Tom: Greetings for the penultimate time. Since last blogging we have driven a lot of miles mainly along the Wild Atlantic Coastline, crossed one land border, drunk several pints of the black stuff, listened to some superb live music and used up all of our Scottish Blend tea!

Tuesday 4th December:

Having made cups of tea and breakfast in the van in the Smuggler’s Inn car park we headed slightly further East along the North coast of Northern Ireland to another National Trust attraction, Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge. On arrival at the car park the wind was blowing cold and we put on our warm coats and made for the footpath leading to the bridge. It was about a twenty minute walk and as we rounded the final corner we could see the bridge swinging in the wind between the mainland and the tiny island. As we approached we were greeted by a lady who worked for the National Trust at the top of a pretty steep metal staircase. We made our way down the stairs and out onto the bridge. I can reassure you that it was extremely stable although slightly bouncy. Despite the day not being the clearest the view was still absolutely fantastic, Islay, Jura, The Mull of Kintyre and even Ailsa Craig all visible. Supposedly on a clear day the Paps of Jura and the Mountains of Arran are also visible! On the other side of the bridge was an island that was once used for fishing. There was a small fisherman’s cottage perched/ built into the cliffs with a steep staircase cut into the rock running down to the sea. There was also an impressive rigging system for the fisherman’s boat, hoisting it up out of the sea and up the cliff face. Enjoy the photos of this as it is a really special place!

Back in the van we headed back West and stopped at a cliff top viewing point for a spot of lunch. I perhaps shouldn’t mention the fact that there was a gap in part of the wall where there had been a significant land slip causing part of the viewing point and, ironically, the warning signs about potential landslips to disappear. Rest assured we steered the van well clear, however other viewers were less cautious!

After polishing off a couple of slices of toast with humus and olives and a cup of tea we set off in search of a supermarket, laundry service and place of rest for the night. We could already feel the days ticking away and felt that we had better head for Londonderry and the border where Londonderry would for political reasons become Derry.

Rachael: I thought we had better pay a visit to the Dark Hedges, an impressive tree-lined drive which was recently a filming location for Game of Thrones. I haven’t yet had the time to get into Game of Thrones, knowing that it would be completely 100% up my street and that I wouldn’t be able to eat or wash until I’d watched and read every available scrap, but I’m sure I will. Perhaps in this impending period of unemployment. Anyway, it was pretty dark by the time we got there, but we managed to squeeze in a few terribly underexposed pictures before moving on to do laundry.

Tom: We managed to find a washing machine and dryer at a garage pretty close to a big Tesco in the outskirts of Londonderry and were all set to find a place to stop for the night. On crossing the border the only thing to notice was the change of road signs from miles per hour into kilometres per hour which I must admit did cause some confusion especially as the kilometres per hour were nigh on impossible to read on the van’s speedometer as the tiny little numbers were located in the middle of the dial and the hand showing the speed is exceptionally fat and completely covered everything!

We found a great little spot to park up for the night situated besides Inch Walkway, a manmade walkway across Drongawn Lough where we settled down to a bite to eat and a couple of episodes of Heartbeat. It was a very cold night, perhaps the coldest so far on the trip and a decent frost was starting to form. In fact it was such a good frost that an exceptionally conscientious young chap was repeatedly testing his handbrake and steering around the corners of what was an extremely tight car park. He was soon warned off with a couple of very disapproving looks out of the window. We could hear him in his changed location, an even smaller parking spot just up the hill from where we were. Safe in the knowledge we weren’t going to be pranged we went to sleep.

Wednesday 5th December:

First up the following day was a walk along the walkway which showed off some impressive views onto a ruined castle and the inhabiting wildlife. Half way along the walkway was a bird hide and I am certain on a good day Sea Eagles would be seen soaring.

We got back on the road and decided that although Rachael’s phone was acting as a brilliant navigational tool we could actually do with a road map of Ireland in case battery or more likely signal proved an issue. We stopped off at a decent service station which only proved decent for coffee in the end. We carried on along the road eventually arriving in Donegal. One thing I would already make mention to is that Christmas lights are taken very seriously in both Northern Ireland as well as the Republic of Ireland. We parked up and wandered through the town successfully finding a very well marked atlas in the bookshop. We enjoyed another coffee which came complimented by a slice of chocolate brownie.

We had already sourced a much needed campsite in Bundoran and on arrival found that it had actually shut down. Luckily there was another camp site located on the other side of the retail park. We drove in and everything looked closed up. I wandered over to the reception to be greeted by an elderly couple who had their car parked up. I greeted them  stating that I felt we had arrived too late. Fortunately for us they were the campsite owner’s parents and immediately called him. He would arrive in ten minutes to check us in, just enough time for me to thank the couple and walk round the corner to buy some milk from the supermarket. On arrival back to the campsite I could have sworn I had parked the van on the other side and immediately thought I had always doubted Rachael’s driving ability. It turned out that actually what had happed is the campsite owner had arrived, grabbed the keys from Rachael, moved the van and plugged it in for us! We quickly cooked up a tea of fajitas as the plan was to go to the cinema to see Creed 2. Actually what ended up happening was we became engaged in yet another episode of Heartbeat which led to another and then another! Creed 2 will just have to wait.

Thursday 6th December:

Rachael: In the morning (I use the term morning very loosely these days, as we have become more or less nocturnal) we had a shower each at a cost of 4€ and then had a quick peek at another neolithic tomb (Creevykeel Court Tomb). Rejoining the Wild Atlantic Way we drove around the headland to Mullaghmore Head with some impressive rock pavements slanting into the sea. Further along we saw another impressive geological formation, Benbulbin, and Glencar waterfall, a waterfall so idyllic it could almost be a cartoon. In the evening we stopped for a look around Sligo town and a snack. 

Tom: Luckily we already had in mind great stopping place for the night situated on the shores of Lough Melvin, an inland lough about forty kilometres south. On arrival the wind had picked up and the toilet block besides the campervan parking bays was all locked up. All the same, it was a great spot to spend the night.

Friday 7th December:

Rachael: We got up late on Friday and had a leisurely cuppa and breakfast by the lake. We already knew we wanted to visit Westport, but that was a significant drive south so I checked the map and found something worth visiting nearby before we committed ourselves southwards – Downpatrick Head. And it was indeed worth visiting as it was the first time I’ve ever seen waves properly curl over, and huge sprays up the side of cliffs. Apparently Downpatrick Head also has blowholes which I’m sure would have been mind-blowing if it hadn’t been too cold and windy to get out of the van for long enough to walk up and see them, so instead we set off southwards to Westport.

Our route took us through Newport, beautifully decorated with Christmas lights and with a large old multi-arched stone bridge spanning the river. When we arrived in Westport it was an even better version of Newport. More lights, more bridges, and a nice big car park which went around the back of the leisure centre and had a perfect corner for us to subtly slip Diggy into.

It was now getting on for dinner time and we were torn between an expensive Nepalese and a cheap shish kebab. In the end we settled for the kebab and were extremely pleasantly surprised. It was practically gourmet stuff with tender, well-marinated and artfully charred meat, homemade garlic and chilli sauce, and delicious balanced salad that I could almost call one of my five a day. 

Now sated and kidding ourselves that we’d made a healthy dinner choice we hurried back across the gorgeous little stone bridge and up the glittering high street to our chosen venue, Matt Molloy’s. The eponymous Matt Molloy is a renowned traditional Irish flautist who now owns his own pub which hosts live trad music seven nights a week. After my first pint I was persuaded to try half a Guinness. Part way through the live music a distinguished gent appeared – Matt Molloy himself – who whipped out his flute and joined in with what turned out to be his son, also on flute, in what we understand to be a rare treat. At first we watched the musicians from a couple of stools, hunched over so as not to obstruct the view of the couple behind us, so by the time we got some decent seats my back had seized into the hunched position. I like to think it gave me an element of mystery. Eventually, rather worse for wear after all the Guinness and musical merriment, we headed back to the van for nine hours of solid snoring.

Saturday 8th December:

On Saturday I was keen to visit the Museum of Country Life which documents life in rural Ireland from the end of the famine in 1850 to, I suppose, the emergence of “modern life” in 1950. It’s a brilliant museum describing the amazing craftsmanship of communities in the past, but very careful not to romanticise anything about it. You wouldn’t believe what people made out of straw. Chairs, saddles, you name it. There was also an interesting temporary exhibition of Irish traveller history – people used to wait a year for the tinker to come back to the area get a new bucket!

After fully perusing the exhibitions we had lunch in the cafe – another amazing meal of chicken caesar salad (me) and mushroom soup (Tom, uuuuuuuuurh I don’t like mushrooms they taste like mud). We drove back through Newport and tried to find a good viewpoint from the north into Clew Bay, famous for the vast number of islands in the bay, almost more island than water. We took a turn down a narrow country lane and ended up briefly trespassing on an old lady’s land as it was the only place we could turn around. When I saw her come out I braced myself for her to haul me out of the van and stave my head in with a shovel, but actually she asked us what we were looking for and directed us to another road with a nice ruined castle and fisherman’s pier.

I’d promised Tom that he could have a Matt Molloy’s t-shirt since I’d got a Tide Lines t-shirt in Sheffield, so we prepared for another evening out in Westport by parking back in our subtle spot by the leisure centre, and I removed my thermal top having learned the previous night that crowds, Guinness, and open fires can be a toasty combination. The evening was filled with more music, more beer, and this time an enthusiastic hen party borrowing the fiddle and singing Ed Sheeran hits. By the time I went to get Tom a t-shirt they’d stopped serving so we had no choice but to return to the van, souvenir-less, Googling the opening hours for Sunday (12.30pm, yes! Tom shall have a t-shirt! Anything for my princess.).

Sunday 9th December:

Having walked back to Matt Malloy’s and bought a t-shirt from the son of the great man, it was time to move on. We boarded the campervan and headed south past Croagh Patrick*. We would have liked to stop at the Croagh Patrick visitor centre however, not all types of tourism had been considered as we were unable to get our campervan into the car park due to the height restriction they had placed upon it. Anyhow, their loss as I am sure we would have bought a fridge magnet which I am sure they will have catered for!

* Croagh Patrick is mountain and site of Christian pilgrimage. Often the two thousand seven hundred and sixty four metre peak is scaled bare foot. Each to their own!

We continued South through the Doolough valley which we later heard from several different sources is one of the sights of Ireland. It was absolutely magnificent, rugged and wild! I certainly would like to return here on a mountaineering holiday. We continued into the Connemara National Park which continued to delight with simply fantastic mountain scenery and a friendly robin by Aasleagh Falls. Having used the last two Scottish Blend tea bags, which still remain my favourite, we made a stop at a supermarket in the middle of nowhere. We purchased a new type of tea, Barry’s and some snacks to keep us going.

The next stop was in Clifden where we planned to stay the night. We made an initial stop to empty the Thetford cassette at the coach park. It was quite a site seeing the camper parked up alongside a Citylink coach! The toilets there were being refurbished and the lighting was not working, however, the water was flowing and by torch light I emptied the contents of the cassette. We refrained from filling up the water tank from the tap on site as the water was a brownish colour. This hadn’t previously stopped the people using the website we found the location on?!

We circled the town checking out a couple of the suggested locations which were, to be quite honest, very disappointing. Without any exaggeration they were literally outside peoples bungalows! We eventually went back into town and pulled up in the open carpark of a hotel to see if this was an option to sleep the night. After wondering in, realising there was nobody eating or drinking there I promptly went back out to the van to move on. #Reoccurrence of things going wrong (Tesco fuel station, Oban – Tuesday 13th November)! It now had become apparent what the problem was: the immobiliser light is not switching off. We were stranded once again and I can hardly say I had shown off my parking skills. I had slung it half into a spot and was hanging out the back at a ridiculous angle! We tried desperately to start the van but to no avail. A combination of frustration and hunger eventually pulled us away from the van and we wandered back around the corner to where we stumbled upon our new favourite fast food, Supermac’s. Goodbye Weatherspoons, at least whilst we are still in the Republic of Ireland! We indulged in pizza and chips/ chicken burger and chips frantically searching the world wide web for inspiration of how we might get our beloved Dignity to startup.

