YOU cannot beat a sheep and fiddles weekend if you want to get away from it all.

A trip to the Lake District to stay with my sister provided a pleasant change of scenery and a welcome brush with rural life.

There were lots of sheep to be seen as farming struggles to get back to normal after the foot and mouth outbreak -- and I heard two good tales.

It seems that there is a "failed" sheep dog called Ben in those parts who did not cut the mustard because of a basic failing.

He is afraid of sheep.

You can see how that might be something of a problem in much the same way that being frightened of the dark does not help if you want to be a night watchman.

But Ben makes up for it by demonstrating a willingness to round up humans instead.

Visitors find it slightly unnerving to be circled in this way, but it amuses me to picture the scene.

It also makes me wonder whether there are other career opportunities available to Ben, such as herding mixed infants in playgrounds or helping Japanese tourists find their coach.

He might also be useful in stately homes and cathedrals when the tour guide is irritated by stragglers.

But enough about Ben. Another story says a lot about the perceptions of children in urban environments who become over-reliant on theme parks for holidays and entertainment.

One such child from somewhere like Bolton -- not used to the delights of the countryside -- was astonished to see so many sheep at once.

"Wow!" he was overheard to say.

"We must be in Sheep World!"

Maybe there is an idea there for some enterprising farmer to explore.

My weekend included a Saturday night out in Barrow-in-Furness, an unusual occurence for many, I'm sure.

There is a magnificent town hall there and a council-owned arts centre called forum 28. We saw a performance by seven lively musicians, well-known to folkies, called Blazin' Fiddles -- five fiddlers, a guitarist and a keyboards player.

The place holds 485 people and the audience of 435 clapped and stamped along with great enthusiasm.

Unfortunately, I felt as though I had intruded in some strange rite appreciated by an unfamiliar tribe.

The musicianship was clearly terrific, but there was only so much repetitive jiggery from the Highlands and Islands that I could take without wanting to snooze.

I found myself willing it to end and my mind went back to a night when I had similar feelings -- Friday, April 14, 1967.

This will sound like heresy, but I was more than happy when Jimi Hendrix -- now accorded God-like status -- finished his spot on stage at the Odeon in Bolton.

The other "turns" included the Walker Brothers, Cat Stevens and Englebert Humperdinck. Younger people seem genuinely impressed when I tell them that I saw Hendrix play.

Unfortunately, all I can remember is the fearful racket when he thrust his guitar close to the amplifiers and the strange noises he created when he lay on his back on the stage and played the instrument with his teeth.

The records are great, though.