” book sent a shiver through many in high places.

Ahead of publication, she approached all the men she had written about, making offers to edit them out of the scandalous document on payment of £200.

This clear attempt at blackmail, recalled in The Times, is of interest locally because one of the victims of the crime was Lord Brougham, of Brougham Hall, Penrith, a leading politician, who was at one time Lord Chancellor. He apparently decided the blackmail was cheap at the price and paid up.

However, Hariette’s ploy failed to solve her financial problems, for she again wrote to Lord Brougham, somewhat incoherently, saying: “£30-£40-£5 — grateful — send me assistance — lend me — advance — DEBTS.”

ARE YOU COMPATIBLE

AND WELL-MANNERED?

There are a great many attractive women about these days. Not just attractive, but blonde and beautiful, cultured and intelligent, elegant, vivacious, wicked and (in a unique case) “Wild about Jaffa cakes”.

Alas, you are unlikely to spot any of these sassy, sophisticated or glamorous females in King Street, Penrith, the main street of Shap or at Alston Townfoot.

For they prefer to hide their charms behind the anonymity of box numbers and telephone numbers on the “Encounters” page of the Sunday Times.

It pays to advertise and the lovely ladies try to capture the attention of genuine, caring, intelligent, well-travelled and solvent men, with whom to share bottles of champagne, enter exciting new phases and live life to the full.

Almost every form of human activity depends on public relations these days.

Time was when you could stroll into town, call in a milkbar and find an attractive companion for the evening (or for life).

Whatever happened to love at first sight?