Countdown

Somewhere in the depths of our 1TB external hard drive, amongst archived 'C' drives from defunct PCs, there lies a forgotten Excel spreadsheet listing motorhomes of desire. Ten years ago we began taking Sunday trips out to Brownhills, Oaktree, Don Armotts;  baffled by the differing layouts, cab styles, brands, and chassis, we made a spreadsheet with our requirements listed across the top, and differing motorhomes down the side. What does that reveal?

1.  I'm a boring git obsessed with planning - true
2.  We were, even in our late 40's hankering after a freer existence - true
3. That, despite our utter ignorance, we really, really, really really wanted to buy a motorhome.

But, with three kids at school, a mortgage with lots of noughts on the end and shiny vehicles of desire with lots of noughts on the windscreen - what hope was there.

We are, nothing if not determined. The conclusion on the spreadsheet was simple - the motorhome we needed was a Rollerteam 600g, with a rear double bed and a big garage beneath.

 It never happened.

Instead, last year we acquired Maisy, an LMC Liberty of a certain age with....a rear double bed and a big garage beneath. Proving...dreams can come true.

So, when I announced to my staff in November 2012 that I intended to take early retirement, someone asked, 'What are you going to do?

I hesitated for a moment, then replied, "Drive onto a ferry in Dover with a single ticket".

That dream has been a bit slow to come to fruition. Gill kept on working for another year, that really helped the finances. Our youngest still had to sit her A levels - now she has, and she's off to Uni in three weeks.

Just to complicate matters, for some weird reason connected with having dropped out of University in 1974, I decided it would be a great idea to do an M.A. The dissertation is due in soon, and I will make the hand-in date with only a minor mental breakdown.....

Best of all - the insurers have OKed the plan to leave Maisy in a secure parking place in Alicante over Christmas. Gill's sorted the Tesco Clubcard points so we get a cheap tunnel crossing. The damaged window in the van has been fixed today and we did get change out of £500 (£2,38). We've invested in a Safefill refillable LPG system...

Soon, very soon, end of September, we ARE going to drive into Calais without a return ticket. Moral of the story....simple. You CAN make your dreams come true.

So where will we go? South of France, Spain, then perhaps on to Portugal after New Year. Wherever we go, we won't get  lost; we could rival Amazon for the number of  guide books we've got in stock....but for now, back to the dissertation!

....some days later

Dissertation more or less finished, (I do know an awful lot more than I used to about postmodern French theorists,,,,now that's going to come handy when I need to swap the gas cylinder...)

So, in celebration of 20,434 words of unmitigated, but fully referenced waffle, I decided to clean the van.

Vurry Stroinge

Sometimes you end up feeling like a complete plonker. Today was one of them. We set-off for home from Worcestershire thinking about where to stop for lunch. Rather than grind up the M5 and M6 we opted to skirt to the west of Birmingham and visit parts of North Worcestershire and Shropshire that we had never visited before. So here was my lunch-stop suggestion. Stourport on Severn. It was, according to Hoskins, a canal boom town, thriving in the early 1800s as the place where the newly constructed Shropshire/Worcestershire canal meets the river Severn. Lock 'staircases' were constructed, wharves, canal basins and Warehouses were built, and a handsome Regency period high street built alongside the new canal hub. Sounds wonderful I thought. I was expecting Cheltenham with narrow boats. What Hoskin's learned book on landscape failed to mention was that following the demise of the town's fortunes on the arrival of the railway, the place re-invented itself as a place for working class people from the Black Country to have a bit of a day-out. The resultant mix is strange to say the least. The canal architecture is wonderful, but it co-exists beside a big fun-fair that seems straight out of Blackpool, kiss-me-quick hats and all.

This was probably a fun place to be in 1952, but Stourport has gone the way of most of the rest of English traditional resorts and is looking distinctly run-down. Not just along the river, but the town itself, though still full of lovely early Victorian buildings, has definitely seen better days. The high street has all the tell-tale signs of impoverishment - lots of charity shops, discount clothes shops, fast food places and chip shops, but we wanted to buy  bread buns to make some sandwiches. Nowhere sold bread buns. There was a bakery, but it sold only cakes and pies.

