A Day in Cornwall

As I was going to St. Ives…

No, we’re not getting into that argument. Having arrived in Penzance on the overnight sleeper train I had all day to explore a bit of West Cornwall and 5 hours before I could check into the Western Hotel in St. Ives. My plan was first to take a walk along the coast to the picturesque harbour village of Mousehole via the fishing port of Newlyn. It’s a pleasant 3.6 mile stroll. At least it would be in nice weather. Unfortunately this morning the weather wasn’t nice. Grey skies emitted a fine drizzle into a light breeze making it just wet enough to need a waterproof coat while at the same time being warm enough to make wearing a waterproof coat uncomfortable. I set off trying to convince myself that it would brighten up imminently.

Organic Maps routed me out of Penzance centre via back roads and alleyways which at least kept away from any traffic before returning to the coast where the Larrigan River meets the sea, near a desolate looking and weed filled Mennaye Boating Lake. From here I walked along the causeway above the beach to the outskirts of Newlyn and passed the fishermen’s memorial statue “Throw Me A Line”.

Newlyn is a working fishing port and has more wet fish shops than I’ve ever seen in one town centre. It hadn’t brightened up yet. I climbed out of Newlyn via Fore Street which at least afforded a good view of the busy harbour, the many boats injecting the only colours into the scene.

This walk follows the route of the South West Coast Path long distance trail and for a while diverts from the motor road along a foot and cycle path next to the sea below the cliff. At the entrance to which I was nearly hit from behind by a lycra-clad bell-end-on-a-bike determined to get through the entry point before me. There are probably some good views along here but they were hidden behind the worsening drizzle on this morning. Thankfully at least some philosopher with a ladder and a pot of yellow paint had been out to brighten up the scene 😀

The path climbed up and rejoined the clifftop road with fine views along the coast and I could even see St. Michael’s Mount in the distance. When I say see it I mean there was a slightly darker shade of grey where it was located. See if you can spot it 🔍

Past Penlee’s disused Lifeboat Station the drizzle eased off a little so I could clearly see St. Clement’s Isle and intermittently unzip my coat to cool off a little on the way down into Mousehole, which I reached at about a quarter past ten.

"Mouseholians" it seems are not early risers. The only places open at that time of the morning were an upmarket looking restaurant and a twee tea room, the latter was full. This despite the fact that the village was busy with visitors most of whom had had the good sense not to walk there. At least the drizzle had stopped so I could take off my coat and steam gently by the harbour. I had a mooch about the village, laughed at what I assume was a joke about Mousehole property prices (the blackboard against the lean-to building reads "Compact + Bijou Home with lots of potential. Offers over £100k")

and joined the queue for the bus back to Penzance.

The M6 bus between Mousehole and Penzance runs every twenty minutes during the day. It was not a pleasant experience because they use vehicles not much bigger than a mini-bus with seat spacing that appears to be designed only to accommodate children so I was jammed sideways into a seat on the back row. The bus was almost full leaving Mousehole and picked up more passengers on the way resulting in some juggling of people, seats, and baby-buggies along the way. I was hot, damp, and the windows didn’t open. Even the little old lady next to me remarked on how unsuitable the vehicle was though she said occasionally they go completely to the other extreme and you get a double-decker. Which must be very interesting when they have to turn it round in the centre of Mousehole. I was relieved to get off that bus in Penzance Bus Station I can tell you. I went and found a bakery and had a very large coffee and a sit down. Then since breakfast had been 5 hours ago I went hunting, I got a large Cornish Pasty because when you are in the county why wouldn’t you? This I took to the railway station platform and ate it while waiting for my next train. A big yellow thing started to appear in the sky and a big feathery greedy bastard appeared on the platform nearby. The sun was welcome, the seagull could bugger off. Also it is still a mystery to me how they get Cornish pasties so hot and how they appear to get hotter while you’re carrying them so that when you come to eat it it’s like biting into a volcano? It was a very nice pasty though - the very antithesis of a Ginster’s 😁

As I arrived at Penzance station so did one of GWR’s Intercity 125 HST “Castle” trains. These are soon to be retired and I can remember them when they were first introduced on BR’s Western Region in the 1970s. I was tempted to skip a departure to have a brief ride on it to St. Erth for old times sake. In the end I got the next boring Hitachi IET instead which gave a shorter wait for the St. Ives train at St. Erth.