On arrival back with Dignity, she still wouldn’t start. We had read something about an emergency immobiliser code and found the code we needed. With a series of key turns in different directions we got her started and the quest to find somewhere to sleep restarted. We drove back through the town and out the other side visiting two hotels, the first of which was definitely shut up for the winter with one sole light on in one of the upstairs windows. We guess this must have been the people who owned it? The second was on the higher road and the entry was down a rather steep slope. On arrival in the car park the sign showed five stars, the cars parked matched the stars and the hotel was a converted castle. Not good company for Dignity at all! We were starting to clutch at straws when we realised that there was a beach side location that we could try as a last resort. Thank goodness we held out as this was a five star location in itself. Since the site had been posted on the website, the car park had been tarmacced and a sea wall had been built. It was absolutely perfect and there was nobody else there! As usual, cup of tea and Heartbeat followed by very rare prayer that Dignity would start the following morning!

Monday 10th December:

The beach at where we had parked up for the night was quite magnificent by daylight. It truly was a five star location and I would highly recommend for a night or two. After a brief wonder over the sands we got back in the van and our prayers had been answered, Dignity started up on the first time of asking. We drove back up into Clifden where we set about finding somewhere where we could shower as it had been a couple of days, maybe actually four days! We went back to the hotel in town where Dignity had shown objection the night before as we knew they had a swimming pool. On enquiry it turned out they welcomed guests so we grabbed our swim suits and a change of clothes plus the wash bags containing all the lotions and potions needed for making ourselves human again. In fact should we have wanted to use the swimming pool we were expected to purchase a swimming cap. Good job there was also a jacuzzi, steam room and sauna! We carososelled these several times before deciding enough was enough and made for the showers. On returning to Dignity objection was once again shown and we decided to walk up to the shops again to try some new battery’s in the keys. We couldn’t resist a cheeky chicken wrap from Supermac’s on the way back to see if the new batteries had solved the problem.

I am still not sure if they have although with repeated turning of the key Dignity eventually does start up.  There is something that defiantly needs checking out when returning back to Norfolk for Christmas. We left Clifden and headed for Galway. It was a pretty bumpy road but nothing in comparison to some of the ‘L’ and ‘N’ roads previously driven. As we started to enter the city of Galway the traffic was getting heavier and it actually turned out that there had been a three car accident. Although we had seen an ambulance a short while before no major damage seemed to have been caused. We drove into Galway and parked up by the cathedral not far from the centre of town. This is another good spot as it is free overnight and then just five Euros for the day. We wondered into he city centre where it was alive with buskers as well as busy coffee shops, restaurants and pubs. We eventually selected a pub where we managed to get a seat and settled into another pint of Guinness. Shortly after, a live band arrived to play and the seat we had so luckily got turned out not so lucky… A combination of volume and overpowering vocals and instruments made us neck up and move on. We wondered across the road to another bar where a more traditional band complete with a whistle player as well as uilleann piper were performing. This was more  like it.

Rachael: At the bar I got talking to a local who was born and bred in Galway but lived in London in the 70s and 80s. Later on when the music was over and everyone was drinking up he came over to talk to us. He leant in to Tom and said “I’m going to say something now that will make you not like me…”. I rolled my eyes and sighed and prepared to be half offended and half flattered by a comment like “if I was twenty years younger I’d be trying it on with your Mrs” however, my arrogance was soon checked when he declared: “I’m a Tommy Robinson fan. English Defence League supporter, far right and all that…”. Oh brilliant.

Tuesday 11th December:

At 8am the next morning Tom got up to put some money in the parking meter. A few hours later we crawled out of the van and across the river to check out some of the shops we’d shortlisted the night before: a traditional music shop, a couple of outdoor shops, and a branch of Foot Solutions. You may notice these are all Tom’s choices, yet he has the cheek to call me a shopaholic! An extremely helpful assistant in Foot Solutions examined Tom’s gait, checked his pressure points on a special gadget and concluded that he should have custom insoles made. Merry Christmas, a pair of custom insoles!!

We also stopped in for a couple of lattes at a very quiet little coffee shop on a tiny lane. It was a bit surreal when we climbed the stairs to find ourselves, not alone as we suspected, but in a sea of laptops each with its own hipster tapping silently behind it.

After some more shopping we decided we’d worked up enough of an appetite to justify some more fast food. This time we sampled Supermac’s SuperSubs – arguably better than Subway’s. Time was marching on so we picked up a fridge magnet for our collection and hopped in the van to find a quiet countryside spot to spend the night. We ended up halfway down a muddy track in some woods, which added an extra element of danger to the morning as we now had to worry about starting the van AND getting it out of the mud.

Wednesday 12th December:

Fortunately the van started up and moved off without a problem and we were able to trundle off down the track to visit the Burran, a huge limestone pavement running along the coastline into the sea. It was freezing and blowing a gale with the occasional cold rain shower so we only managed a couple of pictures before being blown back into the van. Then we got on with the real business of the day: the exceptionally dramatic Cliffs of Moher.

Nowadays rather than experiencing the Cliffs of Moher, one has to have the Cliffs of Moher Experience, the difference being a capital E and 8€ each. Having said that, the visitor centre was an impressive building hidden in the landscape of the cliffs with some interesting information, and I felt much safer on the new viewing platforms than on the crumbling concrete ledge that Tom informs me was the way people “experienced” it before. I think I would have “experienced” something brown in the trouser area.

You don’t really get an idea of the scale of the cliffs until you see the little specks of seagulls flying around and landing on the little ledges. In the past a popular activity and reliable food source of the local inhabitants was to get a group of about 15 people and a massive long rope and lower one of them over the edge to catch seabirds and collect their eggs from the nests. Thank god for Supermac’s, eh?

The whole area around the middle of Ireland is a motorhome stop desert. Although there are miles and miles of uninhabited road there are very few places to stop, and any car parks in the countryside tend to have height restriction barriers. Using the app, I managed to locate a spot by a fishing lake which would start us on our way to Dublin but be close enough to Ennis for a slap-up breakfast in the morning. Again, mud was an issue, as was my intense paranoia that the owner of the tractor whose tracks were visible in the mud would appear in the morning and impale us on some farming equipment. But I busied myself with cooking us a (relatively) healthy meal of chicken with leek sauce, roast sweet potato, and broccoli. And again, the broccoli has stunk out the van for four days and counting.

Thursday 13th December:

We had to have an early start on Thursday, which was good for me as it meant we were almost ready to go by the time it was light enough for the imaginary farmer to come for us. There was nothing particularly exciting planned for Thursday, just a long drive across the country to Dublin with a stop on the way at one of the few places to empty the Thetford, shower, and fill up with water, and also do some laundry.

We started with breakfast at Supermac’s in Ennis to set us up for the day and had a brief look around the shops (honestly, it really is Tom not me that loves shopping), after which we made for the marina at Portumna to make use of their facilities.

Once there we had a tricky conundrum. Camper vans are only allowed in the designated spaces, but the minimum car parking charge is 10€ for 24 hours enforced by CCTV cameras, and we both needed showers. Hmmm… We dithered for a long time and drove up and down the road looking for other places to park until eventually a man waved us down and asked us, in very kind words, what the hell we were doing. He said the users of the marina had lobbied the council for years to get these facilities put in, and we congratulated him on his effort and success before promptly driving round the corner and parking in the grey water (water from the sinks rather than toilet, which is euphemistically called “black water”) disposal area to avoid paying for said facilities. To be fair to us, we’d had to spend 12.70€ on a special card to allow us to use the showers there. Incidentally, if anyone is going boating in Ireland soon and wants 16 Waterways Ireland facilities credits, let me know.

We each had a shower while the other was “emptying the grey water”, then we drove around the corner to a supermarket which had another of those strange but extremely convenient outdoor coin operated launderette things that we used in Londonderry/Derry. They’re operated by the photo booth company Photo Me and I hope they catch on in the UK. Very handy, they even include hypoallergenic detergent. Anyway, we had a bag of donuts from the supermarket while we waited… it wasn’t a very healthy day.

Now with the Royal Flush of clean bodies and clothes, empty black and grey and grey water tanks, and full drinking water tank, we were able to continue our journey to Dublin. Or, rather, a pub just outside Dublin called the Salmon Leap Inn where my app said we could stay in the car park. We decided to have a proper meal there and didn’t regret it. I had a steak sandwich and Tom had the festive turkey burger, and we both had their truly excellent chips. We went to bed fifty quid lighter but three stone heavier.

Stay tuned for the final chapter!

Quite a drop! I wonder how cold the sea is?

‘I will not look down’

The fisherman’s cottage and boat pulley system

Swinging in the breeze

What a walkway

I promise we could see Islay, Jura, The Mull of Kintyre and Ailsa Craig

Inch Walkway

Sligo

Creevykeel Court Cairn

Looking out from Mullaghmore Head

A delicious local delicacy

Benbulbin, Co. Sligo

Glencar

Glencar

Rough seas at Downpatrick Head

Westport

What a find – the deluxe kebaby in Westport

A rare and special occasion – Matt Molloy playing alongside his son in his own pub in Westport

A poor attempt to show off magnificent hills in Doolough Valley

Aasleagh Falls, Connemara

What a friendly robin

The Twelve Bens, Connemara

A five star beach below a five star stop for the night, Clifden

Father Christmas photographed in Galway

Rachael flirting with Oscar Wilde to little avail, Galway

Dressed for Christmas, Galway

A mass expanse of limestone pavement, The Burren

Once the viewing platform at the Cliffs of Moher

Looking South along the Cliffs of Moher

Standing well back from the cliff edge, Cliffs of Moher

Was it the best meal of the trip? Rachael’s new signature dish – chicken and leek sauce with roasted sweet potatoes and broccoli

Random lakeside on Wednesday night – Muckanagh Lough

Supermac’s breakfast, Ennis

Supermac’s breakfast bap, Ennis

These are really very useful and can be found all over Ireland

Tom: We eventually left Nottingham around 17:00 having been to Halfords to purchase some engine coolant as it was due a bit of a top up after the many hills we had ploughed up in second gear at best. We also filled up the Diesel as for some reason it is remarkably cheep in Nottingham. It goes without saying we were now driving straight into the Nottingham/ Sheffield and M1 rush hour traffic!

We ploughed up the road trying to fine plan the evening ahead as we knew we had to be in Sheffield at 20:00 as we had booked tickets to see Tide Lines (for those of you who haven’t heard of them – the best new band out there!) at the Greystones.

We arrived at our usual, Hardhurst farm around 18:20 having just missed the 18:17 bus into Sheffield. We had two choices: either to wait for the next hourly bus or to rush to get the train and get a bus from the middle of Sheffield to the venue. We opted for the former and set about setting up the van and making a quick something to eat. I never thought I would say this but: thank goodness for the emergency super noodles.

We jumped on the bust having been waiting for about fifteen minutes. It was an absolutely foul night and the upper deck was completely steamed up from the heat of all the passengers heading into Sheffield for a night out. I am absolutely certain nobody looking in from outside would have been aware of the games of charades going on!

We eventually got off the bus having five minutes to get the half a mile or so up the steep hill to the Greystones. We arrived somewhat out of breath to find out that they were actually starting at half past. What a waste of effort! We queued for the bar and made sure to get a couple of bags of crisps to hold off the hunger pains which were inevitably coming at some point. The beer was so good I even made sure to get another pint in before Tide Lines got playing to make the best of not having to drive for the rest of the day.

One word: Brilliant! I can honestly say it was one of the very best gigs I have ever been to. It was a super small venue and the sound of the band fantastic. We spoke to them briefly afterwards whilst purchasing they most recent EP and a car bumper sticker as we can honestly say we have been to ‘feel the breeze of the Hebrides’ in every which way possible. The night ended with a takeaway and an Uber back to the campsite as we had got caught up and missed the last train and bus. A top night out!

The next day we woke up to even more rain which seemed to be a key theme to the entire trip. We emptied the “Thetford cassette” (toilet tank) and filled up the van with water and headed the usual way. To Outside in Hathersage! As ever we enjoyed a good brunch and decided to check out some of the potentially free places to say in the Northern Peaks. Both Stanage and Burbage are no go’s however the Fox House are happy providing you eat, drink or both with them. With this now in mind we headed along to Castleton and had a look around the shops as well as enjoying the first mulled wine of the year. We headed back to the Fox House to cook and enjoy a drink in front of the log fire whilst booking our ferry tickets for the next part of our adventure before retiring to the van for sleepsies.