All that being said, the place was packed. It felt slightly rough, and some of the teenagers hanging about the skate park looked distinctly menacing. Now I'm not usually easily menaced, especially by teenagers. I spent 30 years in Further Education working with all kinds of young people and my experience was, that even the scariest tended to be gentle misunderstood souls at heart who just needed a bit of attention and friendly support. I also got pretty adept at spotting the odd exception to the rule and developed an intuition as regards characters who were less than benign, There seemed to be a few of those hanging about. Fine for a Monday afternoon, but I bet the place is pretty lively come Friday night.

Narrow boats and waltzers - an odd combination.

It must have been a hive of industry in its heyday.

Here's where the canal joins the Severn

All the fun of the fair.

Next to historic river craft

Gill above, barge below.

Many a strange burger, but not a bun to be had.....

So, all in all I don't think either of us were at all regretful about jumping into Maisy and escaping Stourport. I had spotted a Forestry Commission Country Park on the edge of Wyre Forest, a tract of ancient woodland near Kidderminster. This place was packed out too, mainly with young families. The place had all the trappings of a Forestry Commission developed site - a bit like Delamere Forest - complete with 'Go Ape' adventure area, waymarked trails laid out especially for kids to find the Gruffalo in the woods. Even more bizarrely - a reminder, in case you were under any illusion, 'there is no such thing as the dog poo fairy....

Time to go home, the strangeness of Albion, it's baffling.

Fancy getting in touch with your inner primate?

If you go down to the woods today

you're in for a big surprise

Glad we cleared that up.....

Room 101

Perhaps like me, you are a fan of the TV show room 101 and find other people's irrational pet hates amusing. Of course your own are all deeply heartfelt principles that go to the very heart of your being, so are absolutely beyond reproach. If however I was ever on the show and forced to come up with something to consign to oblivion, then I think I would have to choose National Trust Tea rooms. It's not just the chintzy decor and Mrs Bucket, WI ambiance, it's the whole clubby assumptions about heritage, especially around stately homes as if their aristocratic owners wealth and privilege has anything in common with the rest of us.

My difficulty is that my feral reaction to the National Trust as an organisation is in direct odds with an interest in art history and architecture, so I am tempted from time to time to lay aside my prejudices and pay up to see some property or other consigned to the grubby hands of the National Trussed, but I always regret it!

I wanted to see Croome Park because it is Capability Brown's first commission. Not only do I enjoy looking at landscape gardens but there is a personal connection. The fields, woods and pathways around the town where I was born were all re-modelled by Brown in the 1770's. So the places where I built dens,  played hide and seek and generally ran wild in when I was a boy, were not wild places at all, but a re-invention of the English countryside re-modelled to fall in line with some imaginary classical landscape dreamed up by Claude Lorraine. So, having been raised on, or rather in Capability Brown, I needed to see his first project.

This would involve managing my NT anger. Things began well enough, although the place was packed-out on this sunny Sunday when we arrived in Maisy, a jolly volunteer waved us into the (free) empty coach bay. The house was used as a hospital for the RAF during WWII. They bequeathed the place a few brick built single storey barracks in the grounds. The ticket office is in one of them. Now starts the hard sell. "Two tickets for just the gardens please", Gill asks politely. The NT gruppenfuhrer does not respond to this simple customer request (its called a transaction, or sale).

 "Have you considered membership, it's very reasonable, and the cost of today's visit would be deducted from the price", retorts gruppenfuhrer NT.

Gill: "Yes, but we decided against it, we go abroad a lot..."

Gruppenfuhrer persists: "For both of you it would only be £95, with today's admission deducted you would only need to visit four or five places and you would in pocket..."

Me: "I'm not sure really it's worth our while...I just want to see the Capability Brown landscaping....

Gruppenfuhrer interpret's 'not sure' as wavering anf tries another tack: "It's Brown's first you know.  "If you like walking, then membership allows you to park free at all the places the National Trust own, like coastal parks....

Gill: " No, we really only want a ticket for the gardens, thank you."

Gruppenfuhrer gives up and pushes a 'Gift Aid' form my way... I start to fill it in, Name, Address, email, telephone......why!!!!-  I JUST WANT TO GO AND LOOK AT THE PARK  - a voice in my head is yelling...

Gruppenfuher to Gill... "Have you come far?" (methinks, ah, you see she's ok really, friendly just doing her job...)

