Berwick upon Tweed

Monday

I admit I had preconceived ideas about Berwick and they weren’t that favourable. It turns out it wasn’t the “upon Tweed” version I’d got in mind – an important distinction. The town came as a very pleasant surprise, then: Cheapish parking, Tudor town walls, an impressive viaduct spanning the river and a high street still recognisable from the Lowry painting.

There’s something about the cry of seagulls that immediately lifts my spirits. Perhaps I associate them with childhood holidays or perhaps it’s just the excitement of knowing I’m by the sea again. From the moment we parked their shrieking call had me lifting my head to feel the sun on my face, let the breeze blow through my hair and taking tangy, seaweed-scented gulps of air. Of course, if it had been bucketing it down it might have been a different story!

As it was, the warm sunshine allowed us to stroll around the old military defences of the town, a reminder of the bloody border warfare of the past. Today the embankments are grassed over and park-like, with benches overlooking the sea and river and views over the high street and to the 28 arches of the Victorian viaduct.

But there was another town we wanted to visit before the weather closed in: Eyemouth, a short distance across the border in Scotland. This had been recommended to us just as we were leaving the campsite as being “like a village in Cornwall”. Unfortunately, we can’t really vouch for the truth of this statement as we hadn’t got far around the active fishing port before the black clouds and threatening rumbles had us heading for shelter in a popular fish and chip shop. An early lunch, then. Of course.

 

A River Runs Through It

Sunday

It’s raining. I mean, it’s raining in Biblical proportions. Somebody tell Noah. It’s so bad we’ve got our sailing boots out. That is saying something as we never wore them in anger during the four years we were on the boat. Now they’ll come in as sturdy wellies. And boy, do we need them.

The rain really got going during the night and went on and on and on. Not just any old rain but pounding on the caravan roof loud enough to not be able to hear the television at full volume. We’re pitched on the slightest of inclines here in Carlisle. On grass. We were reassured on arrival by the warden who said how well it drained and in all his 50 years here they never had a problem. Well, they’ve got one today.

Neil suggested we put the awning away yesterday but I persuaded him against it as I thought it would come in to its own during the rain, giving us extra space. Well, there’s a river running through it today so it’s not much use and putting it away will be something of a challenge now. We’re due to leave tomorrow so fingers crossed it doesn’t all turn into a quagmire. I guess it’s all in the great adventure that is caravanning. Hmm. 

All Change

Borrowdale Pictures:

Walking in the foothills of Cat Bells. There was no way I was going to the top!

Such a pretty tea garden a pleasant walk from the campsite.

And the cream tea isn’t half bad either! Well, I need a bit of sustenance every now and then. 

All Change

When Neil opened the roof blind on Tuesday morning the bright, early morning light didn’t dazzle the way we’ve become used to. The clouds hung heavily seemingly touching the tree tops above us. Twitter was alive with descriptions of the storms and relief at the fresher feel to the air. It also made a refreshing change from royal baby jokes.

It wasn’t long before the first rumble reached us here in the north of England. The trees rustled alarmingly, the tops swaying as the storm approached. As rapidly as the hubbub had started just as suddenly a heavy stillness settled over the campsite.

 Minutes later, as the BBC was laying on the royal news with a trowel, the broadcaster was suddenly drowned out by the rising crescendo of thunder outside. As each roar intensified the caravan trembled and shuddered with each clap. We’d zipped up the awning as soon as we realised the rain was on its way and, thankfully, it remained upright and dry inside.

 Although the storm was short lived it was beginning to look like we’d seen the best of the summer with thundery and “unsettled” weather forecast for the foreseeable future and we were beginning to see the disadvantages of our campsite. Blissfully cool and shady during the heatwave, the rain had turned the hard-standing into a mulch of soggy leaves along with rotting pine needles and cones, all of which were making their way inside the caravan. The awning and the exterior of the ‘van were encrusted with them. The previously welcome shade made the interior dark and depressing while the dank meant the awning wasn’t going to dry out.