I was glad to see that summer time four coach train arrive into the crowded platform at St. Erth (outside the summer there are only two coaches). Anxious to get a good seat I forgot that the views were on the right hand side and indeed that side of the train quickly filled up with people, although not the polygamous, sack of cats carrying kind. Anyway, as we rode down the branch line the weather finally improved and we arrived at St. Ives in bright sunshine.

St. Ives was very busy. I walked from the station to the harbour and from the harbour to the Western Hotel, located in the town centre. What can I say about the Western Hotel? Here’s the review that I posted on booking.com which I think sums it up:

Good location, comfortable, not cheap, not very organized.

Liked · Nice big room, comfortable bed. Good central St. Ives location.

Disliked · Arrived to check in at reception, reception is a phone on the desk. Call was answered and waited for receptionist to come and complete check in. I was handed keys and given directions to my room. On finding my room it was immediately obvious that it was already occupied by someone who was fortunately out at the time. Return to reception, call, wait, wait, wait, eventually allocated a different room and given keys. No explanation other than “the booking system made a mistake”. Inconvenience aside this error has security implications if they are giving out keys to rooms already occupied. And of course when I went for breakfast the restaurant staff had not been advised of the room change.

However the room was pleasant, overlooking the Royal Square (bus stop) outside and I was glad to have a shower after which I had a nap for a couple of hours, dunno why I was tired. Later I went for a wander around St. Ives. It was still very busy. Hmm, that’s a lot of clouds and yes, those are spots of rain.

Cue retreat to hotel with snacks and a bottle of cider. Later: there is music downstairs let’s go and investigate (and get another cider). Ah, Tuesday Night is Jazz Club Night. 

Nice 👌

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The audience demographic was pretty much exactly what you’d imagine, the band was four old white men, it was heavy on the double bass, drums and trumpet. I caught the last half hour which in jazz terms means three tunes. What’s with the applauding half way through a song? Is it a jazz thing? At ten past ten they finished and most of the audience rushed across the road, bus passes in hand. I went to my bed and slept like a log.

The next morning I rose, showered, dressed and headed downstairs for a cooked breakfast which was pretty average and preceded by a discussion about why my room number wasn’t on the breakfast list.

I checked out, by which I mean left my key on the empty reception desk as instructed, and made my way to St. Ives station in hazy, humid sunshine with just a trace of fine drizzle. There was quite a crowd on the platform awaiting the train to St. Erth. I remembered to sit on the left side for the views.

 

 At St. Erth my train to Reading appeared on time and I settled down into my seat up the front in 1st Class. What? You can’t take it with you, you know. Anyway it was only eighty quid Advance Single with a railcard, half what the trip down had cost.

The Americans appeared. They seem to be travelling with everything they own, they put all their huge suitcases in the wheelchair space, whined when told they needed to move them and complained about there not being enough space for their luggage. There was plenty of space under and between their seats. As soon as they got aboard they started stuffing their faces and wanted to know when lunch would be served - it was ten-thirty in the morning at this point. Then they started spreading out the John Lewis tote bags of food onto adjacent seats because their table was full. As the coach filled up through the journey they had to retreat and at last went quiet and disappeared into their devices. Deport them to El Salvador I say 😉

For once the rest of the journey was unremarkable and I arrived home at four in the afternoon, about 46 hours after I’d left.

Would I do the night sleeper again? Well I’ve done it, don’t regret it, don’t need to do it again. It’s always nice to visit Cornwall though, however briefly so if you’re short on time it’s worth considering finding out if you can sleep on a train.

For anyone who avoided spoilers in the previous post here’s a FlickrAlbum of photos from my trip.

The Night Riviera

The Night Riviera is a sleeper train which runs from London Paddington to Penzance in Cornwall (and from Penzance to Paddington) 6 nights a week. I’d long fancied trying it to see what it was like so booked a brief trip to Cornwall to find out.

This is what I found out:

I booked just over a week in advance with a Railcard and paid £57.70 for a Super Off-Peak Single London Terminals to Penzance plus £89.00 for a sleeper cabin. You can forego the cabin and get an airline-style seat for no charge if you want to try and sleep in a chair in a room full of strangers instead. A cabin also gets you use of the lounges and showers at Paddington, Penzance, and Truro and a complimentary breakfast served to your cabin. Although the Night Riviera picks up passengers at Reading I opted to start at Paddington because who wants to hang around on Reading station at twenty to one in the morning, especially given that nearly everything on the station is shut by eight-thirty in the evening? That was another £21.20 for an off Peak Single with a Railcard but worth it. The 1st Class lounge at Paddington provided free hot drinks and snacks too.