Gill to gruppenfuhrer, "Just from Pershore, we've been away for a few days in our motorhome, we're going home to Derbyshire tomorrow.."

Gruppenfuhrer: "There's a lot of lovely properties around Derbyshire, are you absolutely sure you won't join...I am sure with you motorhome you would soon benefit...

Gruppenfuhrer's colleague: Frantically dials 999, as grey haired man leaps over desk, beats fellow volunteer to the ground and starts to strangle her screaming at the top of his voice "I HATE THE NATIONAL TRUST, I WANT TO BURN DOWN EVERY PROPERTY AND SMASH UP ANY CAR I SPOT WITH AN NT BUMPER-STICKER,,,,"

The last bit did not happen, just in my head, as I took the tickets and said, "Goodbye", and smiled weakly....

Now it would be nice if having survived the ticket ordeal I could report that we walked out into the beautiful gardens...no...too easy. Just to 'add value' to the visitor experience, the dear old National Trussed decided to capitalise on the wartime connection by ensuring the hapless customer had to run the gauntlet of a load of pop-up Forties themed retail opportunities housed in khaki tents, complete with chuck wagon selling 'rations' out of a vintage army truck....Now I'm not ranting, just quietly catatonic as I walk like a zombie towards the haha, past the neoclassical statuary,towards  the meandering, picturesque river......glancing nervously around in case some zealous volunteer should leap,out from behind an azalea and regale us with the extraordinary benefits of Trussed membership.

The estate church in an area of restored garden.

Druid statue

Picturesque grotto

replete with reclining figure of Sabrina, Celtic river goddess of the Severn

 'Claudian' vista complete with coulisse style trees and meandering river (dug out by local labours over a seven year period - though where they lived is open to question since the local village was demolished to make way for the park). 

The Trussed is not all bad, thoughtfully the'd scattered deck-chairs about the place for the proles to relax in, though you probably were asked to show your membership card before you could take a seat!

The place was a marsh before it was 'improved', massive stone culverts supply the 'river' with water, but it's still pretty fetid looking and full of algae.

The grand entrance.....

Decorative rotunda on the hill

Restored plasterwork

More restored plasterwork

Gill gens-up on the restored plasterwork

Specimen cedars of Lebanon and distant view of  the Malverns.

So, there you have it, a visit to Croome Park despite the National Trussed. The day did have a very unfortunate aftermath. Somehow we managed to lose our Camcorder - shame, but replaceable on insurance. What can't be replaced is the three hours of video on the SD card which covered the final half of our recent trip  to the US, including all the footage of the 4th July fireworks in the National Mall, Washington....bollocks, annoying rather than disastrous - ultimately stuff does not matter, just people - nobody's bleeding..weeping maybe, but not bleeding.

Croome Park having been duly tramped over, vistas admired, haha's peered over, fetid ponds photographed we headed back to the nearby campsite, Hopyard Farm, Strensham. Hmmm. Strensham, sound familiar? You've got it, the name of the services next to the M5/M42 interchange, So the campsite was not peaceful. It should have been a pretty spot near the Avon, with a view of Bredon Hill. Also the place has a fishing lake and the pitches are spread over 25 acres amongst  newly planted woodland - all very eco. The facilities are fairly basic - the showers and toilets squeezed into a converted single garage...a bit weird. The place is not really set up for motorhomes either, there is no grey water drain point, and when we were there the electrical hook-up was intermittent - though in fairness the staff came to fix it straightaway. OK for an overnight stop I guess if you are trundling up the M5 from Cornwall, but, given the road noise and the poor facilities £20 per night seemed a bit steep to me.

The campsite has a maze of little paths through the woods - we got lost!

but found the river eventually

Good view of Bredon Hill , classic English landscape  - crack open a well thumbed Hoskins and admire the field patterns!

A plague of pheasants and unappealling bells

The journey from Cardigan to Eastnor took us through parts of Wales that we had never visited before. That being said, the first section up to Carmarthen was familiar enough, though even here we hit upon the unusual. By the time we reached Carmarthen we were ready for a lunch stop. As we approached a roundabout Gill noticed a picnic area sign, that's how we ended up outside the Carmarthen County Museum. It's situated in the former Archbishop of St David's palace. It's hardly palatial, rather a ramshackle, rambling mansion. But it was free, so we went inside.