The following day we drove into Sheffield to spend the day looking around. It was still pouring with rain. We found a good car park in the centre of town that allowed us to fit the van in with no issues at all. We wandered into town starving hungry and made for the first place we came to. Luckily it was a Wetherspoons so we knew exactly what we were expecting. At this point I will mention that come the end of this trip, Rachael and I will be posting awards given to various things, the best Wetherspoons will be in this!

We wondered around until tiredness got the better of us and headed back to the van. Before heading back to the Fox House we found a huge Tesco mentioned by the barman in the Fox House to replenish our food supplies in the van. Thank you also goes to Google for taking us what seemed the most roundabout way possible!

With the date on the ferry tickets getting ever closer we headed to Liverpool to enjoy the city in which we had met as well as catch the ferry from Birkenhead to Belfast. We found a very convenient stopping place at the yacht club located in the docks very close to the Echo arena. We wandered along the Mersey into town and got a complete soaking as the rain was still following us. Since we were last in Liverpool over five years ago it has changed a considerable amount. We enjoyed a pint on Mathew Street in a new live music bar called Sergeant Peppers before heading to somewhere that hasn’t changed at all – thank goodness! When we were living in Liverpool and suffering as a result of the huge stresses caused through the PGCE course, we would save our pennies and visit Zorba’s every now and then. Outside of Greece this is the best Greek food I have ever had and this time was no exception. We returned to the van to have a shower before falling asleep.

The following day we moved the van out to St Michael’s, a suburb out towards Aigburth where we lived when last in Liverpool. I popped in to ask at the halls whether parking was still free only to bump into the same man who was working there six years ago. We left the van and caught the Mersey Rail into central Liverpool.

Liverpool’s development continued to surprise all day. I am now aware that the halls of residence I had once lived in next to Lime Street Station  in the first year of my undergraduate degree were being strongly proposed to turn back into a hotel, something the building hadn’t been used for since 1930. If they need any votes for this I will certainly offer mine as the building certainly needed a refurbishment when I lived there ten years ago!

We visited the Walker art gallery before heading back to Liverpool One to see Fantastic Beasts: the Crimes of Grindelwald. By the time the film finished the final boat to Belfast had left the ferry terminal at Birkenhead which was our cue to head over to park up for the night. I have driven through the Mersey tunnels on numerous occasions without any issues however, tonight wasn’t to be one of those journeys. Finding the right barrier to drive through proved impossible, having to reverse of two separate occasions to drive into what we hoped was the correct barrier entrance. We eventually got through!

Rachael: Feeling about ten years older after the barrier ordeal we eventually made it to the Birkenhead ferry terminal at about twenty past midnight to await our sailing the following morning. This meant that Tom genuinely had aged a year as it was now his birthday! We cooked up a slightly dismal late-night dinner, watched an episode of Rebus on DVD and finally went to sleep at about 2am. The alarm went off at half past seven, so Tom awoke on his birthday morning in a van at a rainy ferry terminal in Birkenhead after four and a half hours’ sleep. It wasn’t ideal, but could have been worse – say, for example, if I’d punched him in the face or emptied the Thetford cassette into his shoes. I handed Tom his birthday present, a box set of Heartbeat Series 1-7, The Rowan Years, which I hope he was suitable pleased with, and a few birthday cards from family members we’ve been keeping smuggled about the van in anticipation of the big day.

We boarded the ferry no bother, and quickly set up camp on a banquette in the canteen where we remained for the next eight hours. Luckily I had the foresight to bring my trusty bright green fluffy blanket and I wasn’t the only one. In fact the entire perimeter of the canteen looked like it was edged with multicoloured giant slugs. We had some Swedish meatballs, a bag of wine gums, and a nap each, and I made good progress on another book stolen from my brother – High Fidelity by Nick Hornby. By the time we got to Belfast it was pitch black and raining.

We had a quick drive up the coast to Carrickfergus, partly to get our bearings and settle in, and partly to charge the leisure battery as the solar panel had been sitting in the dark all day. Then we pitched up at the car park of a coastal park, in which there was already one motorhome. I made Tom the best birthday dinner I could manage under the circumstances, which was tinned chilli con carne on chips with homemade guacamole. And I even did the washing up! Finally, we cracked open the Heartbeat DVDs and got stuck in.

Tom: Thank you to everybody for their birthday cards, messages and presents. I did have a super day and Rachael, the Heartbeat dvd’s were the best idea ever – thank you.

On Sunday we got up pretty late and parked at the park & ride to visit Belfast city centre. After we’d parked up we discovered that the park & ride buses don’t run on Sundays, but fortunately it was only a 15 minute walk into the centre, so we donned our coats and set off to explore.

By the time we’d got there and had a quick look around we were both starving and were forced once again to retreat into a Wetherspoons for lunch. Once we were sufficiently stuffed with beef and potatoes in various forms we had another look around the centre, popped into a few shops which were now starting to close, had a coffee and decided that we’d be able to do some proper things on our way back through for the return ferry.

Back in the van we headed for a camping spot that was very highly recommended on my app at Bentra Golf Course. There were already two other motorhomes there, and we could see why. There was a special coin-operated terminal for motorhomes which provides water, electricity, and toilet disposal, and the golf course allow you to use their showers and toilets for free during opening hours. What an absolutely brilliant place. That’s the good thing about living in a van I suppose, it makes you really appreciate the rare times when you’re clean and have plenty of water and don’t have to cart a tank of raw sewerage around with you.

Again, we woke up very late and the daylight was ticking away for us to get up to the Giant’s Causeway. After a very welcome shower and a quick cup of tea we packed up and headed up north. The causeway itself is free to access, and between March and November you can park down in Bushmills (of Bushmills whisky fame) and get a free shuttle bus up to the causeway, but at this time of year you either have to walk the two miles or park up the National Trust visitor centre, which costs twelve grand and your firstborn child. Unless, that is, you’re National Trust members like we are. Muahahaha. We legged it out of the van, picked up our audio guides and got a little bus down the hill to the stones. 

The Giant’s Causeway is an amazing volcanic rock formation that stretches from Northern Ireland to the Hebridean island of Staffa. Had we gone to the Outer Hebrides at another time of year, we could have got a boat out to Staffa and seen the other end of the causeway which would have been nice, but sadly we don’t live in a novel. Anyway, the Giant’s Causeway was impressive enough on this end. Once again the heavens opened, but we made it back to the bus before we had a repeat of the Great Liverpool Drenching of 2018. We bought the obligatory fridge magnet and departed as it got dark.

My app couldn’t come up with anywhere good to stay tonight, so we took our chances at the Smuggler’s Inn just on the corner of the road up to the causeway. After promising that we’d come in for a meal they kindly agreed to let us park up in the car park. In fact we had rather more than a meal. So far we’ve had two courses each, several pints, lattes, and a Bushmills whisky (well, it’d be rude not to…). Tomorrow’s burning agenda? Laundry…

Troughton out.

Tide Lines, The Greystones, Sheffield

Proudly displaying the menu at one of our favourite old haunts, Zorba’s, Liverpool

The Death of Nelson, Daniel Maclise, 1859 – 1864 at the Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool

Looking back across the Mersey to the Liver building and Liverpool One

Belfast City Hall, Northern Ireland

Beautiful countryside, County Antrim, Northern Ireland

Giant’s Causeway, Northern Ireland

Imposing basalt pillars, Giant’s Causeway. If only you were allowed to climb them.

Looking back towards the stones, Giant’s Causeway, Northern Ireland

Giant’s Causeway, Northern Ireland

Giant’s Causeway, Northern Ireland

Tom: I am sorry it has taken us so long to compose this update. We promise to try and keep it as concise as possible without compromising on the detail needed for you to imagine you were having the time of your life with us!

Following writing our last post we left The Corryvreckan Wetherspoons in Oban (aptly named after the Corryvreckan which is the third largest whirlpool in the world located between the islands of Scarba and Jura to the south of Oban) we made for the van to get things sorted for moving off.  We visited Tesco which had been under water a few weeks earlier due to the effect of Storm Callum to replenish our supplies and then filled up the van with petrol and gave it a quick vacuum. This is where everything seemed to go wrong. We had been having slight problems starting the van first time however, on this occasion I gave it four or five attempts and could not get it to fire. We were stranded in the middle of Tesco’s petrol station; not the best place to sleep the night! I went over the way to a garage who were super helpful and said that they were unable to help us and pointed me in the direction of another garage. They were equally helpful suggesting a costly company to recover us. I don’t get it, why are people unwilling to walk all of fifty metres to help someone out?! On getting back to the van after twenty minutes I tried again with no success. Rachael got out of the van and attempted to push out. I pressed every peddle with my foot and turned the key and it fired into life. Don’t ask how it happened as I really don’t know.

We started to drive South with the fear of whether the van would start up if we stopped it. We thought it appropriate to call the garage we bought it from to ask for advice of what the problem may be. We are still not sure however, I did learn something. To all of you who drive a diesel vehicle, you are meant to turn the key half way and leave it until all the lights go off on the dashboard. This is indicating that the glow plugs have warmed and everything is ready for take off!

On reaching the Green Welly at Tyndrum we were both desperate for the loo and for a drink. We were in two minds of whether to stop the van but figured it wasn’t a bad place to sleep the night if needs be. It did restart thank goodness, and we did employ the new top tip! We made our way to to The Woods Caravan Park not far from Alloa. It was not the ideal location however, we did need to recharge the van and do our laundry and it was the only campsite open within the vicinity we were heading.

On arrival we pulled up and plugged in to one of their late arrival hook ups. We promptly made for the bar for a pint before cooking and settling down for the night.

On waking the next day more awful weather presented itself. We checked in as we chose to spend another night on the campsite to sit out the rain. We decided that day to catch the bus into Stirling, the sight of the famous battle, an impressive castle and not a lot else! We wondered around the city before adding another Wetherspoons to our tally.

The following day was, as the forecast promised, dry with light cloud. Finally a good day had come so we headed for Edinburgh. We decided to head in from the North via the Queensferry Crossing Bridge, the fantastic new crossing over the Firth of Forth. It definitely didn’t disappoint. We drove through the North of the city to the park and ride located at Newcraighall which is where we planned to spend the night. The car park cost fifty pence per day which we felt was an absolute bargain. We caught the train into Edinburgh where we grabbed a bite to eat at yet another Wetherspoons before wondering around the shops for the afternoon. In the case that any of you are questioning whether we like Wetherspoons the answer is YES!

That evening Rachael declared some extremely strong feelings: she missed our local curry house that we visited on a huge number of occasions almost opposite the flat that we lived at in London! This meant only one thing, we had to find the best curry house Edinburgh had. I will leave the name out of this however, I would grade it as not bad, certainly no Curry Nights and about double the price. Not good for the daily budget! We then took part in a Thursday night pub quiz at the Newsroom just off Princes Street and finished fourth. One place out of the prizes but we didn’t think that was too bad for a team of two competing against far larger teams. We finished the evening in Fingers Piano Bar, an old haunt from my time living in Edinburgh and again we weren’t left disappointed as the gentleman playing the piano performed a great version of Deacon Blue’s famous song, Dignity after which we had named the campervan.

We slept the night hassle free in the park and ride and got on the road the following morning heading for Northumberland and Lindisfarne (not the band, the holy island). This was not before going to Fort Kinnaird (an out of town shopping park) so that Rachael could order a lovely green pinafore from Fatface. The sun was out again and we were convinced that we had now crossed the weather line and had left all the wet weather behind us. I am afraid on arrival on Lindisfarne we were proved wrong. It was a damp foggy day, much the same as the previous time I had visited and I am now of the belief that that might be the permanent state of weather on the island. We walked around the monastery and out to the castle, both of which were closed, before jumping back in the van to head back across the road that disappears into the sea at high tide. The van started first time and we now had to find where we were going to sleep for the night.