As usual the train I intended to catch to Reading for a connection to Paddington was cancelled and the following one would just get me there in time - assuming it ran at all. Not wanting to risk it I left home early and got the previous departure, itself running twenty minutes late, and arrived in London with quite a bit of time to kill. So I went for a stroll around Tyburnia and had a pint before heading back to the station.

The lounge is located on platform 1 which is from where the Night Riviera usually departs but tonight we were directed to platform 8 instead.

I walked up to the front of the train to get the obligatory photo of the locomotive and then back to find my cabin in Coach F. Once aboard a nice lady came and checked my ticket, gave me the low-down on the train’s facilities, and took my breakfast order and what time I’d like it delivered to my cabin. Once settled in I went to explore the train along the very narrow corridors to the Lounge/Bar coach. This was very busy so I didn’t stop longer than necessary to drink a Coke.I went back to my cabin just as we departed Paddington at 23.46

The cabins have two bunks but for single occupancy the upper one is stowed away. The bunk is fairly narrow but because it runs across the coach it is plenty long enough for someone 6’5” tall - hence the narrow corridor in the coach. There’s a bedside table that lifts up to reveal a sink with hot and cold running water (and it is hot too) and a rubbish bin beneath. Light switches, 240v AC, and USB power outlets are located by both bunks along with a room service call button. Yes, room service is available all night if you don’t fancy going down the corridor to the lounge car in the night. There’s a connecting door to the adjacent cabin that is locked unless a party of more than two books adjacent cabins. What you will need to go down the corridor in the night for is the loo. Two are located at the ends of the coach. The sign outside your cabin will point to the ones in your coach but if your berth number is above 15 it’s almost certainly closer to the toilets in the adjacent coach and the coaches are all walk-through connected.

I sat on my bunk with the window blind open and watched the night slide by. Quite slowly especially since there were some track works going on. Not that the Night Riviera is a fast train. It takes about eight hours including stops to reach Penzance, a daytime express will do it in around five. After the stop at Reading I closed the window blind got under the duvet put my head on the comfortable pillows and prepared to nod off.

I might even have done so for a few minutes at some points in the next six hours. I have discovered something and that something is that I can’t get to sleep on a moving train. I wasn’t uncomfortable or anything like that but sleep refused to come. I think a lot of the problem was the novelty of the situation which wouldn’t let my brain switch off. The train trundled on through the dark stopping occasionally at a signal raising the question “I wonder where we are now?” and of course the temptation is to check on the map on the phone or take a peek out of the window. The tracks to the West Country are mostly smooth but not always straight and lying horizontal across a train in the dark subjects you to some odd G forces, with no visual references you feel like you are first being gently pointed head down then a moment later feet down. Onward to Devon, occasional sections of jointed rather than welded track for traditional ta-tum-te-tum train noises. At Exeter the train paused and reversed, I heard the locomotive run around the train, passing my window before re-coupling to the other end with a jolt. Clumsy bugger, doesn’t he know people are trying to sleep? 😀 A consequence of this manoeuvre that didn’t occur to me until later was that my cabin window which on leaving London had been on the left side of the train was now on the right so wouldn’t get any spectacular sea views along the coast at Dawlish 😢

By 6 a.m. it was getting light outside (although the window blinds are very effective) and I concluded that I’d had any sleep that I was going to get so cancelled the alarm I’d set on my phone, got up, washed (blimey that water is hot!) and dressed. I opened the blind and watched a very grey Cornwall passing by. Because of course the bright sunny weather we’d had all month had vanished as soon as I set off travelling - payback for having such unseasonably good weather when I was in Scotland I suppose.

We stopped at Liskeard, we stopped at Bodmin Parkway, and as we approached Par the nice young lady knocked on the door bearing a tray with a very welcome pot of tea and a sausage bap on it. Also brown sauce, tomato ketchup, and for some reason some sweet biscuits which I kept for “Ron”. 😋

I watched stops at St. Austell, Truro, and Redruth pass by and resisted the temptation to pull faces out of the window at the few early morning commuters on the opposite platforms. At Hayle I tried to get a photo of the river but mostly got the back of Asda. The penultimate stop was St. Erth where I noted the way to the platform for the St. Ives Bay Line that I’d be on later. I also noted how wet the platforms looked.

Finally at ten past eight we arrived at Penzance - that was actually 15 minutes late so I might try my luck for Delay Repay 😄 I gathered up my luggage, which consisted of one 30l backpack, and alighted onto the platform with a lot of people who had obviously come equipped for a six month expedition to the outback. I headed directly to the coffee machine in the customer lounge and a seat on which to plan my next move.