We were greeted by two very helpful people at the front desk who explained the layout based on a time line that stretches from the stone-age (flint axes by the dozen) through to the 1980's (artefacts and newspapers recalling the miner's strike) In between was a cornucopia of items, all neatly labelled and displayed in traditional glass cases - none of this new-fangled, touchy feely stuff here - very much 'a museum that should be in a museum', as Dylan Thomas said of Swansea museum. Yet the place's old fashioned atmosphere was part of its charm. I particularly liked the explanation about local riots in the 1840's in protest at the cost of turnpike tolls. Under the leadership of a local yeoman who called 'herself' Rachel, groups of farmers dressed-up in women's clothing, blacked-up their faces, then armed with staves and pitchforks ran amok causing general mayhem. One problem with museums is that they can remind you that you are close to being an artefact yourself. The museum school room had cast iron fold-up desks and text books that Gill and I could remember from infant school! All in all we had a great time, then returned to Maisy for lunch and tootled-off down the road. The joys of motorhoming!

The road towards the Herefordshire border follows the river Usk, and very pleasant it is too, running along the ede of the Brecon Beacons national park. Brecon, Abergevenny and Raglan, they all looked like interesting towns. Another area to put on our 'must come back' list. Gill had already figured out from the web that the main camping field at Eastnor Castle had been closed because of events in the park and we needed to head towards somewhere called Gold Hill Farm. In the end  it was easy enough to find as the owners had placed small direction signs by the roadside. The temporary site was in a field next to the abandoned farm. The farm was a substantial place with a red, rustic brick house at the centre surrounded by beautiful old barns, all in ruins. It appeared to be used as a breeding centre for pheasants, scores of them crowded around the van as I gingerly negotiated the pot-holed track. The field itself was huge, with perhaps half a dozen other campers dotted about. It would have been idyllic, but for a biting wind that made it  chilly to sit outside.

The pheasants are in here somewhere......

Driven miles...can't be arsed to get out the van to take a photo....

Gill braves the chill  (re-defining 'chilled-out')

So much space...

Next day we headed off across the Malverns, through Upton upon Severn and stopped at Pershore. I wanted to visit a nearby National Trust property called Croome Park but we needed to find a local campsite first, which was a bit of a challenge since we'd left the UK campsite book at home. After failing to find a tourist information (closed Sundays) we decided to consult the web using our snazzy Moto mobile bought specially for moments like this.

Let the comedy begin.... The only handy wifi hotspot was in an Asda store. This required us to sign up, after which a log-in code would be sent to our mobile number by SMS. This we duly did, sitting in the Asda foyer with the abandoned dogs and a few bewildered octogenarians. Problem, I had put my iPhone number into the registration form, so the code to access the web was sent to my mobile, not the Moto. Of course there was no mobile signal in the store, so off we trotted outside to find a signal.. except first we needed to go inside the store to buy a pen and notepad as we'd left ours in the van parked half a mile away. Excellent! We now can go outside, retrieve the access code, return to the store, sit down again amongst the abandoned dogs and bewildered octogenarians, log onto the Asda website, enter our access code (hooray! it works...) click on google, click on UK camping website, click on Worcestshire - bingo! a list of nearby campsites. write down some numbers, phone-up a few (some not answering) ...finally, book into Hopyard Farm...we're just down the road the owner helpfully advised us...Oh life is so convenient and simple these days, how did we manage without the internet?

A word concerning Pershore. It is beautiful, an old market place next to an ancient abbey church, pleasant wide Georgian streets, old coaching inns - but (you just knew there was going to be a but!) when we returned to find a bank machine later in the day the place appeared to have been taken over by central casting for a new period drama. It will be an interesting production - judging from the costumes it would appear to be a subtle amalgam of The Vicar of Dibley, Keeping Up Appearances, Bertie Wooster and Morse. Persore - nice to visit, hell to live in....the sort of place that might round-up all the socialists in early November and use them as kindling for their Guy Fawkes celebrations.

Then there's the bells...We are plagued at home by the local campanologists enthusiasm for practising their ancient skills for hours on end. Gill has become very sensitive about this commenting that the odd 'bing-bong' might be acceptable, but actual peals are just a step too far. So when the abbey church's extra large and extensive set burst forth in joyous cacophony at the end of evensong, it was time to remove her from the vicinity before she went rabid, and bit the vicar.