Unsurprisingly then, we took the decision to leave the site a little early, wrapping the awning while still damp and heading a mere 45 miles to Carlisle and urbanization. Asda may be nearer than the lakes and hills and it feels like we’re camping on someone’s back lawn but it’s none the worse for that. We’re going to the cinema and for a meal out while we’re here and I’ve already had a dose of retail therapy. A change is as good as a rest. 

Awning

Sunday

 As the unbelievable British summer continues (thunderstorms due soon, of course) we’ve decided to spend another week in the Lake District, this time in Borrowdale right on the edge of Derwent Water. It has also meant that we have finally got the barbeque out. I’m not sure quite why it has taken us so long to get around to using our Cadac, specially purchased for the caravan, but it is probably due to the fact that we now have an awning to leave it ready set up in.

Yes, we’ve succumbed to an awning. Not the huge, heavy affair that came with the caravan but one of the lightweight porch awnings that we see so many of. Having seen an elderly couple put one up with the greatest of ease while we were in Tewkesbury we finally became convinced that we should get one.

The colour (pale gold) tones in beautifully with the caravan and I get a kick each time I see it set up on our shady, woodland pitch. To be honest we haven’t made the neatest of jobs of putting it up (there’s definitely some fine tuning needed) and it took us quite a while longer than the couple we watched but it was our first attempt. The only problem has been that as soon as it was up it immediately filled with assorted flying insects, some of them nasty little bug**s as the bites on my legs testify. So we haven’t been sitting around in it much yet. Fly spray required. 

 

Lake District

Thursday

The Lake District wasn’t really meant for caravans. Sure the motorway access roads are dual carriageway but as soon as you get off them you risk life and aluminium. As all other road-users, including lorries and buses, have to travel along them too it can get pretty hair-raising. Close encounters with pretty dry stone walling tend to change your opinion of its picturesque qualities when the only vision you can see is an enormous slash down the side of the ‘van.

Fortunately, in a caravan rather than a motor home (boy did we make the right decision!) you only have to take the kamikaze option travelling to and from the site. Which is just as well for the sake of my clenched jaw joint. Why cyclists think it’s a good idea to choose these roads for fun is beyond me.

I abandoned Neil to it while I went home for a few days taking the car. Don’t feel too sorry for him. He was as happy as the proverbial pig dining nightly on fish and chips or Fray Bentos pies and reducing the stash of Carling to zero cans. It also meant, though, that he did some of the walks that there was no way I would have done. His pictures prove he did it, too: steep, craggy paths; distant glimpses of the lakes far below and tiered waterfalls (with no pipes – eat your heart out Nidri). I can see why he does it. That doesn’t mean I’ll be doing any in the near future.

When I returned he did persuade me to do one of the “moderate” graded walks in his book. He’ll probably hesitate to suggest it again, though. I’m afraid I left him in no doubt that I was not enjoying the clamber up to the Latterbarrow cairn. Sitting in the shade of the cairn, while my heart rate and body temperature returned to safe levels, was the best bit. But I did it and have the picture to prove it.

Tewkesbury

Monday

You don’t usually get caravan sites right in the centre of town like the one in Tewkesbury. With its medieval buildings and country feel it’s surprisingly difficult to get a good picture of the town. This is mainly due to the fact that it is not pedestrianised and the lovely old buildings have always got cars parked around them. Of course if it were pedestrianised we wouldn’t have been able to get the caravan into what is effectively a levelled field behind the abbey.

 

Tewkesbury has been caught in a bit of a time warp in some ways because of its inability to expand. Situated at a junction of two major rivers, the Severn and the Avon, it is very prone to flooding. The caravan site itself is effectively on part of the flood plains that surround the town. Other caravaners told us about being woken in the early hours of the morning and being warned to get out within the hour as the flood waters were coming in. It must have been chaos with everyone trying to hitch up at the same time!

 

On lovely sunny days this year, though, it was a pleasure to walk along the river bank with only hedges of wild seeded rape flowers blocking the views. 