I was in Penzance at 8.30 in the morning with five and a half hours to kill before I could check into my hotel in St. Ives. What the bloody hell am I supposed to do now?

Find out in the next “exciting” episode!

 

 Spoilers: Flickr Album of my photos from my Night Riviera  trip to Cornwall

London Loop Section 17, Cockfosters to Enfield Lock

2nd June 

I alighted at Cockfosters Station after a long tube journey from Hounslow West and having made use of the “facilities” exited from the station and turned right down the side of the car park to begin section 17 of the London Loop. A little under 9 miles walking would get me to Enfield Lock station and I’d picked the one dry sunny day forecast in the upcoming week to do it.

Within a few yards of entering the broad tree lined path alongside the cemetery the noise from Cockfosters Road faded away as I headed into the southern part of Trent Park. Turning north through the woods I was grateful for the recent dry weather as the rutted surface of the path indicated that after rain it would have been horribly gloopy. As it was I just had to be careful not to twist an ankle in the hardened ruts. The way-marking of Section 17 leaves a lot to be desired and the directions in the guide are sometimes a bit unclear, in this case regarding which direction to take out of the woods and across a large open grass area so I reached the obelisk near the car park and cafe by a slightly longer than necessary route. After that it was easier to follow the route as it described a backward S northwards through Trent Country Park, alternating between open country and woodland.

Just before reaching Hadley Road I took the suggested short detour to George Grey’s Obelisk to “enjoy the fine view". The fine view was between tall trees framing Trent Park House, former home of Sir Philip Sassoon, in the distance. During the Second World War this became home to high ranking German prisoners of war, along with the MI-19 operatives who listened to their conversations to obtain useful intelligence information, the whole place having been fitted with electronic bugging devices. However today the view was of a huge scaffolding tent enclosing the entire building and with an even taller crane hanging over it. It is being redeveloped into a museum about the house’s history. Along with about 262 houses and flats.

From the obelisk I retraced my steps and crossed Hadley Road. Here the London Loop joins the Enfield Greenways, a walking and cycling path network. The Loop used to run down the hill here on the Jubilee footpath, opened in 1977 to celebrate Queen Elizabeth II’s Silver Jubilee but although you can just about make out that route it is overgrown and impassable so there’s no choice but to use the newer path.

There are long views across open country here but these will be gone in a few years since hundreds of trees have been planted as part of the Enfield Chase Restoration Project. For now you can walk down to where the route turns right alongside the Salmons Brook while admiring the view and listening to the Skylarks. The sandy path surface makes for easy walking although it does give this section a bit of an “artificial countryside” feeling. This new route replaces now lost older paths alongside the Salmons Brook for another mile or so, first on the south bank before crossing over to the north bank and continuing up the hill to meet The Ridgeway road. Loop way-markers seem to have ceased to be a thing along this part. Because it’s an artificial construct the designers couldn’t resist designing in some pointless twiddly bits which have already started to generate demand paths where the more obvious and shorter route exists. I stopped for my picnic lunch near a small pond along this section. Appropriately there were salmon paste sarnies eaten near the Salmons Brook.

The guide directions on reaching The Ridgeway are frankly a mess, not helped by poor way-marking. The Loop path exits to and crosses the road directly then turns right along the pavement until turning left down Rectory Farm Road (which doesn’t have a street name sign). The Greenways path carries on parallel to the road to a crossing point further down. The guide talks about a dead end section of Greenways and a new path that rejoins the Loop in Rectory Farm Road. Trouble is neither are way-marked. I followed the original route as per the map on my phone. Where the new path meets Rectory Farm Road there is a way-mark pointing back up it for reverse direction Loop walkers but no others. Around the back of Rectory farm the route joins and then crosses the Turkey Brook where I walked steadily up the drive towards the railway bridge. Fortunately I wasn’t tempted to gallop as that isn’t allowed.

Passing under the railway I turned right onto Strayfield Road turning south onto a path opposite St. John the Baptist Church as per the guide - although the map indicates an earlier turning which isn’t way-marked but joins the footpath into Hilly Fields further on. After walking along the edge of an open field I entered the woods and crossed the Turkey Brook again then turned east. The rest of the section would never stray far from the banks of the Turkey Brook. Hilly Fields is a park that is exactly what its name suggests it should be but because the Loop follows the brook it avoids any steep gradients.