The following day we visited Cragside, a Victorian country house close to the town of Rothbury. It was the home of William Armstrong, an industrial scientist, philanthropist and inventor. The house is famous for being the first house to be lit using hydroelectric power. The house is also equipped with lots of cleverly designed and built machines intended to make the running of the house easier. We would both highly recommend visiting if you are in the area so get on and join the National Trust! We will certainly be returning as the upper floors of the house were shut as it was the winter season.

The afternoon was spent in Alnwick, watching rugby. This will remain memorable not because Scotland lost again but because we were joined by a couple claiming to also be campervaners. With very little exaggeration this is about the only thing we understood of them as their accents were very strong and the more drinks they put away the stronger the accents got! They were very friendly and we knew it was time to head back to the van when they invited us to go to the curry house with them. We uttered some excuse about the food in fridge going off before making for the door and heading back up towards the place we had stayed the previous night, not far from Cragside. The only things worthy of mention were having to wait to get past a milk lorry blocking the single track road and a car circling the woods car park where we camped possibly dumping a body. They weren’t dumping a body, however what they were doing is still very unclear to us.

On waking to a full car park we spent the day walking in the Simonside area. It was a half decent day and we even found a boulder for me to have a bit of a climb on. That evening we headed slightly North to Belford to recharge the batteries on the campsite.

The following morning we headed for Geordie land (Newcastle) not before driving through Bamburgh for the view of the castle and dramatic beach. On arriving in Newcastle we were lucky enough to stumble upon a car park at the end of the Metro whose signs said nothing about not being able to sleep overnight. We paid and displayed and headed into town.

Rachael: The weather in Newcastle was absolutely foul – cold with a cold wind and intermittent showers of icy rain. But the city itself was full of stunning Georgian architecture and had a welcoming Christmassy buzz. We had a long wander around the many, many shops, then coffee and cake in John Lewis, then another long walk around the shops, then a frustrated and soggy march back to the John Lewis cafe where I’d left my umbrella. Luckily some kind soul had handed it in to their customer service desk – points for the Geordies.

After that we decided it was time for another pint, and ended up – no prizes for guessing – in another Wetherspoons. We had a bite to eat there too, then looked up some proper pubs and made a beeline for one of the top rated ones, Bacchus. It was a beautiful building with an impressive array of beers (and an impressive array of beards on the staff). The barman knew his beers well, and also shared some of his beard wisdom with Tom. At chucking out time we hopped on the last Metro train back to the van for the night.

The next morning we went back into the centre of Newcastle, this time for some slightly more high brow activities. We got off the Metro a bit early and walked through some of the residential areas to The Biscuit Factory art gallery. Usually I find contemporary art galleries completely incomprehensible, but I found this one full of genuinely good stuff, and probably would have bought some if I had the money. I was sorely tempted by some ceramic sardines in a tin which reminded me very strongly of my Grandad, the legendary Ron Troughton.

We walked down to the river and along the Tyne, and ended up – you guessed it – at another Wetherspoons. But this one was actually really nice, I promise, it was a collection of old wharf buildings that had been connected with odd stairs and walkways and overlooked the river. Then Tom got a haircut, and we were both finally overcome by sheer volume of Greggs branches and basically ended up eating pasties purely by osmosis. A little while later we had a pizza at Pizza Punks, where one can construct a pizza with unlimited toppings from the list. Perhaps in hindsight broccoli was a bold choice. I ended up with a doggy box that got drenched on the way to the Metro.

On Wednesday we took the opportunity to visit Beamish, a large open-air museum near Durham with buildings dressed up as they would have been in the 1820s, 1900s, or 1940s, and populated with knowledgable staff dressed in costume and acting the part to make the whole thing seem immersive. When we emerged from the ticket office and saw the old tram waiting to take us to the town I could hardly contain my excitement. When the museum-attendant-cum-shop-assistant in the 1820s household goods shop explained how the cash railway worked my head practically exploded. In the colliery we were taken down a short way into a real old mine, and there were real pit ponies outside. We didn’t even manage to get round all the exhibits, but luckily the tickets are valid for a year of unlimited visits, so we’ll definitely be back.

On Wednesday evening we made our way south to the Yorkshire Moors. We had a little scout around Whitby and a little scout around Goathland, the filming location of Heartbeat which Tom has a powerful love for. Halfway between the two was a little car park off the road which my app said is a good spot to camp. In the morning the rain and mist had caught up with us, but we managed to find our way back to Goathland. In-keeping with the rest of our trip, the pub used as the Aidensfield Arms which under usual circumstances is a real pub and hotel called the Goathland Hotel was closed due to staff illness. But luckily a lot of the locations were still there for us to see, and we had a long chat with the owner of “Scripps’s garage”. As a little bonus, the “Aidensfield” railway station was also used as Hogsmeade station in the Harry Potter films! But to stop us from being too spoiled, the steam train wasn’t running over the winter. Boo.

There was just enough time before we had to leave for a little wander and a coke in Whitby, then we set off for a rare night somewhere legitimate that wasn’t an actual campsite – a long-stay car park in the little town of Helmsley in the North York Moors. There is an area set aside specifically for motorhomes and camper vans! We had dinner and then a few drinks and a couple of games of pool in a local pub. One match was surprisingly close, the other was unsurprisingly un-close.

On Friday we headed for York. We had dinner plans with a friend of mine from London and her fiancé, so we stayed at a campsite practically in York itself, only a 15 minute walk from the centre. We paid through the nose, but the location really was unbeatable. I’d never been to York before, but was keen to visit the Shambles, on which J.K. Rowling’s Diagon Alley is based. It didn’t disappoint! In fact nothing disappointed – the Christmas market was in full swing, all the buildings were full of character, and the whole city was tastefully lit with Christmas lights. We ate at the Golden Fleece which dates from the 16th century and had charmingly wonky stairs which I imagine would be rather alarming after a few drinks. We went to another pub afterwards and had a proper catch up. Unfortunately I could feel the beginnings of a cold creeping up on me.

Sure enough in the middle of the night I was awoken by that curious combination of a completely blocked yet completely streaming nose and a dry throat that seemed to repel any attempt to soothe it. By the morning I was sleep deprived, full of mucus, and feeling extremely queasy, and was forced to cancel my eagerly-anticipated brunch with an old friend – sorry again Rosy. Rather than brunch and the thrilling cultural attractions of York, we decided to drive earlier than planned for our pit stop in Nottingham.

I suppose I had imagined arriving home at the halfway point in a blaze of bohemian glory, with a wholesome glow borne out of the cultural enrichment, fresh air and total relaxation. I imagined the amazed looks on the faces of my family as Tom and I emerged clean and warm from an immaculate cosy van and listening avidly as we regaled them with tales of our adventures over a cup of Scottish Blend tea. Instead I arrived with a streaming cold and a huge bag of laundry looking like death and went straight to sleep while Tom tried (and failed) to air the stale broccoli smell out of the van.

However, I have since been fortified with roast pork and crackling, many cups of Horlicks and fireside chat. After 48 nights in the van, I have learned several important lessons that I hope will serve me well on the next leg of our journey: don’t try to push a vehicle when someone has their foot on the brake; don’t expect anything good to be open in winter; and don’t cook vegetables in a van unless you’re prepared to smell them for a fortnight…

 Troughton out.

Statue of Robert the Bruce, Stirling Castle

Lindisfarne Castle

Cragside National Trust House, Northumberland

A rudimentary dishwasher, Cragside house, Northumberland

Kitchen at Cragside, including dumbwaiter and water-powered spit for evenly roasting meat

Alnwick Castle

The Biscuit Factory, independent art gallery in Newcastle

Eating a pizza of my own devising, Pizza Punks, Newcastle

The original Marks and Spencer Penny Bazaar, Newcastle

Beaming at Beamish

Down t’pit

“Aidensfield Garage” in the beloved TV series Heartbeat, Goathland

“Aidensfield Arms” in the beloved TV series Heartbeat, Goathland

Aidensfield (of Heartbeat fame) / Hogsmeade (of Harry Potter fame) / Goathland (of reality fame) station

A legitimate overnight parking spot, Helmsley

Picked up some Christmas lights for the van

Tom: As you may have guessed, there is NO phone signal on the Island of Mull. Prior to living in London, when the phone was going off almost every minute of every day, I cannot remember the last time I went a twenty-four hours without some form of inbound message let alone a week with practically nothing! It was great; at least for the vast majority of the time.

Following Rachael completing the previous blog whilst danging* pork and apple sausages and mash we headed off in search of somewhere to stay for the night. This time we drove South from Tobermory, although we still needed to tackle the steep hill out of the town as it is the only way out. Within a couple of miles we found the Forestry Commission signpost for Aros Park, now a managed area of land where once stood a large country house as a part of the estate. The track to the car park was about a mile long with varying levels of drop on either side! On arrival at the car park the signposting clearly stated no overnight parking however, the only vehicle parked was a large motorhome. We snuck in stealthily safe in the knowledge that we intended to be up and about before anyone would be along in the morning.

*Danging – a fabricated word meaning to do something and enjoy it with huge levels of enthusiasm

The following morning we woke to find the other van unmoved with the person/people inside clearly still fast asleep. We ventured out on one of the trails set out around the park to discover the lower and upper falls. By 09:30 we were back at the van. What a great thing to wake up to! We then made our way back into Tobermory to get some groceries to replenish our supplies. En-route we passed Mull’s equivalent of an out-of-town retail park. There were three shops however, they had not succumbed to the usual Home Bargains, B&M Bargains and Pound Stretcher. Instead there was a smokehouse/butchers/deli, a fine art gallery and a unique printing shop.

We picked up the things we needed at the Coop and were persuaded to dang a coffee and piece of rocky road at Tobermory Chocolate before heading for the Ross of Mull, the long finger that points the way to the island of Iona.

It was a beautiful day to drive across the island as the sun showed off the autumnal colours magically. At one point deer ran out across the road and we pulled in to see half a dozen standing together a short distance from the road. We continued down to Fionnphort to a really nice West coast sunset. We parked up in what at the moment is a free car park. We understand that next year this car park along with the car park in Tobermory are going to be turned into pay and display – much to the islanders’ objection! Whilst checking the signs detailing the rules and regulations a man out walking his dog came and introduced himself as Ronnie. He informed that we would be fine to sleep the night in the car park and that the pub had a musical evening on starting around 21:00. With this in mind we headed for the pub leaving him to finish walking the dog and watch Rangers play.

We decided to eat at the pub and purely on the recommendation of Ronnie we ordered pizzas which admittedly were very good. After a couple of pints people started to arrive with musical instruments so we decided it was a good idea to introduce ourselves and ask if it were okay to join in. We grabbed the guitar, ukulele and whistles from the van and enjoyed a really great evening playing almost every genre of music. At the end of the evening we were invited to join the group the following evening in Bunessan for another musical evening.

The following day we woke to torrential rain and high winds. At this point I wanted to go back to the phone signal and although I was very much enjoying the lack of it, it was Dad’s birthday! We pottered around in the van exploring the higher areas in search of signal and when I say there is no signal there really isn’t. We also tried the public pay phones however, none of these were working and were set only to emergency calls. Hmmm… We drove across to Bunessan to see whether our luck for finding signal would change and not to any surprise it didn’t. Whilst there we popped into Spar to get some breakfast cereal and whilst walking back to the van spotted a cafe offering wifi that was closed. We stood in the doorway and found they had left there wifi on however, it needed a password to use. Standard trick, try the name of the business. Thank you The Blackbird Bistro for indirectly allowing me to make a call!

We dossed for the remainder of the day before locating the lay-by suggested and offered as a place to park up for the night by one of the musicians. After all, it was located on the edge of his woodland.

From the lay-by the Argyll Arms was about four-hundred metres walk back down the road. We dressed up in waterproofs and headed for the pub.

Rachael: Outside it was absolutely pitch black and the rain was coming down in sheets. All the head torches did was to helpfully light up the many raindrops within a six inch radius of our faces leaving us oblivious to the puddles, potholes, and seafront at our feet. The whole way I had visions of arriving at a cold, empty pub, and being greeted with silence and unwelcoming stares from the bar staff.

