THIS week's diary comes from the Lake District, but from a part which is often forgotten or ignored. Most of us either know about, or have visited, the beautiful and spectacular mountainous scenery in the central area, around Derwentwater, Ullswater, Windermere and Grasmere, but comparatively few appear to have ventured a short distance further south, to the surprisingly dramatic shores of Morecambe Bay.

The focus for such a visit is a district sometimes called South Lakeland but which is also publicised as the Lakeland Peninsulas. Certainly, one of those peninsulas is heavily industrialised in and around Barrow-in-Furness but tucked into the northern-most tip of Morecambe Bay, to the East of a smaller peninsula, is the delightfully quaint seaside resort of Grange-over- Sands.

It is surrounded by stunning countryside, pretty villages, wonderful castles and interesting country houses with Coniston Water nearby. Until the local authority boundary changes of 1974, this area lay within the county of Lancashire and for that reason, it is omitted from most of the older Lake District guide books; indeed, I have a very comprehensive map of the Lake District which completely ignores this area, ending with the most southerly tip of Windermere. It seems that, in the past, it was not considered part of the English Lake District but this was rectified by the 1974 administrative county boundary changes.

Our base was Grange-over-Sands, an unspoilt resort close to the northern tip of Morecambe Bay and not far from Cartmel Priory. Although this is very much a northern seaside town, it faces due south and is thought to be the only south-facing resort in the north of England. It derives great benefit from the Gulf Stream and so the climate is mild; it is sheltered from the north by Hampsfell and avoids the general rainfall which one associates with the Lake District.

The small town has its own micro-climate which allows sub-tropical plants to thrive; palm trees grow along its promenade and other exotic plants can be seen in the many hillside gardens. There is a distinct Edwardian feel to the town. It is not like other seaside resorts - there are no tatty buildings, noisy amusement arcades, cheap cafes, winkle stalls or shops selling bucket and spades alongside rubbishy souvenirs. Instead, there is an air of past gentility and style which the town has managed to retain - indeed, on the weekend of our visit, a flourishing Edwardian festival, with attendants in period costume, was in full swing in Park Road gardens, the central focus of which was a Victorian bandstand which had once graced the promenade.

The graceful bandstand was moved in the 20s because ladies attending musical events complained that passing trains stained their clothes with soot - and that busy railway line still runs alongside the promenade, although the engines are now diesel powered.

The promenade is a showpiece. A mile and a half long, it runs below the town alongside the shores of Morecambe Bay and is rich with flowers and other plants. As a place for a long, gentle stroll, it is unsurpassed and although it overlooks the sands, this is not the sort of beach one generally associates with holiday resorts.

Old photographs of Grange depict the promenade with the high tide alongside but when the railway came in 1857 - to bring visitors to this newly discovered resort - it also brought a new method of dealing with freight. Hitherto, ocean-going ships would sail into the bay, to ports like Arnside which lies directly opposite Grange, and dredgers kept the channels clear for these vessels.

But as the railway rendered sea-transport obsolete, so the dredgers ceased their endless excavations and now the area is a huge, seemingly endless stretch of wet sand, often covered by the tide. But it is not safe sand - notices warn of quicksands, hidden crevices and fast-rising tides and so the resort of Grange-over- Sands does not attract beach-lovers.

It is possible, however, to walk across those sands to the other side of the bay - but an experienced guide is necessary. This is known as the cross bay walk and can only be achieved at certain times. When the tide permits, the officially appointed Queen's sands guide, who lives in a house especially assigned to him, must be contacted and he will escort parties through the treacherous quicksands to the far side of the bay.

We explored Arnside and Cartmel, and discovered the wonderfully named Flookborough, close to which is Humphrey Head Point which reaches into Morecambe Bay. It was here that the last wolf in England made its home, while in the ornamental gardens at Grange is England's tallest living Christmas tree. This is a 100ft high Wellingtonia which is draped with lights every Christmas, then just along the road is Holker Hall with yet more gardens and a motor museum which reminded me so much of most village garages!

They're back

Our wagtail saga continues. With the departure of the first family of fledglings, we thought our time as custodians of the wagtails was over, but no! The pair - we think it is the same pair - have refurbished their old nest with a few feathers and bits of wool and, as I write these notes, they are taking turns sitting on their second clutch of eggs.

They do seem to have a well-ordered system of sharing the burden. The male bird will arrive on the patio to chirp a few times and this seems to be the signal for the female to leave for a break. She then flies beyond the bottom of our garden to a stream which, I am sure, provides her with an opportunity for a bath and a drink, plus some food. At that point, her mate takes over.

When the weather is fine and warm, we enjoy our coffee and even lunch in the garden, only five or six feet from their nest, but these birds, which now seem to have developed more bravado in our presence, lose no time in letting us know they are busy nesting and do not like their work to be interrupted for too long.

Upon arrival for his turn on the nest, the male will stand a few feet from us, chirping and looking at us with sharp little eyes, as if to say: "Look folks, it's all right for you but we've work to do, so if you don't mind, go back into the house and then we can continue. We're not going to reveal the presence of our nest while you are sitting here." And so we obey their demands. We do know the precise location of their nest (we found it after they had vacated it last time) but we let them think we are ignorant of that fact. We never attempt to look into it while they are around.

From inside the house, we can observe all their activities, apart from the time they are actually on the nest, but it looks as if we are heading for another month of sharing our patio with yet more pied wagtails. I wonder where the last lot went?

Rhea's rant

And now it's time for another Rhea rant! This week, I watched a TV programme which highlighted the modern problems of waste disposal. It seems we are generating vast quantities of domestic waste but a close look at the source of our rubbish shows that much of it comes in the form of packing and packaging, chiefly from the supermarkets. Recently, for example, I bought a large pack of canned drinks, a dozen to be precise. They were in a large cardboard box which in turn was tightly wrapped in plastic - both those wrappings were unnecessary. At home, I had to dispose of them and so they were placed in the dustbin. That's what most of us do. But then what happens to that waste? In most cases, it is used as landfill, to lie buried and hopefully rot some time during the next few hundred years.

How much more convenient it would be if everyone was allowed to burn such combustibles. Perhaps we should launch a campaign for the return of the bonfire! I'm sure the few minutes of smoke generated by a lovely, well-stoked bonfire does less harm to the environment than the burying of plastics which may never be broken up by the ground. And bonfire smoke is very good for keeping at bay diseases in fruit trees - just let that lovely smoke caress the foliage and away go all those bugs and nasty things! Let us rant for bonfires and even open fires in all houses!