The winding path, popular with dog walkers, carries on past the bandstand and eventually meets Clay Hill opposite the Rose & Crown pub. It wasn’t open, probably just as well since the temptation to get inside out of the sun and outside of a cold beer might have ended my walk here 😀

Instead I carried on towards Forty Hall Park, rejoining the Turkey Brook and passing the former course of the New River, London’s new 17th century fresh water supply which still supplies some of the capital’s drinking water today although its original route has been much modified. I decided against a detour to visit Forty Hall due to time constraints and continued beside the Turkey Brook and alongside the large fishing ponds.

I crossed Forty Hill near Maidens Bridge, locally said to be the place where Sir Walter Raleigh spread his cloak over a puddle to allow Queen Elizabeth to continue without wet feet. This probably never happened, similarly he probably didn’t bring her back a sack of spuds from the Americas either. Much good it did him anyway, some years later her successor James 1/6 separated him from his head.

Not far along the Loop crosses the current (ho ho) course of the New River which on this particular afternoon was a scene of much digging activity as work was going on to resurface and or reroute the New River Path.

Most sections of the London Loop eventually have to cross a main arterial road and in this case it is the A10 Great Cambridge Road. A tall metal pedestrian bridge affords views along the road and across Enfield Cemetery but has steep stairs with narrow treads which also seem not to be level, giving the disconcerting feeling that you are being pitched forward when descending them.

A path leads up one side of the cemetery and under the railway just south of Turkey Street Station and from here on it all gets a bit urban, walking beside the roadworks along Turkey Street, passing briefly through the busy shopping area at Hertford Road, then along residential St. Stephen’s Road to a back alley that rejoins the Turkey Brook where it runs into Albany Park with a little group of dodgy-looking geezers accompanied by the sort of dog intended to impress that “we is well ’ard, innit”. Out of the park and a last climb over another pedestrian bridge over the West Anglia main railway line and Section 17 ends next to the Turkey Brook where it passes under a brick arched bridge at the end of Bradley Road.

A short walk along litter-strewn Bradley Road got me to Enfield Lock Station at about the same time as apparently the whole of Oasis Academy Enfield School. The Railway Inn wasn’t open so I joined them on the train. At least I’d got there in time to tap in before peak Oyster hours.

Here's the Flickr Album (34 photos). 

 

London Loop Section 17 ✅

 

 

 

 

May road trip journal, part 7

Day 9, Castle Douglas to Stoney Middleton via Nostell Priory. 228 miles.

When I departed Castle Douglas after breakfast my ETA at my next overnight stopping point was before check in time so I looked for somewhere to visit on the way. Nostell Priory, a National Trust property in West Yorkshire fitted the bill and I might as well make use of my NT membership for something other than free parking at Runnymede. The A75 got me to Gretna where I joined the M6 into England. At Penrith I left the motorway and crossed the Pennines on the A66 until joining the A1(M) at Scotch Corner and leaving it at Pontefract to head south west to Nostell Priory.

Nostell Priory is a Palladian house in West Yorkshire, on the road to Doncaster from Wakefield. It dates from 1733 and was built for the Winn family on the site of a medieval priory. The Winns were socially upwardly mobile textile merchants and the house was intended, as with so many such buildings, to show off their wealth and status. That wealth didn’t always match their ambitions. Robert Adam was commissioned to design additional wings but only one was completed so the frontage of the house is very obviously asymmetrical. Adam added a double staircase to the front of the house, and designed buildings on the estate, including the stable block where you’ll find the toilets, cafes, gift shop etc. The house has impressive interiors, Adam ceilings, lots of Chippendale furniture, lots of paintings, the usual stately home stuff. For me the most notable item was a longcase clock, with an almost completely wooden internal mechanism, made by John Harrison in 1717.

John Harrison was born but half a mile from the house and his stepfather worked on the estate as a carpenter. He developed an early interest in clocks and followed his stepfather into the carpenters trade, hence the wooden clock mechanism. Later he would become famous for developing accurate seagoing timepieces to solve the problem of determining Longitude at sea. Despite successfully producing such clocks he never received all of the monetary reward that was due (although he did eventually become a very rich man) and was badly treated by the establishment, the “gentlemen scientists” of which were loathe to acknowledge that a carpenter’s son had succeeded where they had not. Generations of sailors however have good reason to hold John Harrison in high regard.

Nostell kept me occupied for a couple of hours but I had to move on. I stopped for fuel near Wakefield and headed down the M1 towards Sheffield. For some reason known only to itself the sat-nav decided to go the “wrong” way around Sheffield which meant sitting in miles of crawling traffic before finally escaping into the Derbyshire Dales.

