The Clent Hills have Eyes
As all the roads leading north were heavily constipated we opted to spend our first night at a park up on the edge of the Clent Hills, about half an hour west of home. A short drive made sense, as Moo was not enjoying the ride, to say the least.
In the morning, Moo gingerly made her way to the open back doors, presumably to see where they hell she was. She sat there sniffing the air for a few seconds. Before long, a large brown horse came trotting past. I saw Moo's yellow marquise eyes become big black balls as she hurriedly reversed back into the van. In short, she absolutely shat herself. Pussy.
Manchester with Mates
We arrived in Chorlton, Manchester to spend the bank holiday weekend with my old pal, Andy and his gyal dem, Charlotte. We were pretty blown away with how nice both the area and their house was. Plus, they seemed to have everything on their doorstep - a park, a cracking ale shop, an allotment, a McDonalds (unfortunately, they're vegan - gutted for them)...
I've known Andy since we met in the first year of Uni in Exeter, where we bonded over Aston Villa, The Prodigy, and the fact we were both Brummies. We had a great few days (during the visit I mean, not at Uni - we lasted a bit longer than that).
The weather was sublime the whole weekend. We had a cracking vegan BBQ on the Sunday - something I never really thought possible. In fact, I refuse to believe Beyond Burgers are not real meat. They taste exactly like minced cow.
What else? We spent an afternoon at their allotment where I impressed with my watering can skills, Andy showed us his astoundingly comfortable £1100 office chair (the price of which Charlotte wasn't aware of until later that weekend), and we spent a day on Corby Beach, which is full of eerie statues by artist, Anthony Gormley. I got stealth burnt on the beach - the windy conditions had fooled me into thinking the sun was fuck all.
Moo spent pretty much the whole weekend in the spare bedroom, where she was safe from the completely harmless Bernie Sanders - Andy's dog. We got her out for a few walks around the garden, but she seemed to prefer splodging herself on the floor of the bedroom under the curtain. Mess.
Bolton with Doggers
After Andy's, we spent a couple of days at a picturesque stop in the hilly countryside outside Bolton. It's picturesqueness was matched only by it's propensity for harbouring Bhangra enthusiasts and doggers. On the first evening, as we were lying in bed, I heard a soft knock on the sliding door.
''Hear that?'' I asked Rach.
''Yeah.''
''Who is it?''
I realised how ridiculous the question was before the 'W' had even left my mouth. I got up in my pants and made my way to the sliding door. There was someone stood in the dark outside. I opened the door.
''Yeah?''
''Who you with?''
''What?''
The lad was about mid-to-late 20's and he had a fag on.
''Who you with?''
''Er, my girlfriend.'' I should've said fiancée, I was later told.
''What you doing?''
''Trying to sleep.''
The guy then turned and began walking away. It was my turn for a question.
''Why you knocking the door?''
The guy turned and said, ''I just wanted to know what you were doing.''
I slammed the sliding door shut with contempt, adjusted my pants and got back into bed.
Wigan with the Rich
Rach had been banging on about meeting up with a bloke she'd met once on a train from Reading to Birmingham - Alan, from Wigan. How you strike up that sort of bond with someone on one train journey I will never know. It took a whole term of train sharing with the lads from Handsworth Grammar before we got close enough to consider visits to each others' homes, or the equivalent 11-year old activities, like doing pile-ons and slagging off each others' mums.
Anyway, we were in the area, so I agreed, thinking we'd be spending a couple of hours sat in the living room of an average terraced or semi-detached house or whatever. I knew literally nothing about him or his wife, Karen. What I was confronted with on arrival was a self-built mansion, about four football fields worth of garden, a pond the size of a lake, three or four garages full of classic cars, two Lamborghini super cars, a VW campervan, a Harley Davidson and a dog which wouldn't stop licking my arms. Rach needs to get on more trains.
I think it's fair to say that, to look at him, you wouldn't automatically assume Alan was so prosperous, dressed as he was in scruffy work attire and a battered old cap. He is more than aware of this though, and told us how he likes to wind up delivery men and the like, who often ask him if the owner is in, assuming him to be just a worker on the grounds.