Dismal Weather and Pesky Pooches

It should have been a spectacularly beautiful drive south down the A487 from Dolgellau to Machynlleth and onwards towards Cardigan. However, although the rain kept off long enough for us to pack-up without getting damp, as we travelled through the pass close to Cader Idris the weather closed in. We did get occasional glimpses of the mountain through shreds of shifting rainclouds. Without getting too Burkean about it, the experience definitely was more sublime than beautiful. We passed the Centre for Alternative Energy, and considered momentarily stopping by for old times sake - it had been a bit of a favourite haunt back in the late 70s when we all a bit 'Save the Whale' as Billy Connolly puts it. In the end we pressed on, through  rain soaked Aberystwyth. As we travelled through Ceredigion, as BBC Weather had promised, the cloud lifted a tad and the rain stopped. At Aberdaron we pulled off the road. Having bought some bread sticks we fancied some hummus. It's all very well getting all starry eyed about how nice and old fashioned rural Wales is, until you decide to buy something slightly foreign - Hummus in Aberdaron? Not a chance! It is a pretty place though, apart from the busy 'A' road running right through the centre. What is more, it had easily accessible parking down by the sea without a height barrier.

The Harbour at Aberdaron

Painting your house a jolly colour seems the thing to do, but most were not quite so dayglo as the Castle Hotel.

 It was a short drive from here to the Cardigan Camping and Caravan Park which we had pre-booked. There were many positives about this newly established site. The owner is very friendly and accommodating, the atmosphere is relaxed, the facilities are great and spotlessly clean. It is quite an exposed spot, and though this does give you open views, I guess in stormy weather you may get a bit of a buffeting. One note of caution is that it is important you identify exactly the position of the place on a map before you arrive. At the fork at the southern end of Cardigan bypass our satnav sent us down the A478 rather than the correct direction on the A487. Clearly, in such a remote spots postcodes can cover quite an area and in this case bamboozled Muriel. The only negative aspect of the stay concerned the numbers of furry four-legged friends running loose around the site. The owner clearly loves dogs, and her very friendly pooch just wanders about the site. This gives a carte blanche to everyone else to do the same, so the place is very doggy - and I'm not.

We took a nice stroll down the lane before we ate. Lots of swifts gadding about above the fields and wild flowers in the hedgerows, We would have stayed longer but another front was forecast and the weather looked considerably more settled towards Herefordshire, so we decided after one night to head back to Eastnor Castle near Ledbury.

Before leaving we drove a mile or two out of Cardigan up the side of the Teifi estuary. It is lovely. We promised ourselves that we would return, but perhaps stay somewhere directly beside the sea where we could walk straight onto the coastal path. Another time!

Afon Teifi

Like so much of the far west of Wales, very reminiscent of Brittany.

Gill tries out the panorama feature on her Moto phone - very good!

Donkey rides, and everything....

Although the weather outlook was not great we decided to cycle down the Mawddach Traill which follows a disused railway along the southern side of the estuary from Dolgellau to Barmouth, a round trip of 20 miles or so. It's probably the prettiest trail we've been on so far, mixing woodland and esturarial wetland with mountain vistas. The track itself is very well maintained and has picnic tables dotted along the side if you get peckish. All very civilised. The parts of the trail next to car parks and access points were quite busy with families out cycling, but the miles between were relatively quiet.

 An old wooden Toll Bridge crosses the river at  the George III Hotel.

Seeing me seeing you...

Low cloud, but no rain

People were really friendly holding gates open for us and the electric bikes got a few admiring glances. A couple stopped to chat about them and we soon discovered that like us they had just retired and we swapped stories about how odd it was, after a working life where choices about where you lived were constrained by the demands of jobs, kid schools, mortgages and all the other vageries of family life, to suddenly find yourself in the enviable position of being able to choose where you might like to live, and how to spend your time. We were a few months ahead of them in the retirement malarky and we were able to reassure them that, yes, really it was quite OK spending all of your days together. They were wondering about buying a B&B in Wales as a retirement project. We explained that long term travel was our aim.We wished each other well for the future, and went our separate ways. The seemed a really nice, lively couple - best wishes to them.

