Breaking out of Innellan - visiting England. First time in six months
Stopped over in Stafford at a rather sterile premier inn called the Spitfire. Although, as per usual the room was excellent, clean, comfortable and very conveniently situated close to the M6.
Following day, a quiet Saturday morning, dodged the traffic through Birmingham and headed down the M5 , eventually traversing the outer perimeter of Bath before heading deep into the heart of Wiltshire.
The buzz of Bath emanated from the visual displays in the stylish shop windows as we delved into the centre before shooting off towards our destination. Longleat safari park
This was a rather disappointing experience. A pity as Judith had been wanting to visit the Park for many years.
The experience was ruined by the mass of cars, all crawling round the game reserve. Bumper to bumper, reminiscent of the slow moving traffic on the M25. In fact the animal kingdom had turned into a giant car park.
It didn’t help by the incessant cloud bursts from a raging storm called Alex, that was sweeping North from France where it had a devastating effect. Leaving two dead and 20 missing. For us it was just an inconvenience which we were able to work through and make the most of the wet wild life experience.
Stayed over in Frome at another Premier Inn, a massive hotel set amongst an industrial estate. But it was adequate and convenient. Especially for an evening meal of pearly white cod in a crispy batter and too many hand cut chips, cooked in what tasted like dripping. All good for the taste buds if not the arteries. From a chippy Up the road at the White Row Farm shop. It was excellent. Ate in their restaurant which at 6pm was not very busy. We left just as it started filling up. Good for them, even better for us where self distancing was concerned. Outside the queue for takeaway was growing longer by the minute.
Next day Breakfast of porridge, pot noodle style, just added boiling water for four minutes, stirring the glutinous mass into a creamy paste. Two sachets of Demerara sugar and a few dollops of thick yoghurt transformed it from wallpaper paste to an enjoyable start to the day.
Which was more than can be said for the weather. It was blowing a gale and rain was bouncing off the tarmac. In fact most of the roads had become waterways, tarmac based canals, with the occasional full blown river to manoeuvre through.
Headed firstly to Glastonbury Tor in the county of Somerset.
Although difficult to see through the windscreen as the wipers were going full tilt to maintain some visibility. Circled the town, which seemed steeped in history. So much so, that we decided to alter course and drive through the high street. Amazing place. Well worth a visit on a day that you could walk instead of float down the pavement.
The next destination was the rather gentile and interesting holiday town of Minehead in Somerset before heading up hill and down dale, with similarities to Scotland, especially as we clipped the edge of Exmoor.
Headed down to Porlock Weir only a short drive west of Porlock, we followed the road along the coast to the small harbour hamlet of Porlock Weir. Drove down to the bay with its narrow lanes, twisting bends, high hedges and banks obliterating our view. You didn’t get the full effect until you reached the pounding waves of the sea, the harbour and a small tightly packed village. A really secluded spot with a few restaurants for a bite to eat. Not that we had time stop for lunch. After all it was a travelling day, which had been allocated as a fasting day. So a Apple, a few slices of chorizo and a bag of quavers. Believe it or not, it’s really tasty.
Judith had noticed a different route to get us on our way. This took us up the winding lanes, hugging the coast before sharply climbing through an unmanned toll gate. The path meandered through overhanging trees by the side of a gushing and overflowing stream that was about to escape its banks. We bumped and bounced unperturbed onwards and upwards, through the rain and darkening sky’s. Eventually coming out onto moorland and what looked like the preparations for a shoot. Thousands of pheasants were congregating around feeding points. Many stupidly overflowing onto the track looking for an alternative method of slaughter.
Lynton A quaint fisherman’s village at the foot of a gorge, with the river roaring down in full spelt. You can see how in the past this little village became awash and almost washed away by the violent torrents tumbling down from Exmoor. In 1952 the two rivers flooded and a torrent of water washed many cottages into the sea with the loss of 34 lives and demolished nearly a 100 homes.
Managed to park up and have a stroll through the rain, eventually escaping into the dry of a coffee shop for coffee and cake. With views of the water powered cliff railway and views out to see.
Bideford, from the tourist blurb on the closed tourist information office was at one time Britain’s largest port.
Lunch of a all day breakfast and unlimited coffee at a weatherspoons pub & restaurant, The Rose Salterne in Bideford, for less than two coffees in Starbucks. Unbelievable value.
The Satnav and Judith’s inquisitive nature , took us down a potholed track. Past a couple of farms before entering a narrower path which became steeper, filled with mud. Sweat pouring from brow, managed to get down to a rickety old bridge and the prospect of a hill climb on a similar track. Emerged after many slips and slides at the top of the hill, only to find that it was a bridal path. The car looked as if it had been in a motor cross, mud splattered everywhere and two rather shaken yet relieved souls inside.
Eventually reached Hartland Quay, and this time it was a young boy with a ice cream tub of money, requesting payment to enter the area. Fortunately found an old wrinkled old fiver stuffed in the back of my wallet. With this we were able to park in a parking lot were the mud came up to our ankles.