We arrived at the bright and busy pub, doffed our waterproofs in front of a merry fire, and wrung the rain out of our soggy instruments. Several of the musicians from the previous night came around the corner, welcoming us like old friends. We stood and chatted for a good while at the bar with anyone and everyone and then joined in with a couple of songs. In the end we were induced to sing a couple of our own arrangements that we’d tinkered about with back in London. Some went better than others. Overall the whole evening was like a scene from a film.

Towards closing time a couple came over to chat. They asked where we were staying, and when we told them about the van they asked if we were ok for charge and water etc. since they have a motorhome and understand how hard it can be sometimes to find what they need. They offered us anything we needed and said to stop by in the morning, as they were only a short distance from the pub. How incredibly sweet! We went back to the van talking about how kind and welcoming everyone had been and had to pinch ourselves to make sure it was real.

The next morning, with the promise of a refill of the water tank, we had showers in the van and then popped in to see our new mates. No sooner had we pulled up on the drive than we were greeted with those sacred words “Morning! I’ll put the kettle on”. We had such a long coffee and chat that we almost forgot about filling up the water, and the fact that we were supposed to be catching the ferry from Fionnphort for a day trip to Iona.

We eventually made it back to Fionnphort fifteen minutes after one ferry had left, and an hour and three quarters before the next one at 2.15pm. To kill time we had a walk along the beach and took some pictures, and then had to hurry to get to the ferry on time which was horrible, as I get very stressed about rushing and avoid running at almost all costs. Little did I know what was to come later in the day.

Since Iona only allows vehicles with a special permit to be taken across we left Diggy on Mull and went over as foot passengers. We only had around two hours there before the last ferry back, but luckily it’s quite a small island. We walked up to the medieval nunnery and parked our bums on the very places where countless nuns parked theirs 800 years ago! Then we walked up to the famous abbey, and back via a cafe and several craft shops with amazing knitwear and jewellery. If only we were millionaires. We settled on a fridge magnet.

We still had a bit of time before the return ferry so Tom suggested we visit the old green marble mine. I had a look on the little map and said if we’re going we’d better go right now. Off we went down the little winding road and through a gate. I was concerned we were on somebody’s land, but Tom assured me it was fine so we carried on. We went across the beach, up a little hill, across some bog, and up and over the grassy sand dunes but there was still no sign of the mine. Tom ran ahead but still couldn’t see it, and with the clock ticking we decided to turn back. Then I spotted the main path, so we followed that….to a barbed wire fence with no crossing point for miles. Across the water we could see the ferry setting off from Mull. It would be here in ten minutes, turn around and not come back until Monday. 

We set off at a run back to the beach where the gate was, but first had to cross over the dunes, bog, stream, and (in my mind at least) the land of an angry farmer. I was tired after about ten metres, exhausted after 100, and starting to draft a mental will around the 1km mark. We saw the ferry dock…we saw the passengers getting off…we saw the others getting on… Tom ran ahead to ask them to wait. I can only imagine the image that presented itself to the ferry crew and passengers as I eventually rounded the corner onto the jetty, as pink as my coat, and sweating as if I’d swum there. The waves were already washing up over the ramp onto the boat, so I had no choice but to paddle across. Good old Dr Martens – through all the bog, the stream, and the sea my feet were damp with nothing more than my own reluctant, self-loathing perspiration. I slumped on the steps of the ferry as Tom pulled the tickets out of my pocket and the boat set off for the ten minute trip. As I rolled over to climb the stairs I noticed one of the other passengers filming me. Watch out for that one on YouTube.

I’d barely regained my breath when we got back to Mull. We had a short conference and decided to find a new place that night up towards Ben More, the highest point on Mull which Tom wanted to walk up the following day. We found a nice big lay-by in which another camper van was already parked. The next morning we carried on down the road labelled “Scenic route to Salen” – it didn’t disappoint on that front – to the foot of Ben More by the sea. As we parked up we noticed a number of people with long lenses all looking into the shallow water … at two sea otters! Tom set off up the mountain and I sat and read a copy of Lord of the Flies that I “borrowed” from my brother before we set off, ready to jump out and look at the otters if they came back. 

Tom:

BEN MORE (Beinn Mor)
Translation: Big mountain (Gaelic)
966 metres (3169 feet)
The only Munro on the Isle of Mull and highest peak in the Inner Hebrides excluding the Isle of Skye.

I left Rachael and the van at 13:10. The gravel track up onto the Ben More Estate was something of a downward stream. After a couple of hundred metres the track headed off left and the path up Ben More presented itself off to the right. The path was extremely boggy and followed the line of Abhainn Dhiseig, a stream coming down the hillside which was pretty full and flowing fairly quickly. The bog continued for about one third of the distance up Ben More to where the route crossed Abhainn Dhiseig to a clear path. Crossing the stream required all four limbs as the rock was pretty slippery and a slight slip would have resulted in a bump and complete soaking! On bridging the water I continued up the steep path to meet the only people I would see on the hill. They had found a better place to bridge the stream however, I guessed they didn’t find it on their way up the hill as it was only obvious from above. I continued head down into the wind up the steep zigzags onto the ridge which would lead to the summit. As I got onto the ridge the wind gusted and the rain as now a fairly vicious hail storm. I tightened the drawstrings on my hood and put on my gloves which instantly became fairly sodden. The visibility was reducing quickly as I continued up the ridge.

Rachael: Eventually, after a rain shower had seen off the wildlife paparazzi, I spotted the two otters playing on another part of the beach over the top of my book. I picked my way across the slippery rocks and hostile sheep to get a closer look, and had the privilege of an exclusive otter display all to myself. It wasn’t long though before they spotted me and scarpered. Picking my way back to the van I saw the two occupants of the only other car arrive back off the hill. They told me they’d seen Tom on his way up, and I asked how far along they reckoned he was. They said the walk overall was a good five hours, which would mean Tom would be back just after six. An hour an a half after sunset. This unsettled me slightly, but they assured me that as long as he got back across the river before nightfall he’d be fine. So I carried on reading Lord of the Flies, trying not to let the growing sense of dread in the book rub off on me. As the sun began to set got up to make the salad and guacamole while there was still some natural light to save the battery.

Tom: The ridge eventually plateaued out and at the end of the plateau was a large shelter (wall built from rocks that were forming the plateau) with summit cairn in the middle of it. The visibility was now about ten metres but I knew I was on the summit as the only surroundings were the plateau I had just come up, steep downhill and sheer cliffs. I had made good time as it was now just gone 15:00. I put on another layer and had some coffee from my flask before starting my wind-assisted descent. Instead of walking upstream I was now walking downstream down the path. As I dropped off the ridge the views of the islands coastline started coming back into view and I could just about see the van parked now on its own in front of Loch Na Keal. The sun was starting to drop as I retraced my way back across the bog, this time crossing the stream at the more elegant bridging point. I arrived back at the van at 16:40 to find Rachael chopping vegetables and preparing what was to be an excellent evening meal of chilli con carne on a bed of chips with salad.

Rachael: After our hearty dinner we set off to find a parking spot for the night that would bring us within a short drive of the ferry from Craignure back to the mainland the following morning. We had a little scout up and down the coast, found a few likely spots and dropped in at the Craignure Inn to discuss the pros and cons of each and use their facilities. We settled on another Forestry Commission car park, again with “no overnight parking” signs, but out of direct vision of the road, and with the plan to be off fairly early the following morning.

It was still only about 8pm by the time we’d parked up, so we did a couple of crosswords, Tom had a shower, and I read a bit more. After a couple of hours I noticed the ominous dimming of the lights in the van and checked the battery. It was almost dead, which can be a serious event in the life of a camper van leisure battery. We had no choice but to turn everything off and put the bed up with our head torches. Sadly no midnight Two Thousand Acres of Sky bingeing! And to add insult to injury, we’d run out of milk.

The next morning we packed up and drove down to the ferry at Craignure, and had a much-needed latte and bacon butty at the adjacent cafe. On the ferry we bumped into the couple from Ben More again, and enjoyed the views of the surrounding smaller islands before docking in Oban.

We had a quick drive up to visit the gates of some more closed campsites, and on the way back bumped into Adam, an old friend of Tom’s, who we promised to have some beers with later. We pulled up at the leisure centre, allegedly for a swim but we may as well have turned up with a rubber duck and loofah. We drifted happily into Oban smelling faintly of chlorine and shampoo rather than chilli and mould, and ate fish and chips under a bus stop in the rain. Then we picked up a few cans of Vitamin T (Tennent’s lager) and four pints of milk that Tom discovered had popped after it leaked all over his coat (thanks again, Tesco, excellent track record on the milk front). We had a nice long chat with Adam and then bedded down for the night. 

We got up bright and early this morning to pay another visit to our old buddy J.D. Wetherspoon’s in Oban for a little light breakfast and a thousand refills of coffee. Next on the agenda? Find a place to do some laundry, and a campsite for tonight, and then gradually make our way over to the east coast for the next leg or of our journey…

Troughton out

Lower Falls, Aros Park, Mull

Upper Falls, Aros Park, Mull

The view from Tobermory Chocolate.

There are deer in this picture, but you can’t see them… But it was a magical moment

There are deer in this picture somewhere.

Racing at 40 mph across Mull to try and make the sunset in Fionnphort.

Getting ever closer to Fionnphort for the sunset.

Cooking up some hash. Sprouts, potatoes, onions and chorizo.

Tom and his low whistle. The pub was busier than it seems in this picture.

The abbey on Iona, from Fionnphort, Mull

Iona from Fionnphort, Mull

Looking across to Fionnphort from the second highest point on Mull.

Looking back at Mull from Iona before it all went wrong

I promise, there are two sea otters playing in this picture

Not much to see atop Ben More!

The shelter and cairn marking the summit of Ben More. The white at the top of the picture is mist!

Having dropped off the ridge descending Ben More. The van is loch-side if you can spot it?!

Diggy at the foot of Ben More

Diggy at the foot of Ben More (hidden in the cloud to the left)

Camping spot near Craignure, Mull

Tom: After spending the night up in the North Face car park again we headed back down into Glen Nevis and booked into the camp site. Rachael was keen to start watching the new purchase, Two Thousand Acres of Sky. Little did I know it would become the main interest for the rest of the week!

The next morning we drove up into Fort William to find a suitable place for Rachael to begin to make the ‘minor corrections’ to her PhD. I parked up in the Morrison’s car park and she headed to the local library. I drove back down to the bottom of Glen Nevis and spent a glorious afternoon wondering around the buttresses of Polldubh situated on the South-West slopes of Ben Nevis. The crags are a compex maze of steep shabby buttresses situated in a woodland environment. I have climbed there on many occasions but on reaching the upper section had to work harder than expected to find a suitable route back down towards the van as it was pretty overgrown and wet underfoot.

On reaching the van I took the opportunity I had never had before to turn on the gas and stand in the kitchen of the van and make myself a cup of tea.

Having drunk the tea and eaten a couple of Tunnocks bars I drove back up the Glen stopping off at the campsite to register for another night using the facilities.

I drove back into Fort Bill to find Rachael in Costa still working incredibly hard.

Rachael: Meanwhile, I’d had a not particularly entertaining day of working in Costa. I still had a few corrections to do on my thesis, but spent the best part of my time there trying to open the file. After I’d managed a couple of hours of solid work, Tom appeared and rescued me, and we went back to the campsite for dinner and more Two Thousand Acres of Sky.

On Wednesday we kicked off the day with a big Morrisons breakfast, and then wasted all that energy wandering around the shops in Fort Bill. Then back to the campsite for more DVD watching.

On Thursday, Tom was eager to carry on watching TTAOS, which we had both developed a minor addiction to. In fact, we binge watched the entire series and barely moved all day. I’m sure Tom would like to thank me for my excellent recommendation even if it did take over our lives for a while.

Friday was a day of decent weather, so we drove down to Glencoe to walk up to the Lost Valley, a walk we’ve been meaning to do every time we’ve come up this way and somehow never got round to before. My foot was still giving me gip but I encased it in my sturdy walking boots and walked a bit gingerly on it which meant we went more slowly than usual. The walk is pretty rocky and there are some areas where you need to use your hands, bum, or any other body parts that are handy to get up or down the rocks, but we managed fine. The scenery along the way is extremely cool – lots of trees and waterfalls, just my sort of thing. And up at the top of the walk is the Lost Valley, so-called because you’d never guess it was there from the main road, and it used to be a hiding place for rustled cattle.