Alan and Karen were great company. Friendly, warm, full of anecdotes and, well, they built their own house, so they automatically get my respect. Before we left, they let us pour our toilet down the drain outside their front door, which was probably a bit weird, and Karen sorted us out with some of her quite superb Victoria sponge.
Forest of Bowland aka Sheep Land
After Wigan, we made our way further north, eventually stopping at the edge of the Forest of Bowland, a few miles east of Morecambe. It was an amazing spot, at the top end of a small lane which ran up into the hills, so we had a brilliant 180 degree view of the coast line and the fields between us and it. There were sheep roaming freely all around us, much to Moo's dismay. We tend to share cat shit duties.
The couple of days we spent in Forest of Bowland were sound tracked mainly by the sheep and Test Match Special. I did a bit of work for ECB - without so much as a whiff of a mention from the commentary team on TMS - plus a couple of bits of design work, while Rach did some of her own beavering. She's also reading 1984 - a book she has not enjoyed.
A special mention should go to ZombieSheep, a truly disgusting specimen who roamed the hill behind the van, his thick dreadlocked strands of partly attached, partly shaven wool coat flowing in the wind behind him. Quite the character.
One thing I would like to know is who the fuck is going round spray painting sheep. Hooligans.
Goats & Oats at Garsdale
Goats & Oats is a vegan B&B in Garsdale in the Yorkshire Dales. It's run by Rach's best mate's (Laura) mum, Linda and her partner, Graham. The drive there through the Dales was beautiful, although I feel Rach was more interested in the proximity of the craggy stone walls as I cruised us down the narrow and winding country lanes.
As we approached the B&B, we saw that they were all sat out the front waiting. Rach immediately burst into tears. I did a double take when I noticed this, asking ''why you crying?'' before realising there wasn't a problem, she was just emotional at seeing her friend for the first time in over two years. Fair enough.
We had a great couple of days with Linda and Graham, Laura and her brother Kevyn. I say couple of days, I only really saw one. The second day was spent mainly in the van in all sorts of pain after six pints of Seten Water ale and three bottles of Prosecco on the first night while we were socialising with some guests of the B&B in the garden. I blame Laura for plying me. I also thank her. She's a world class drinking partner.
The vegan food really was amazing. Linda did a Mushroom wellington on the first evening, which I would happily eat every day, it was that good. The vegan fry up on the last morning was also lovely, although I missed out on the baked beans, which was tragic.
After some more crying, it was time to move on. Before we left, Linda literally showered us with goodies for the road. Not literally. From peanut butter bites, to vegan curry, to banana bread - the van was filled. She is outrageously generous.
I'll add the B&B website link at the bottom of this blog - vegan or not, it is definitely worth a visit.
Also, big up Laura and Kevyn for convincing me to carry on writing the blog. I was going to retire it to free up some time for bollocking the cat, but fair play.
Driving through the Lakes
Turns out the Lake District isn't the most campervan friendly region in the world. At least in terms of free stops. Plus, everywhere that we did try either had no phone and internet signal at all, or was already full of cars. We ended up driving straight through. It was a scenic drive at least, past Windermere, Ambleside and Lake Thirlmere, and we did stop for a couple of drinks at a nice country pub, which had an ancient, tattered Bible sitting in a hole in one of its walls. Legend had it that it had been sat there since the building was first built, and to take it out would cause something catastrophic to happen, although I can't quite remember what. The lager would go flat or something.
This is the issue that we face on this UK tour - we need internet signal for work, which may well rule out some great spots which we'd otherwise be all over. Having said that, apart from the Lakes, it's so far so good. Everywhere we have stopped has been a cracker. Including the spot we found just outside Carlisle...
Outside Carlisle
As I said, the spot we found outside Carlisle was a cracker.
Sconchland
We crossed the border into Sconchland, and found our first park up in a great little free motorhome area near Caerlaverock Castle - one of Sconchland's finest castles according to the internet, and also according to me, although I'd put more stock in the internet's opinion to be honest. Here's what it says:
''With its a moat, twin towered gatehouse and imposing battlements, this awe-inspiring castle is the epitome of the medieval stronghold and one of the finest castles in Scotland.''
Ohhhhh, it's SCOTland.
Recommended B&B in Yorkshire Dales:
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