Unperturbed, we walked down to the beach, after which we climbed back to the top of the cliff and spent a rather blustery 40 minutes following the path westerly. Absolutely gorgeous, and definitely a part of the coastal path route that we need to do in the future.
Up early and left our temporary home in Bideford and drove to take up our time slotted entry to RHS Rosemore in North Devon. Beautiful. Although full of Yummy Mummies on days out with their fellow mummies and buggies.
After a good few hours we headed towards Lyme Regis, just as the schools emptied out. Mad. Stopped off to have a tea with Yvonne before parking up at Charmouth bay for a bit of fossil hunting.
Weymouth proved to be a really interesting place. Beautiful sandy beach’s, glorious mix of old and new architecture, sporting a small fisherman’s port and quay. Narrow streets and alleys - you could just imagine the four riggers in harbour, sailors drinking to excess, pirates bringing in contraband and young drunken lads being press ganged into the navy.
Booked a table at Fish N Fritz. Surprise, surprise, a fish and chip restaurant. Delicate flavoured chunks of heaven in the form of battered cod. They had a large and small size with unlimited giant chips. Asked the young waitress the difference and was informed that large was at least 12 inches long, and small was just a little less. Went for the small cod @ £10.50 and struggled to eat it all.
The following day after breakfast we headed to Portland Bill lighthouse. But before we reached the point we had to climb up high with great views of Chesil Beach as it reached out into oblivion. Past the Portland stone quarries with their ancient cranes hugging the cliffs. Then down to the point, with the lighthouse standing to attention as the rough seas crashed against the sea defences.
After a swift lunch, another fast day. We headed East, back through Weymouth, along the front and out to St Oswald’s Bay. And a car park that charged a minimum of £5. Can’t get to grips with these charges for parking. We are spoilt in Scotland with all the free parking. Must be subsidised by the U.K. government. Walked over to Lulworth Cove and the stair Hole, returning to see the Curdle door, a natural limestone arch.
Tired from the climb, returned to the hotel to collapse into a bath. You can always rely on a Premier Inn to have a good bath with oodles of hot water.
There is nothing like a long soak in a hot bath after a strenuous days walking. To laze in the all encompassing heat, the hotter the better. In fact, l like to leave the tap running at its hottest, just a low constant stream, with the excess pouring out the overflow. Richard Attenborough would not be impressed. Fell into bad habits whilst travelling in Japan. They love their hot tubs and baths, often from geothermally heated springs. You emerge from the soaking completely pink, just like a lobster.
For me it’s the relaxation, feet stuck out the end, glass of wine within reach. Your mind can just wander into oblivion. That is until you realise you only have five minutes to dry, dress and get out of the hotel for dinner.
Had a lovely time with Norma and Michael in Milford on Sea. Walked along the seafront to sea the new defences being installed. Five and seven ton boulders rolled into the water along the decaying defences. Each gigantic hauler individually positioned with great care. Each boulder being handled many time’s until it fits neatly into position. Must be on an hourly rate. Yes l am a cynic. Especially after reading a report surrounding the employment of 1114 Deloitte and Touché consultants at a daily rate per person of £2400 per day to manage the contact and trace system. Don’t object to the number of employees or the rate. I object to the fact that it wasn’t put out to tender, and the system of track & trace doesn’t work. According to the Guardian (not a newspaper l would normally delve into, l hasten to add) only one venue in the past 16 days has been notified of a COVID outbreak in their business.
We will move on, because, fortunately we didn’t discuss anything relating to the present situation whilst sipping bubbly and diving into a lovely lunch, prepared by Norma.
The area surrounding their house was amazing, yet there did seem to be a high proportion of yummy mummies or should l refer to them as a consternation of mother’s. Then again, their husbands must be high flyers or have a private income to afford to live in the area. Definitely a vibrant area full of hip pubs and eating out places.
After a trip to the local area, we shot off to catch the iow ferry from Lymington.
A very pleasant experience, especially as it was warm enough (only just) to sit out on the top deck. It made a change to be able to see, what with my glasses not steaming up, due to not wearing my mask. Especially with the added benefit of fewer people on top, and gale forced winds blowing away any COVID germs from fellow travellers.
Steve and Jean were waiting in their car as we arrived in Yarmouth. We followed them to their holiday let. A superb double caravan. In fact it was more than that. It was immaculate, modern, spacious and airy. As faraway from a caravan you could imagine.
Four days of walking, talking, eating, drinking and games, plenty of them. Canasta, Whist, sequence, Mexican train. A cornucopia of feats around the table. Everyone vying to be champion of one game or another.
Downtime had us driving along narrow lanes, revisiting haunts that we frequented back in 1979, including the Bob Dylan festival.
Our best walk was from Freshwater to the Needles and back. What a glorious walk, and the weather was magnificent.
The sail away at 8am from Fishbourne was exciting, especially as we haven’t been on a ship since being dumped in Fremantle in March.
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