We got back to the van in time for a cup of tea and a jam on the guitar/ukulele as the light was fading. Then we found a great car park to stay the night in Glencoe, just a short walk through the woods to the Clachaig Inn, a popular pub/hotel which often has live music. It’s another favourite spot of ours. We had a couple of jars and then merrily meandered back through the woods to the van. 

On Saturday, we decided to head back to Fort Bill so I could finish my corrections in Wetherspoons and Tom could go for a walk. However, after a Curry Club lunch at Spoons Tom spotted the Scotland v Wales rugby match on the TV and instead of going for a walk sat transfixed while I again spent a few hours trying to open the files I needed and doing a solid half hour of real work. I threw in the towel around the same time as Scotland did, and we retreated back to the Clachaig for dinner and live music, and they let us stay in the car park outside since it was pretty quiet. This meant we were an even shorter stumbling distance from the bar than the night before! 

By Sunday those pesky PhD corrections were weighing on my mind. The best solution was to go back to the campsite in Glen Nevis so that I could work in peace as long as I wanted, Tom could go for a walk, and then we could wash all our clothes and ourselves in preparation for moving on into the unknown the following week.

Tom: Having disassembled the bed we drove on request to one of Rachael’s favourite breakfast venues: the Ballachulish Visitor Centre and Tourist Information. We both thoroughly enjoyed full breakfast rolls which set us up very nicely for the remainder of the day. We the got back in the van and headed back up to Glen Nevis camp site.

On arrival at the camp site we discovered that it was to be the final night it was open as it was shutting up until 15th March! Complete lucky timing on our behalf as it would allow us to shower, wash our clothes and both fill and empty the vans fluid contents.

I required a decent walk and decided having walked past on countless occasions on my way into routes on ‘The Beinn’ that I would wonder up the hill in the shadow of Ben Nevis, Meall an t-Suidhe. I understand the translation to mean something about a bare rounded lumpy hill with something to do with a seat or sitting, a huge contrast to the translation of Nibheis (Nevis) which means malicious or venomous! The Autumnal colours in the late afternoon light seemed to be at their absolute best as I  wandering up from Glen Nevis Youth Hostel (which has been recently completely refurbished both inside and out and looks very impressive). I passed several people clearly on their way down off summiting Ben Nevis and on arrival at the half-way lochan (Lochan Meall an t-Suidhe) the sun was starting to fade in the sky causing a pink glow over the far western hills of Ardgour. I cut a line up to the ridge leading to the double summit of Meall an t-Suidhe threading my way way around deep boggy puddles. The summit was dwarfed by the North-Western flanks of Ben Nevis but gave a fantastic panoramic view from the West into the North-East towards the Great Glen.

I descended the  heathery boulder field making up the hillside back toward the path that runs alongside the halfway lochan. I arrived on the path after a wobble crossing the final make-do very loose stepping stones across the end of the locan as the sun went down. On reaching what was the ‘hole in the wall’ (there is now no longer a wall), a frequently used stopping place on ventures up The Beinn, I had a couple of cups of the coffee I had carried in my flask along with a piece of shortbread. I then made for the van down the very well reconstructed mountain path.

Whenever I am struggling for energy walking in the hills I am nearly always able to remind myself that someone has constructed the path I am walking on. I very quickly convince myself that there is nothing to complain or struggle about!

On reaching the fork in the path that either leads back to the Youth Hostel or to the Ben Nevis Inn at Achentee I decided to make the walk as round as possible. About fifty metres after deciding to head to Achentee I rounded a corner and came across two people walking incredibly close together using the light of their phone. It transpired that one of them (Michael) has twisted his ankle pretty badly whilst descending Ben Nevis having began their walk at 09:30. It was now nearly 18:00 so I assisted in helping them back down to the visitor centre where they had parked their car.

On arriving back at the van Rachael had completed her corrections of her PhD. A great afternoon for all!

Rachael: Not only had I more or less finished my PhD corrections, I’d also sketched out a map of the UK and Ireland with places we’d like to go and rough mileages and planned out a possible route that would get us between them. But first, we needed to find a way to celebrate Bonfire Night that didn’t involve us just setting fire to some toast, or hanging drawing and quartering a chorizo sausage. We googled the options and found a couple of possibilities.

So on Monday we paid a visit to the tourist information centre in Fort Bill, who told us that our preferred option of Ballachulish was not going ahead this year, and our only other option was Glenfinnan, which would send us on our way to Mull a day earlier than planned. We had to get lunch, shopping, fuel, and a birthday card for Big Phil, so split up met back at the car for 5.15pm to make sure we got a parking spot at Glenfinnan.

Sadly it was already dark so we didn’t see the viaduct where they filmed the flying car scene in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, but we’d already been a couple of years ago (of course). We had a little potter (haha) around the National Trust shop and then went across the road to the field by the monument (which honours those who died fighting for the Jacobite cause). There was a humungous bonfire and a pretty impressive firework display. Well done to the locals who organised it!

Further down the road we found a place to park up for the night by Loch Eilt, another filming location for Harry Potter, this time the final resting place of Dumbledore and the place where Hagrid uttered the line “Buckbeak’s been sentenced to death!”. Classic cinema.

As we bedded down for the night we saw a train pass across the loch and I realised that the Hogwarts Express (otherwise known as the Jacobite steam train) must be passing by in the morning! All the years we’ve been coming to the highlands and I’ve never managed to get on the train or even see it! I went to sleep like a child on Christmas eve, and set my alarm so that I could be awake to see it. Come morning, I staked out the window eagerly awaiting the puff of smoke that would signal its arrival. As the minutest ticked on I ran calculations in my head as to where it could be and why it might have been delayed. Eventually Tom asked whether I’d checked it was definitely running. I quickly googled it and discovered that the trains stop running for the winter in October Pooh.

Anyway, the loch was pretty enough in itself, and we had a good drive up and around the headland to Kilchoan to catch the ferry to Mull. Most people come to Mull through the Oban ferry which lands at Craignure, but Tobermory, another ferry terminal on Mull, is one of the most picturesque villages in the whole of the UK – you may recognise the colourful shop fronts from the kids’ TV programme Balamory. So I thought “why not drive the long way round to get the ferry directly into Tobermory?! Then we could see it from the see! And it’ll be sunset too! Wow, what a treat!”

The drive round to Kilchoan was gorgeous, filled with little fishing villages, big estates with stately homes, and selection of artistically derelict old buildings. I loved it. Around one corner we saw an impressive vista of the Sound of Mull, and the information boards told us there were a number of Bronze age settlements and an extinct volcano. We wondered why nobody really comes this way!

We reached Kilchoan ferry terminal about two and a half hours before the ferry was due to sail since we didn’t want a repeat of Barragate. The blanket of cloud was pierced with rays of sunshine and the sea was a millpond. We brewed up a cup of tea and had beans and chorizo on toast, repaired some tears in Diggy’s seats, did a bit of knitting and had a quick jam on the uke/tin whistle while we were waiting. Outside the van the blanket of cloud turned darker, the wind picked up, the sea got choppier, and the sun started to set with very little glamour. By the time the ferry arrived the sea was starting to get aggressive and the light had gone.

Nevertheless we drove on to the ferry and paid up. As we were the first in the queue we were right at the front with the door/ramp of the boat directly in front and over the top of us. The ferry set off and we prepared to leave the van, only to notice that everyone else was sitting in their cars. After a few seconds we realised why: the sea comes in across the ferry floor and was splashing over the top. So our entry into Mull was not quite the sunlit multicoloured spectacle that we envisaged. Instead we saw nothing but the inside of the ferry until we disembarked into a pitch black rainy Tobermory.

Although it was only 5.20pm most of the shops were shut and we had no mobile signal, so we were on our own when it came to finding a place to stay. After a failed exploration of Dervaig, which had one very much closed pub/hotel, we settled on a quiet woodland car park as our camp spot. We drowned our sorrows in halloumi wraps and I forced Tom to watch the first half of the first film of the extended version of Lord of the Rings, in retaliation for him making me watch all of the Rocky films earlier in the trip.

This morning we got up and had a quick cup of tea, then came back to Tobermory to see the colours in the daylight. It was indeed much more attractive than the rain-sodden dismalness of the previous night, and we were pleased to discover that the harbour building has showers and a laundry. Up on the top of the hill we found the most incredible arts centre and cafe, An Tobar. Tom had a vegan curry that he described as “gorgeous” and I had some soup and a cheese scone, also gorgeous. We were in there for quite a while writing this post, so long in fact that they closed around us. There was just enough time for Tom to buy a Roddy Woomble CD before we braved the rain and the devilishly steep hill back down into the town for a shower. We’re now in Macgochan’s by the harbour, finishing this post and thinking what to do for dindins…

Sorry for another War and Peace of a post!

Troughton out / pause from Hawes

A precariously balanced boulder at Polldubh!

Panorama from Polldubh.

The full extent of Polldubh courtesy of Cotswold, Fort William where I photographed the guidebook

Found it! Lost Valley, Glencoe

Conquering the Lost Valley

Little Diggy and the Three Sisters, Glencoe

Post-walk pint

Enjoying/making faces at the live music at the Clachaig. P.S. thank you Phil and Dinah for the earrings

Looking across to Ben Nevis from the summit cairn on Meall an t-Suidhe.

Looking out towards the Great Glen from Meall an t-Suidhe.

Ben Nevis from the summit of Meall an t-Suidhe.

Fireworks and bonfire at Glenfinnan – highly recommended

The shore of Loch Eilt, final resting place of Professor Dumbledore

I live for stumbling across buildings like this! Near Inverailort

Stunning view out over the Sound of Mull near Ardslignish

Moody-looking sky from the western-most point of mainland Scotland

Woodland car park, Mull

A very drizzly Tobermory.

‘Camping Skye’, Broadford, Isle of Skye

Driving over the sea away from Skye

Plockton

Eilean Donan Castle

The Hawes Clan

Rhubarb – Mum and Dad’s lovely Bassett Hound

Steall ruins

Steall meadows & Steall falls

I am not going to attempt to compete with Rachael’s superb style of writing, vast vocabulary, precise grammar and punctuation topped off with the additional humour. If I can complete this having made no spelling mistakes it will be a triumph in itself!

On arrival at the campsite in Broadford I braved the showers hoping that they would make me feel slightly more in the land of the living. For once the shower head stood about half a meter above my head so no hunching and knee bending for me. I had also pressed the shower a couple of times to guarantee it to be warm on my entry and it showed to have tremendous power. All looked exceptionally promising for the revival process…

Two words: it didn’t! 

I had expected far too much from what had appeared to be top quality facilities. By the time the water reached me standing underneath it was spraying cold and I wandered back to the van feeling much worse than when I had left. It was now down to a couple of paracetamol and a good nights sleep.

On waking the following morning my initial thought was that I felt so much better and that we could press on South with Mum and Dad to enjoy the delights of Glen Shiel and Fort William. I quickly realised that was not the case and we decided that another day in Broadford was the best course of action. It was so frustrating as a really good spell of weather had arrived for the first time and I was incapable of doing anything. Still, Rachael and I managed an afternoon stroll into Broadford which was rudely interrupted by one or two fierce hail showers. I should also mention that the temperature had dropped and that snow was now settling on the surrounding hill tops.

Having spent a further night on the Isle of Skye it was now time to move on. The previous evening had resulted in us sharing the stove in Mum and Dad’s camper. The gas bottle had run dry in ours and on trying to switch to the spare we realised that the van tool kit didn’t include a spanner big enough to perform the operation!

Before leaving Broadford we bought a spanner and enjoyed a lovely cooked breakfast at Cafesia. I would wholly recommend the Scottish breakfast and the coffee to everyone!

We drove over the bridge and off the island and headed to Plockton for a quick visit before driving on towards the mighty Fort William. I had camped on a beach close to Plockton about ten years ago and had really vivid memories of it being very picturesque and offering splendid views. Something not to missed if close by!