At the river mouth you need to cross a narrow wooded bridge running alongside the coastal raiway track to reach Barmouth. From a distance the place seemed calm enough, but when we got there, in fact it was heaving. After the peace of the estuary a full-on, in-your-face British seaside resort came as a bit of a culture shock. 

Barmouth had all the hallmarks of a small resort. Lots of caffs, a classic 'harbour fish bar', tacky gift shops, a small fun fair and amusement park and donkey rides on the beach. Of course to complete the picture the weather was showery and the beach darkened by glowering  clouds threarening a proper downpour. After a brief perusal lunch possibilities, Gill joined the queue for the chip shop. It's years since I had proper fish and chips. The portions were so huge that Gill and I shared a meal sheltering from the drizzle by the sea wall.

The charms of Barmouth

It was not all stereotypical, Barmouth had some decidedly quirky aspects to it too. For a start a number of the shops, including the Ebenezer Chapel Emporium where we stopped for a coffee, seemed to be owned by Buddhists.  The Emporium itself sold lots of hippyish Indian goods as well as serving food. That's before we get to the rival fish bar at the opposite end of the high street - the intruigingly named 'Arousal Cafe', Maybe traditional British seaside fare has little appreciated qualities as an aphrodisiac. Certainly people were queueing up to sample it.

Punjabi, Moroccan, Jamaican, Malaysian and Welsh cuisine was on offer - not often you can say that!

It might have been July, but I bet they were doing a roaring trade in wooly hats...

The donkey looked depressed, the owner grumpy and the child fed-up - happy hols!

Gill - "it's just how I remember it as a child...."

Perhaps our children have been deprived...all those Corsican beaches forced on them without a donkey in sight (a fair few feral cows though).

So that was that. Nothing else to do but scoot back along the track to Dolgellau. And Gill really did scoot, I seemed to be constantly upping the power on the electic bike just to keep-up. No wonder she went out like a light at 9:00pm sharp, and woke the next morning aching all over ...what is it that they say? What does'nt kill you makes you stronger!

Gill's instrument of torture

Nice view, shame about the racket

After our brief stop-over near Welshpool we  booked two nights at the Tanyfron Caravan and Camping Park in Dolgellau. We chose it because it was close enough to the town shops to be able buy a few groceries without moving Maisy. Also we were hoping to cycle up the bike trail which follows an old railway track up the estuary to Barmouth, which we did, and it was delightful.

The site itself is on a hill and overlooks the town. The view is nice, but quite exposed. The access roads are narrow and steep, but not a problem really, if you take care. One issue was the noise, which to be fair had nothing to do with the campsite. It appears we arrived in Mid Wales during national road mending week. Wherever we went teams were out re-gravelling the roads. In Dolgellau we were disturbed by an annoying screaming noise which sounded like a jet engine, or more accurately a Dyson vacuum cleaner of gigantic proportions, which as it turned out was exactly what it was. After laying down the loose chippings the next job was to hoover up the surplus using a giant suction machine on the back of a truck which crawled along the miles of re-surfaced roads at a snails-pace. I assume the driver was trying to maximise his overtime, he did not head home until 9:00pm. To relieve the monotonous din, helpfully the RAF provided variety by drowning out the road machine screaming down the valley as they practised low level bombing runs, presumably using the valley as some kind of simulation of the hills of northern Iraq.

Pitch with a view

The site is actually more steeply terraced than it appears here

Dolgellau is a pleasant little towm, very laid-back and unhurried. People seem to still take the time to 'pass the time of day' and there is a general sociability about the place which seems refreshingly old fashioned. I keep going on about how odd and wierd some places in Britain have become. I wonder if really I am talking about England. Wales seemed quite grounded and normal to me. Also, the centre of towns don't appear to have become dominated by chain outlets to the same extent as in England, so each place seems unique and the high streets not quite so homogenised.

Good to see that the local supermarket stocked locally produced cheese 

Robert Bros. Butchers in the main square - purveyor of awesome leek and pork sausages!

Dolgellau, with Cader Idris in the background

Very narrow streets, but one way thank goodness.

The area has a history of gold mining

The sample ore was very well concreted in!

Everwhere seems to have a whittled tree stump these days - this one was less kitch than most - but slightly disturbing,  a bit X Files...