South Wales

Sunday

We’ve had a couple of weeks on the South Wales coast. This is an area of the country we both have vivid memories of from childhood holidays. The areas we remember are still recognisable, if more built up, but the internet and mobile phones might as well not have been invented. Or supermarkets.

Both sites, the first on the Gower peninsular, the second in Freshwater East near Tenby, were right on the coast, truly beautiful locations but a pretty exhausting walk to the nearest pub. Which explains why we’re now in Tewkesbury town centre. Amazing but true. The site is in a field right by the Abbey and more pubs and restaurants than you can reasonably crawl around in the four nights we’ll be here.

That’s not to say, of course, that we didn’t enjoy our time in South Wales. The coast is stunning. Much is spoken of the Cornish coast but this area takes some beating. So, some photographs:

Worm’s Head, Rhosili on the Gower.

 

Taking a break, Oxwich Bay, Gower.

 

A surprisingly gentile Tenby. Perhaps it becomes more ‘Buckets and Spades’ in the school holidays.

 

Unquestionably, though, our favourite walk has been through the Stackpole estate. Owned by the National Trust it is worth the annual membership fee in its own right. The walk takes you through woodland, past lily ponds and along cliff tops with unsurpassed views. The area is teeming with wildlife; swans with their signets, wild horses with their foals, damsel and dragonflies copulating on lily pads and a heart-stopping, unforgettable glimpse of otters, smooth and sleek, chasing fish and each other amongst the reeds. Oh, and I finally got my birthday cream tea. Sometimes it’s worth being without the internet. 

 

Barafundle Bay – simply beautiful. Is there a better beach?

On Wild Horses

Not sure exactly what bird this is but he seemed to be enjoying himself drying his wings in the sun. 

Blowing Up Caravans

Tuesday

We once nearly ran in to Jeremy Clarkson in Corfu. Perhaps. While we were in Kassiopi, the rumour was going round that he had, as might be expected, roared in to the harbour on some super, mega speed boat and was cavorting in a favourite bar of ours accompanied by a very drunk young woman. These rumours do go round. We didn’t see him.

Clarkson’s disdain for caravans is well known. He, who famously said that strikers should be taken out and shot in front of their families (he was taken out of context and was only joking, of course) now, according to Joseph Dunn in The Sunday Times, wants to know what the people who buy caravans are like. So he and James May, for the further edification of the Top Gear Neanderthals, “investigate by immersing themselves in a world of beige trousers, stodgy lunches and trips to the garden centre in order to understand better the life of the caravanner.” How droll, I can’t wait.

As a fully paid up member of the Chipping Norton Set (along with David Cameron and Rebecca Brooks) Clarkson, like most bullies, has no hesitation in making fun of anything and anybody and we, the plebs, just lap it up, paying him obscene amounts from our taxes aka the licences fee. To be fair, he is so popular he actually makes money for the BBC. He simply can’t go too far. The more criticism he gets from those sympathising with his victims the higher his ratings soar. So that’s alright then.

As you may have gathered, I loathe and detest the man and all he stands for. However, he can do no wrong in Neil’s eyes. He won’t be insulted by the stereotype. He ‘gets’ Clarkson. He and millions like him will tune in to Top Gear and laugh at his absurd assumptions and scripted chatter. Well, that’s show business, folks. JC won’t lose any sleep in the highly unlikely event he should chance upon these words and I’m sure my dislike would be returned. Only he’d express himself much more wittily.

So is there a typical caravan owner? It seems to me we come from all walks of life. Except, of course, the Chipping Norton Set. From what we have seen, in the short space of time we’ve been rolling, most seem to be retired. This is probably a wrong assumption, though, as we have yet to experience the school holidays when it is more likely families will have their caravans out and about. Certainly there are more present at weekends. Clarkson may also be surprised at how many, like us, are former boat owners and sailors. But then, the last episode of Top Gear, so I’m told, involved him racing a catamaran in a car. Inspired.

I can only assume it is beyond his comprehension to understand why we do it. I hope he gets stuck behind us this weekend.