After driving through the village of Plockton, using their facilities and buying a fridge magnet to add to our collection we got back on the road enjoying the great views of the Cuillins of Skye. The drive was absolutely terrific as much more snow had fallen overnight than we realised. On approach, Eilean Donan castle looked terrific with a backdrop of snowy hills. Both The Saddle and Five Sisters of Kintail were also really impressive and had a really good smattering of snow the previous night.

The only slight downside to the journey to Fort William was a swaying lorry carrying hay bails narrowly missing us as it worked its way around a corner at great speed. We met up with Mum and Dad in the Morrisons car park and replenished our food supply for the next couple of days.

We spent the night in the North Face car park for Ben Nevis, a location I have spent many very uncomfortable nights crunched up in the car and washing/bathing in the questionably clean stream. One particularly horrible memory was waking up to a breakfast of spicy chicken wings and old water before heading off ‘up the Ben’ climbing. This time it proved a great spot and provided a really glorious morning walk to take in the amazingly clear views of the North Face and warm up the limbs.

I am not going to post any details about Rhubarb (Mum and Dad’s Bassett Hound) tying Mum’s legs together with her lead!

We then drove down to both Rachael’s and my favourite campsite located in Glen Nevis having stopped off en route to book a table for tea at the Achintee also know as the Ben Nevis Inn & Bunkhouse. We met Mum and Dad at the campsite, them having stopped off at Home Bargains to stock up on much-needed breathbusters for Rhubarb!

After a quick lunch (a beautifully whipped up penne carbonara cooked by Rachael) Rachael called home to wish her niece Tabitha a very happy 1st Birthday. Mum, Dad and I headed into the Fort where we wandered around the shops. We returned to the camp site for a quick shower and tidy of Mum and Dad’s van before making the night walk up the Achintee leaving Rhubarb to sleep and guard the vans.

We only had two torches between us and what is usually a ten minute romp turned into something slightly longer. It could have been described for some as a physical challenge on the crystal maze.

The food as ever was tremendous and plentiful and again I would entirely recommend it to everybody and anybody. Thank you Dad for treating us again to such a good meal and good evening.

The walk back down to the campsite was slightly icy as the temperature had certainly dropped down towards the freezing level.  On getting back to the vans Rhubarb was still fast asleep and should any burglar have attempted to break entry, I am certain she would not have woken up. We all had a cup of coffee and then retired to bed knowing it was going to be an early start the following day with Mum and Dad having to return their camper to Glasgow and pick up their car driving on to Penrith.

We woke relatively early and enjoyed a cup of tea with a bowl of Coco Shreddies before assisting Mum and Dad in preparing their van for returning. We drove up into Fort William with them and said our goodbyes.

We then headed back down to the head of Glen Nevis where we enjoyed one of our favourite walks up to the Steall ruins. The weather today has been glorious and the views into the Ring of Stealle, Aonachs and Ben Nevis were splendid. We then returned into Fort William where Rachael picked up an Amazon order of the DVD box set of Two Thousand Acres of Sky from the post office. We then headed to Wetherspoon’s and enjoyed a late lunch with copious free refills of tea and coffee which is where I am sitting writing this. The plan at the moment is to head back to Torlundy and spend the night again in the North Face car park.

Finally,  I owe a big thank you to Rachael for looking after me whilst I have been a little under the weather.

‘Thank you! x’

At last! The Holy Grail of WiFi and electricity! Behold, my cosy blogging setup of coffee and Fellowship of the Ring! Here we are, hunkering down for the night in a rather plush campsite (as campsites go) in Skye. We thought we’d treat ourselves since Tom has a pretty awful cold, and is in fact standing under the shower trying to feel human again as we speak. But how did we get here from a blustery beach in Lewis? Ah, well settle down with a mug of something hot and I’ll tell you, and hopefully this time it won’t be stone cold by the time you get to the end.

Just after the last post we drove up to the tardis of a community shop and converted a small mountain of disgusting rags in to lovely clean, dry clothes. Then we walked over the dunes to one of the most spectacular beaches I’ve ever seen, Ardroil Sands. The sand seems to stretch for miles in every direction before eventually disappearing under rocks, a river, or the galloping white horses of the clear blue sea. It would have been positively Caribbean, if it wasn’t for the fact we were all being sandblasted with cold wind. We walked a long way round and eventually our path was blocked by a stretch of shallow water. Luckily I was wearing my trusty wellibobs so gave Tom a piggy back for about a fifty metres. Always ready to help a damsel in distress.

That night I finally worked up the courage and body odour sufficient to brave a shower in the van. It actually went surprisingly well, just a little water escapeage and the hot water only ran out at the very end. Definitely worth it.

The next day we drove back over to Stornoway to resolve the blown fuse situation. We gave a lift to an old boy who was hitching to the big Tesco (don’t worry, I sized him up first. I coulda taken him). He was born and bred on the island, a native Gaelic speaker, and sufficiently interesting for me not to ask him for a tenner at the end of it.

With a bit of help over the phone from the dealership, we located the offending fuse – an inline blade fuse – and sourced a replacement from the fishing cooperative shop for a mere 20p!  At that price, we got a bag of various fuses for every eventuality and celebrated our victory with fish and chips. Then we drove on down to Harris. Interesting fact, they’re actually one big island with two distinct styles of landscape bla bla bla.

I started to look for places to stay on my various apps but my little Millenial face fell as my signal dropped down, down to nothing. As it was starting to get late in the day we stopped in at the Tourist Information Centre in Tarbert to find out which campsites were still open this time of year. The lady in there was extremely helpful and gave us a printout of all the campsites in the Outer Hebrides which turned out to be a lifesaver. We went to check one out – which was closed – along the Golden Road, so-called because of the cost of constructing it. Wow, what a road. We found out that a new fancy community centre with camping facilities had opened up on the west side, but that was booked up for the night so we booked that for the following night. Then we headed back up to the northern part of Harris where the lady told us there were facilities for camper vans at Hushinish Gateway at the end of, in her words, “the longest twelve miles you’ll ever drive”.

In convoy with the senior Haweses, we set off down said road. If the Golden Road had golden views, this road was triple platinum. It was sunset, and every corner we rounded had an even more incredible vista of wild boggy mountains and sparkling golden sea. At one point we drove through a little white fence and the stream running down the left hand side turned into a small waterfall, and we rounded the corner into the front drive of – I kid you not – a small castle. Our jaws practically hit the floor.

At the end of the twelve miles, which I’m reliably informed were indeed extremely challenging to drive, we found the spot. A flat patch of gravel with electrical hookups and unbeatable sea views, with showers and toilets down at the bottom of the hill. That night alone made all the time, money, and windy nights to get there worth it and would gladly have stayed another night there but we were already paid up at the fancy community centre, Talla na Mara. We dragged ourselves away from that cracking spot and spent a good ten minutes having a standoff with a highland cow that was blocking the road. In the end we won, but only by an inch or so.

That afternoon Tom and his dad Phil played the Isle of Harris golf course – or rather, it sounds like it played them – while Dinah and I sat out of the wind in the vans. We finished the day off with a corking meal in the restaurant at Talla na Mara where Tom discovered a new favourite beer (Tarasgeir, Isle of Skye Brewery) and settled in outside for another blustery night.

The next day we took the ferry over to North Uist. As we left the ferry everybody else turned left straight on to North Uist, but we followed the senior Haweses right onto the island of Berneray to a massive long beach backed with massive dunes. Rhubarb had the absolute time of her life running up and down the dunes with Tom, and I had a brief paddle in the sea before my feet turned to ice.

Ardroil Sands

Ardroil sands

Mmmm fatty fatty fatty

The Golden Road, Isle of Harris

The castle… I know!!

Sunset from what I’ll call from now on the Platinum Road

There are worse places to spend a night – Hushinish Gateway

Why would anybody do that.

Talla na Mara, Isle of Harris

West Beach, Berneray

Selfie with a neolithic chief

Outside the pub in South Uist – look closely at the rear view mirror

Kilbride Campsite

Breezy Eriskay

Tom and Rhubarb in Eriskay

Yes please, four!

Portree, Skye

The Procrastination Station

We drove to Lochmaddy where somebody pointed us to a car park somewhere where we wouldn’t be disturbed. It was another windy night, so windy that the flame for our hot water kept getting blown out. Washing up with cold water is neither effective, nor a fun way to spend an evening. In the morning we had a little knock on the window to say we couldn’t stay another night as they needed the car park for the church service on Sunday. No room at the inn for us, I suppose.

In Lochmaddy we stopped at the arts centre for a couple of lattes, a look around the shop, and a little light art appreciation, then headed down to South Uist, with a cheeky stop at the Barpa Langass neolithic burial chamber. The weather was utterly foul, but on South Uist, owing to their Catholic rather than Calvinist persuasions, we found a Co-Op that was not only open on a Sunday but open until 10pm! I felt like I was on Oxford Street!

Down at the southernmost tip of South Uist we blagged a spot on the seafront outside a pub after promising to come in for a few drinks, and in the bar we found a small collection of people whose flight had been cancelled because of the winds: three Parisians who were there shooting game, and four actors shooting a film. Keep an eye out, it’s called Limbo. The next day was less rainy but still pretty windy, and we had a better look around South Uist at some ancient roundhouses. Then we moved to the only campsite open for miles around, Kilbride.

Kilbride campsite was fantastic, a great spot open all year round with a cafe on site and a hostel. We did another load of laundry in the little communal kitchen and had hot showers all round. We played bridge again, and it was a lot more fun when I was completely hammered on beer, although I’m not sure the others would agree with me. The campsite was so nice we stayed another night, after Tom and his dad played another round of golf at Askernish. That evening we ate at the Borrodale Hotel, and I was really good and had a salad even though I really wanted a massive burger with blue cheese.

Wednesday was supposed to be the best weather, or at least the most rain-free, so on Tuesday we went across the causeway to Eriskay with the plan to get the early ferry to Barran on Wednesday morning and come back on the last ferry. Then on Thursday we would sail to Skye and then down to Fort William, where I could at last do some work and the senior Haweses wouldn’t be too far from Glasgow to return their hired van on Monday. We had a long walk along the beaches at Eriskay and bedded down for the night at the ferry terminal (not sure whether that was kosher) ready to get up about four hours earlier than usual.

It was cold but not windy when we woke up at 7am on Wednesday. We scraped the frost off our faces, had some toast and dismantled the bed. To save money and the environment, we decided to only take the one van so Phil, Dinah, and Rhubarb joined us and, bleary-eyed but excited, into the queue for the 8.10am sailing to Barra. The ferry neared but our hopes of getting aboard started to fade away as we realised it wasn’t getting any bigger, and eventually a 1:43 scale replica of a ferry docked. We looked around at the two lanes of pre-booked cars and the fuel tanker in front of us and resigned ourselves to the sad truth that Barra was not to be, as the next ferry wouldn’t have given us enough time there.

Instead, we drove back to Lochmaddy and booked our tickets to Skye at the earliest opportunity so as not to have a repeat of Barragate. Outside the ferry booking office I missed my footing on the kerb and Tom watched me comically vanish from view on the other side of the van. His cry of concern and stifled laughter was met with a short silence followed by a squeaky “mmhmm” said with watering eyes and gritted teeth. I managed not to actually hit the deck, but I’m now walking like a mad cartoon pirate. We had another look (limp) around the arts centre and I posted a parcel to my gorgeous little niece Tabitha in advance of her first birthday on Sunday (happy birthday, Biff!).

By that point, having had half the sleep we usually had and with Tom starting to come down with a terrible cold, we found a spot to park up again for the night, cooked dinner and had a couple of drinks in a hotel bar. This morning Tom got dosed up on Lemsip and drove us and his sinuses onto the ferry. A short while later we docked in Skye, swung by the brewery to pick up a few Tarasgeirs, and then found the nicest campsite money could buy so he could recuperate. I’ll try pouring a dram or two down his throat, that should do the trick…

Troughton out.