I arrived at The Moon Inn, Stoney Middleton at well past five o’clock, checked in and put the kettle on for a much needed cuppa. This time I didn’t need to put the kettle on the floor to plug it in. It was a nice room up in the first floor roof space, accessed by an outside door at the rear of the pub.

I had intended going for a chippy tea but it wasn’t open so ate at the inn instead. After dinner I’d planned on going for a wander around Stoney Middleton but looking outside saw that it was actually pissing down. Summer had arrived. Of course I had left my coat in my room. Since I’d have got wet going to my room I decided a better plan involved another pint and wait for the rain to let up after which I no longer felt the urge to walk around a wet Derbyshire village so I retired early.

Day 10, Stoney Middleton to Home. 181 miles.

I treated myself to a last holiday full English breakfast then checked out of the inn and since it was a fine sunny morning took a brief turn around the village.

It’s quite picturesque, lots of stone buildings including a church and a toll-gate cottage which is also the Fish and Chip shop with the disappointing opening hours. In a little garden nearby to the tollbar is a large circular blue plaque bearing the following text:

BOOT AND SHOEMAKERS’ STRIKE

1918-1920

In tribute to the women and men of Stoney Middleton and Eyam who were on strike for over two years and set up their own co-operative factory. They sought the reinstatement of sacked colleagues, shorter working hours, a war bonus and recognition of their trade union, the National Union of Boot and Shoe Operatives.

Their action inspired workers in other local industries to join unions, and paved the way for better wages and working conditions for later generations.

Good on ’em, I say.

It was time to go home. Once again I picked a route avoiding the M25 despite the sat-nav insisting that it would be a whole 8 minutes quicker. Except it wouldn’t, it never is. I got home mid afternoon, unpacked and started on the big pile of laundry. The cupboards & fridge were looking a bit sparsely populated so I got a Ruby Murray delivered, shopping could wait until tomorrow.

Epilogue.

I’ve gone through the photos and got the album down to only 290 items. You can see them on Flickr here.

I drove a total of around 1,584 miles.

Accommodation cost was £962.31

Did I have a good time? Yes.

Would I do it again? Also yes, or at least something similar. I’d like to explore more of Dumfries & Galloway. I might stretch the driving to cut out the first and last nights stop overs although it’s a long way.

Should you visit Kintyre? If you haven’t already you certainly should.

Did I see the Beatle? No, I’m told he doesn’t live there anyway so there was no danger of that happening.

May road trip journal, part 6.

Day 8, Leaving Kintyre and driving to Castle Douglas.

I had to be out of the cottage by 10 a.m. got up early, showered, packed and in fact was away at 0930 by which time the cleaner was waiting outside in her car. I grabbed a picnic breakfast from the Co-Op in Campbeltown and stopped near Muasdale to eat it. I stopped for fuel at Lochgilphead, passed through Inveraray and had an uneventful journey until just after Cairndow where road works had closed the main A83 Rest And Be Thankful road. A one-way convoy system had been set up along the single track Old Military Road which wound its way through they valley below the A83 for a couple of miles. I think I was fortunate to time my arrival a few minutes before a southbound convoy started off so wasn’t delayed too long. There was a very long queue headed northbound at the other end of the works. It was a little adventure anyway along a road you wouldn’t normally get to see.

I’d opted to avoid Loch Lomond since there had been roadworks there on the way up and it’s generally a busy route anyway. Instead I took the A814 at Arrochar down the east side of Loch Long and once the idiot in a hired van doing 10 mph got the message and pulled in to let the queue he’d created get by I made good progress down past the naval bases at Garelochhead until I stopped at Rhu just west of Motherwell to stretch my legs.

As you can see the hot sunny weather had been replaced now with cloudy skies. I had to put on a jumper.

I arrived in Castle Douglas around half past four in the afternoon and having eventually worked out how to get to the car park of the Imperial Hotel I checked in. The Imperial Hotel. It sounds grand doesn’t it? It might have been once. Now it was a bit run down and a shadow of its Victorian splendour. The staff were doing their best in a place that really needs some money spending on it. An oversight by housekeeping meant that I had to wait because my room wasn’t ready. I was promised a free pint though in recompense for the inconvenience so that was a win. The room was basic but functional even if the few socket outlets were all located in the wrong places so the kettle had to go on the floor to be plugged in. I made a cuppa then went for a walk around Castle Douglas and got something to eat.