Ardroil Sands “overnight parking with services”

On Tuesday we had a fantastic night’s sleep, interrupted only by Tom kicking the hazard lights on with his toe. Wednesday dawned bright but chilly in Blair Atholl, and we had the luxury of bona fide beans on toast on our new melamine plates from House of Bruar. Our hesitancy about using the van’s plumbing had been overcome by curiosity the previous night when we borrowed a hosepipe off the senior Haweses. We spent a good half hour improvising a series of prototype tap adapters from an old coke bottle to allow us to fill the water tank/lose some fingers to frostbite. This proved to be a turning point as we then discovered the source of the mysterious buzzing sound: the water pump had been pointlessly running attempting to pump fresh air throughout the whole of the first night. Hopefully any damage caused was minimal, and we were both relieved to find out we hadn’t been irradiated or anything.

The hot water was now working perfectly for washing up the breakfast things, but we still weren’t brave enough to try the shower so used the campsite facilities. What the campsite showers lacked in temperature they made up for in pressure and quickly removed any pesky dirt, skin, and muscle from our heads. While adjusting to our new life as a pair of fleshless but spotlessly clean skulls, we discussed our plans for the next few days.

The weather forecast promised a shocking end of the week over on the west coast so we decided to head up to Aviemore and the Cairngorms, naturally stopping off at the Dalwhinnie distillery (my favourite). Feeling slightly light-headed and light-walleted, I stowed my new bottle of Winter’s Gold whiskey and we carried on up to Aviemore. Tom fancied a Subway and soon overpowered my rather weak protestations about poor value and never being as nice as it smells. We acquired 45cm of meat-style sandwichette with “salad” from some of the nicest sandwich technicians we’ve ever encountered and ate it in the sun outside. We had another little look round the shops, bought yet more groceries, and drove on to the campsite in Glenmore.

We spent the evening on the beach of the loch surrounded by utterly beautiful woodland with Tom’s parents and Rhubarb drinking tea and champagne (classy), and when the sun went down I dumped a can of M&S chicken tikka masala into a pan (even classier). The four of us played bridge (class overload), or rather, three of us played bridge and I sat with a vacant expression on my face as my brain whirred and overheated like an old Dell laptop.

Thursday was our first proper walk. We walked up to Lochan Uaine which was genuinely breath-taking, then carried on up to Ryvoan bothy which was the epitome of cosiness with the smell of wood fires still lingering in the air and a small selection of teabags left by previous guests. Back down in the van we brewed up a cup of tea and prepared various things on toast for lunch. Sitting with my feet up eating cheese on toast with a cup of tea in the rain, I felt an equal mix of contentment and smugness welling up inside me.

That night we decided to brave a “wild camp”, meaning we would go without the facilities usually provided by a campsite and rely just on what we had. Which wasn’t really much of a sacrifice considering we have a van with more reliable utilities than our previous flat. Our chosen spot was Allt Mor car park, just up the road from our last campsite. In a moment of excitement at the prospect of being in any way “wild” I suggested we don our waterproofs and headtorches and walk through the woods, in the dark and the rain, to nearby Glenmore Lodge for a couple of pints before dinner. In reality the paths were well marked and well maintained, and the walk was only about 15 minutes with the biggest dangers being some slippery grass and maybe a dung beetle, but at the time it felt like a journey through Mirkwood or the Forbidden Forest. A couple of drinks later, we were back at the van discovering why people carry levelling blocks. The level of alcohol in my blood really upped the ante as I tried to stop knives and pans of boiling water and frying onions from sliding off onto my feet (and head whenever I bent over).

In the morning we drove across to Inverness to do a load of boring errands and sample the delights of Mr J.D. Wetherspoon. We managed to pick up a nice bit of hose from B&Q complete with tap attachment doo-dah for about 7 quid (take that, Go Outdoors!) before carrying on to Dingwall to spend the night.

The people at the campsite told us about a website and app called searchforsite.co.uk which lists all the campsites and camping spots you could possibly desire, and which we have since come to rely on like a wise old sage (stay here, you should, chemical toilet disposal point, they have…).

On Saturday we made for the coast, aiming to book onto the Sunday ferry from Ullapool to Stornoway now that the weather had improved. We drove past a couple of incredible looking spots on the way which we’ll try to go back and see somehow. At Ullapool we asked The Great Wise App to find a place for us to spend the night. It said “park for free at the Royal Hotel you may, if dinner or drinks in the bar, you buy…”. So that’s what we did. It rained constantly the whole day and night that we were there, but Sunday was pretty glorious as we boarded the morning ferry.

The ferry journey was spectacular, as were the chips in the restaurant. I even commented to Tom how easy it had all been – obviously I spoke too soon. The ferry docked, the passengers all sat expectantly with their hands poised on the ignition, the signal went for the ramp to descend, but nothing happened. It was almost a full hour before the ferry had managed to swing around to allow all the vehicles to reverse off the ferry through the back door.

Now finally we were in the Outer Hebrides, on the Isle of Lewis. Except that it was the Sabbath, and being a very traditional Christian island, everybody else was inside resting. So we roamed the island looking for signs of life, and eventually found some other tourists at Ness, and a few starlings around the lighthouse at the Butt of Lewis.

As the sun went down and we started looking for a place to stay, we drove past an extraordinary number of churches, all with lights blazing and car parks packed, the kind of activity you’d usually only find at a Michelin starred gastropub. Presumably they were all praying for rain, as that’s what we got in full force for the entire night. We were parked up at the end of a quiet road not far from a loch, another wise app recommendation, and I was disturbed in the night by the wind and rain, a growing sense of unease about the sea/cows/locals creeping up on us, and then finally a good old leg cramp to make me feel at home.

Monday morning came and all my fears were unfounded, of course. We had breakfast in Stornoway and had a good look round Lews Castle before attempting to find a campsite that would allow us a proper wash and a place to do some laundry and write this blog post. The first place we tried was closed. Then we called the second place, which closed at the end of September, but recommended a place not too far on from there that was open all year. We looked it up, and although it had no electrical hookup it did have a laundry nearby and was right by a huge stretch of beautiful beach. We stuck it into the satnav and were shocked that it was a 55 minute drive away. Surely not? On a little island? Well anyway, the drive took us past the famous Calanais standing stones, the most spectacular of many stone circles on the island, so we stopped and had a look around, a quick worship of the sun gods, a quick slice of tiffin in the visitor centre and bought a fridge magnet to add to our collection. We bumped into the senior Haweses again and told them of our campsite woes and possible success, and they followed us on the drive round to Ardroil Sands to spend the night.

The drive was increasingly scenic and I even saw my first ever wild stag in broad daylight. The road tracked round the edge of a huge loch and through a narrow gorge with half the trees blown over. We emerged out the other side to side vistas of white sandy beach as promised, past the community shop where we could do laundry, and down to a small car park by the beach with some pretty impressive toilets. We parked up and refilled the water tanks and I had a quick wander down the the beach which was as beautiful as promised. Tom even managed to fix the TV aerial which hadn’t worked since the Peak District with a pair of pliers and some Mr Bean-style arm waving. That’s where our luck ended.

Emboldened by our recent technical success, I attempted to charge my laptop from the van leisure battery so I could finish this post using a mini inverter in the 12V socket used for the TV. The little green light came on and went off suddenly and my heart sank as I realised I’d probably blown a fuse. It was a race against time to get the drafted Word document off my laptop before it died, and I then had to sheepishly deliver the news to Tom that we now not only couldn’t enjoy our recently fixed terrestrial TV, we now couldn’t even watch any of our DVDs. And my laptop still wasn’t charged.

So we eventually settled down for the night, both quietly wishing for a time machine. Instead of a time machine, I woke up around 3.30am to the sound of howling winds throwing handfuls of solid rain at the van. The wind was deafening and we shook periodically. After about half an hour I decided to check the weather and see when it might stop – not only would it carry on until SIX PM it would also get worse, from 40mph up to 50. Luckily the van was watertight, and my duvet was impenetrable to the cold breeze now developing inside the van via the various vents installed for our safety. Stupid safety.

This morning we woke to find the wind still howling as expected. Since we don’t fancy the drive back up through Falling Tree Gorge and Lochside Heights, I suppose this means we’re stuck here for another night. And we’ve also discovered that the showers were not working. Excellent. However, we’re fully stocked up with food, we’ve got the solar panel for power, there’s plenty of running water here, diesel and laundry (hopefully) just up the road, and of course that beautiful beach just over the dunes. And we’ve got all the waterproof kit so we’ll venture for a walk on the beach. And there’s reading, knitting, and crosswords to be done. And if things get really rough, I suppose we could play Bridge…

Sorry for the bumper post!

Troughton out.

We actually did it – we bought a van and we’ve set off around the country for three months. Join us on our blog for some hopefully entertaining stories accompanied by terrible photography.

Setting off

Campsite on the first night – too chicken to use our own plumbing

Like Tetris, only less fun

Snuggletron 3000

You can just make out Postman Pat in the distance

Tea time

Beans a la croutons

Writing this post

This spring, with my PhD coming to an end and plans to move out of London starting to draw closer, we thought “what better time to blow a large portion of our savings on the trip of a lifetime?”. But why be predictable? Why go backpacking round Asia when you can buy a campervan and sit in the rain and/or snow?!

The search for a van began several months ago with some in-depth homework on the pros and cons of various fuel types. Since we’re both extremely anal, this process went on for many many weeks before we decided on an early 90s petrol-fuelled high top Volkswagen T25.

Then at the start of September Tom’s parents told us they’d seen a van near them in Norfolk that looked perfect. It was a Citroen Romahome Dimension. It was diesel. It was over budget. My hopes weren’t high. But then we saw it, in all its middle-aged glory, with its clever use of space managing to squeeze in plenty of storage, an oven, and a bathroom! It even had yellow and green decals, perfect for Norwich City fan Hawesy. SOLD. With the addition of a TV and a solar panel, she was to be ours. We decided to call her Dignity, after the Deacon Blue song.

So we set about moving all our stuff from our tiny flat in London. Word of advice… never try to move out of a part-furnished flat that you’ve been in for four years in a Peugeot 107. This process took about a decade off each of our lives, but I did acquire a large number of bruises in return. Not a great trade-off, but it’s something.

Finally, on Sunday 7th October, we moved a selection of our belongings into the van. Once we’d managed to extract the last few members of my family from the wheel arches and glove box, we made for the Peak District for a taster night in familiar surroundings (Hardhurst Farm, thoroughly recommended), picking up a couple of essentials on the way out of Nottingham.

We arrived at the campsite at around 10pm and spent a good two hours sorting out the electrical hookup and pulling various levers and handles to get the bed set up. Eventually we managed to get everything up and running to our satisfaction, and spent a wonderful first night with blue lights shining in our eyes and an ominous buzzing sound coming from behind a panel.

In the morning, mostly refreshed, we fired up the stove for the first time and discovered that the milk we’d bought the night before went off a week earlier. Mmm nothing like a steaming hot cup of curds and whey to get the day off to a good start (thanks Tesco!). We gave up on cooking breakfast and popped to the cafe at Outside in Hathersage, another trusty favourite, to fuel ourselves for the day ahead.

We were planning to set off to Oban, and from there to the Outer Hebrides, when the senior Haweses called from their hired campervan to say that the weather on the west coast was terrible – yellow warnings of wind and rain for several days – so they were going to head to the eastern side of Scotland first. We thought that was probably prudent, so plotted a course to join them at a campsite near Blair Athol. After the disappointment of milkgate, we decided to treat ourselves to some groceries from Marks and Spencer in Penrith.

We cooked up a lovely dinner of some old stew left over from Saturday with new potatoes and veg and a couple of cups of tea. We hadn’t yet braved using any of our van’s plumbing yet, so washed up in the campsite sinks.

Night number two was much better, as we found a way to make the buzzing stop by sacrificing the lights, and I slipped a chopping board in front of the blue LED that had been boring into my retinas the previous night. It was bliss. We had beans on toast for breakfast – or rather we had beans a la croutons as we only had bowls to eat out of. We popped to House of Bruar with the senior Haweses and beloved Basset hound Rhubarb to drool over the food, toy with the tartan, and nuzzle the knitwear. After that we had a wander round Pitlochry and picked up yet more groceries before heading back to the car park, where a friendly couple told us we were lucky not to have been in Oban, which was (and probably still is) under several feet of water.

Therefore I’m sitting writing this back on the campsite, with a pizza in our little oven, trying to decide where to go next…

Troughton out.