I had picked Castle Douglas as a convenient stop based on distance and nothing more than a little curiosity since twenty-something years ago I’d worked with a guy who came from the town. It’s a fairly ordinary sort of place with a good number of shops - someone in Garlieston had said she liked to go there shopping - and a smattering of interesting Scottish architecture.

I think it helped that the sun had come back out.

On my return I went to the bar and got my free pint, which was Tennents lager. Not because I’m a lager drinker normally but because it was suggested that it or the cider were probably the only two things that were fresh and drinkable. The bar was occupied by a few colourful local characters who had obviously started early and were responsible for keeping the Tennents flowing. One had control of the TV remote and was treating us to a selection from Youtube Music. They were friendly enough though. I couldn’t help but smother a chuckle at the guy who left because he “really, really had tae catch the bus” but reappeared about 30 seconds later for “just a wee vodka before ah g’ hame”. I had a second pint then retired early, making a mental note to myself to read the bloody reviews a bit more carefully in future. Actually though it wasn’t what I’d imagined it wasn’t awful and I slept really well. In spite of the location it was quiet at night. They did a damn good Scottish breakfast too which set me up for the next stage of the journey.

Next episode I leave Scotland, visit a big house, and get stuck in Sheffield’s bloody awful traffic.

May road trip journal, part 5.

Day 7, Last day in Kintyre

It being Sunday I decided on a day of relative idleness. After breakfast I drove over to Machrihanish near Campbeltown Airport which has two flights a day to and from Glasgow with Loganair. It takes 45 minutes (plus faffing around at airports obviously) so is much quicker than driving but so, so much more expensive at around seventy quid each way. A former RAF and US Navy/Marines base when it was called RAF Machrihanish. Because it was redeveloped in the 1960s to support United States and NATO operations in the Clyde area and wider Atlantic it has the longest public airport runway in Scotland at 3,049 m (10,003 ft), built to allow use by nuclear bombers such as the Avro Vulcan and other large aircraft. Also used for the storage and distribution of nuclear weapons and as a US Navy SEALs base it was certified as a potential emergency landing site for the Space Shuttle in the 1980s, which had it been needed would have been a sight to behold. Post Cold War the Yanks went home in 1995 and it became a civil airport. The MOD sold the site to the Machrihanish Airbase Community Company in 2012 for a quid and parts of the site are used for commercial purposes. That included a maker of offshore wind turbines until they went bust.

I wasn’t going to the airport anyway but passed it on the way to the beach. It’s a remarkably large area of flat land for this part of the world. Machrihanish has a remarkably long beach with a large golf course separating it from the airport.

I went for a walk along part of it and then headed towards Southend again in the car. From Southend I took the narrow winding Le’arside Road around the south east Kintyre coast to Campeltown, stopping at Feochaig to look out over the Firth of Clyde to the almost hemispherical island of Ailsa Craig.

I stopped again at Kildalloig just east of Campbeltown and checked the tide times but there wasn’t enough time to walk out over the causeway to Davaar Island and get back again.

After a quick stop in Campeltown to visit the Linda McCartney Memorial Garden, which was closed so I had to make do with a photo taken over the top of the railings.

I returned to the cottage and took advantage of the fact that the other cottages were now empty so the broadband speed allowed me to catch up with Youtube.

In the next thrilling episode I bid Kintyre goodbye and start heading for home via Dumfries and Galloway.

May road trip journal, part 4

Day 6, Campbeltown, a coast road, and a castle.

After a lie in followed by a leisurely breakfast I drove into Campbeltown for a look around. The few car parks which weren’t associated with the two supermarkets were full but unusually Campbeltown has hardly any parking restrictions and there was plenty of spaces on the streets. I parked up near the leisure centre and took a walk to the harbour.

To the left of the Old Quay was a marina with mostly pleasure craft and Lifeboats. To the right the working harbour, empty today save for a few smaller fishing boats, a large lighter, and a larger vessel which I thought might be associated with the large pile of timber on the New Quay but when I looked it up turned out to be a fish carrier, the Aqua Harvester. The New Quay is also the location of Campbeltown Ferry Terminal which has services to Ballycastle in Northern Ireland (Kintyre Express fast passenger ferry), Brodick on the island of Arran, and Ardrossan on the mainland of Scotland (Caledonian MacBrayne). Except the CalMac ferries aren’t running this summer “due to the lack of an available vessel to deliver the service”. I had a wander around the town centre which has some quite good architecture in places, got an ice cream because it was bloody hot by Scottish measurements, went shopping in search of a new car phone holder because mine had exploded in my hand the day before and was now held together with sellotape, and having failed to find one walked around the bay to the end of Dalintober Pier for the view back to Campbeltown. (As I write this a replacement phone holder is awaiting a flight from China.)

I briefly considered a visit to the whisky shop but decided the complete lack of any price tickets in the window display probably indicated that I couldn’t afford it. A couple of hours of walking around the town in the hot sun was enough so I retreated to the air-conditioned car and headed out of town to see what the east coast of Kintyre was like.

The main road to Campbeltown is the A83 which comes down the west side of the peninsula and is how I’d arrived two days previously. On the east side the B842 follows the coast north of Campbeltown until it ends at a junction with the B8001 which runs east to west to connect to the A83. The B842 is not a major road, it is quite ridiculously scenic though. Also narrow and steep in a number of places with plenty of blind bends and summits so it isn’t a fast journey either. Which is good, I recommend driving it. There are lots of views across Kilbrannan Sound to Arran though limited places to stop and take photos (don’t park in the passing places) but I stopped at the beach at Torrisdale Bay where there’s a layby and a small car park (unusually the latter requiring payment).

A bit further on I spotted a turning to the right signposted Carradale Harbour B879 and on a whim took that road. I’m glad I did because a little over a mile and a half later I pulled into the free car park on the very photogenic harbour side at Carradale. Complete with a palm tree and public loos that weren’t locked up, both rare things in the UK. It even had one of those red and white painted sea mines which are charity collection boxes for the Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society.

Those are much less common than they used to be during my childhood when any seaside town of any note seemed to have one. There were over 200 originally donated by the Admiralty but now only around 50 survive apparently. Carradale Harbour looked glorious in the sunshine, giving definite “I could live here” vibes though I suspect the winter presents a different picture. Indeed a couple of plaques on the harbour wall remembering lost seafarers attest to the fact that the sea isn’t always as serene as it appeared that afternoon. I have out of idle curiosity just looked on Rightmove though :-)

I left Carradale Harbour and returned to the “main” coast road again and turned right following the coast northwards. My next stop was Grogport Viewpoint, another unspoilt spot with a beach and a view across to Arran where the white buildings of the hamlet of Pirnmill could be seen at the water’s edge. I sat on a picnic bench for a while listening to nothing but the occasional bird singing. Not another vehicle passed for 10 minutes. Lovely spot, still no idea why it has the unlovely name, which is an Anglicisation of the Scots Gaelic Gròb-phort, which doesn’t look much better. If you know what it means comment below.

I reached the end of the B842 at Claonaig and deciding which way to turn was very easy since the sign pointing right contained the word “Castle”. After 2.3 miles along a road past the terminal for the Claonaig to Lochranza ferry to Arran and an area very popular as a wild camping site on the narrow strip of land between the road and the sea I came over a wee hump back bridge, the end of the B8001, and arrived in a little car park under the trees signed as for visitors to Skipness Castle. The castle itself was a 600 yards walk along a driveway from the gate lodge by the road. It was a quarter past four in the afternoon. I had no idea if the castle was open but walked down there past the nosey sheep anyway. It was open. It was also free to visit. It was great.

Historic Environment Scotland says “Skipness Castle was begun in the early 1200s, probably by the MacSween family. It was acquired by the Stewart earls of Mentieth in 1262. It passed into the hands of the MacDonalds in 1325 and eventually on to the Campbell Earls of Argyll”. Much of it is in ruins but with still high standing walls but the 16th century four storey tower house still has a roof, internal floors and staircases, and and you can climb all the way up onto the roof for a commanding view across Kilbrannan Sound to Arran. Spot the Claonaig to Lochranza ferry.

Having explored the castle I followed the path down to the edge of the water and along to the ruins of St Brendan’s Chapel, Skipness. The now roofless 13th or 14th century chapel building stands within a stone walled graveyard on flat ground near the beach.

Within the graveyard are a number of recumbent intricately carved medieval gravestones. They’re protected by heavy hinged wooden covers which give no clue as to what lies underneath, just a little plate saying “Please keep this cover closed” and a handle. They reward curious investigation.

I said goodbye to the Chaffinch singing on top of a Celtic Cross with Arran behind and made my way back to the car, oblivious to the fact that through the next gateway was a World War 2 Bombing Range Marker which I only spotted on Open Street Map later. I drove back to Campbeltown the same way that I’d come because it’s just as nice a trip in the opposite direction and I wasn’t in any rush.

Next time more empty beaches and narrow roads.