Tag Archives: UK

Autumn Arboretum

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The dry and sunny weather has stuck with us for October so far. Husband’s birthday comes around and I cast around for a good activity on this Sunday afternoon, hitting on the idea of Hilliers’s Aboretum, near Romsey, Hampshire- a charitable trust that offers a garden centre as well as a huge estate full of assorted, indigenous trees. Early autumn is a great time to visit because the colours of the trees’ leaves is beginning to develop as they wind down for their winter sleep.

The colours of the Hampshire countryside are already showing promise even before we arrive to Hillier’s. The car park is busy so we’re not the only ones wanting to experience the best that a British autumn can offer today.

At the ticket counter, we’re given a map plus an opportunity to take out a ‘lifetime membership’, a deal that feels questionable. given that we A] won’t be coming every weekend for ever’ and B] ‘lifetime’ doesn’t seem that much of a bargain when you’re in your later life…

Still, we’re here and stepping out around the plantation, starting with a magnificent view down across the hills and over the landscape. Then we turn left and plunge into the trees. Husband, who is a botanist, knows a great deal about plants and trees, although not their names, which amuses me.

Wandering down along the path towards the pond and the bog garden, the colours range from purple and crimson through to flame orange, gold and yellow. En route there is an occasional added item for interest- a xylophone, some drums, a mud kitchen- all there to entertain bored children.

After a wrong turn or two, we find the pond, which has fish, lilies, timber seating areas and, in the centre of the water, a spectacular larch. Larches are unique in that they are conifers but shed their needles in the winter. Before this, though, they turn a bright orange. This single tree’s reflection on the water is amazing.

Around the outside of the pond, in the bog areas, there is towering Gunnera, just starting to decay, the enormous leaves beginning to blacken. Further on, beyond and above the pond area we walk through a tunnel of tall bamboo.

The path winds up and out then we emerge at the start of a wide alley flanked by herbaceous borders, a grass area between, that seem to extend as far as the eye can see. The borders, even this late in the year, are chock full of colour, with dahlias, geraniums, asters and so many more flowers, most being visited by bees, a lovely sight.

Then we’re back to the start, and since we’re by the cafe, it feels churlish not to give it a visit for tea and excellent fruit cake.

Later, I feel glad to have had the cake as I wait [too long] for my meal to be delivered to our table in ‘The Botanist’ restaurant. But what an appropriate place for botanist Husband’s birthday meal!

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Local or Loco

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In the UK autumn began with cold, unpleasant weather. September here is usually a mild, calming down kind of month, cooling from the summer’s stifling heatwaves but still with plenty of sunshine and warm temperatures. This year’s September was disappointing. October, however has offered many sunny days and the sun still has some warmth.

Having missed out on our September van odyssey, we’ve been day tripping from home as well as tucking the garden in for the winter. Lucky as we are to live between the sea and one of the UK’s most iconic national parks, we’re spoilt for choice, although there isn’t really anywhere that’s new, these days!

There are places where the New Forest National Park meets the sea and we’re headed to one- at Lepe, where a beachside cafe and car park overlook the section of the English channel called the Solent and the Isle of Wight and its iconic ‘Needles’ rocks. On the way we pass through Beaulieu village with its chocolate-box charm and pass groups of New Forest ponies grazing by the roadsides as well as shaggy cattle and wriggling pigs, foraging for acorns in a ditch. We forget, sometimes, that all of this nature and wildlife is on our doorstep!

It’s quite busy even on this autumn afternoon, and some hardy souls are in the sea- which is, of course, at its warmest from summer heat. In the car park there’s one of these pop-up sauna cabins that seems to be the fashion this year, which explains the proliferation of sea swimmers, too.

The cafe and outbuildings are pleasing, timber structures. After a short walk we go up the ramp to the cafe, which has large windows facing the Isle of Wight, then it’s time to move on, to yet another forest meets sea spot- Calshot. The beach here is pebbly but there are great views of the shipping going past on Southampton water. In the distance you can see Portsmouth, too, the Spinnaker tower standing out. There’s a line of beach huts here, although no one in residence today in spite of warm sunshine.

Sometimes cruise ships come past on their way in or out of the port at Southampton, but today there’s only a distant tanker plus the Isle of Wight ferry going backwards and forwards. Further on towards the end of the spit, where the shipping channel bisects the land, there is a castle, built by Henry VIII. Tall pylons and towers of the Fawley oil refinery protrude from the landward side forest.

We drive back along the forest roads again, past open, heather clad common and through dense forest. The leaves haven’t changed colour yet but there are signs of the yellow, umber , gold and red that are to come. Redwoods tower above the ornamental drive and the late afternoon sun glints and glitters through the branches. Lovely.

Then it’s home and back to phoning the AA road rescue…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Sweltering in Wales

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Having been dropped off at our local garage for the van to be repaired, the recovery vehicle leaves us to collect the car and empty everything into it. It’s a Sunday, so it’s fingers crossed that the garage will look kindly upon us tomorrow.

So…with much lighter pockets and a van with a working clutch, we prepare to set off again. A year ago [ish] we’d bought tickets for a gig at the Principality Stadium in Wales’ capital, Cardiff. Time has caught up. I’ll admit that there were times in the preceding weeks when I didn’t expect to be going, but it has come round and I’m fit to go.

The good news is there is an excellent campsite almost in the centre of this compact and lovely capital city, where we’ve stayed before. The bad news is that by the time we try to book it there’s no capacity. We think again.

Perhaps we can stay outside Cardiff and get a bus or train in? Again, we’re thwarted. We left things much, much too late.

As the date approaches and with no other options we book into a Premier Inn, cheap chain hotel, surprised that there’s a room available.

The next hurdle is parking. There are no spaces available for a van [ie under a barrier] anywhere in Cardiff. This is one popular event! Then we discover ‘Just Park’- a cunning scheme that lets private homes rent out their spaces. We can get a space outside someone’s house and catch a train into the city. Whew! Let’s hope it works.

Having packed the van and with a site en route reserved, we set off westwards, only to turn back when an alarming banging sets up underneath the vehicle somewhere. Horrors! Echoes of the Warminster debacle clanging, we head home and to the garage again; the same routine, emptying into the car. But this time we’re lucky and it’s a bolt that sheered off, replaced by the mechanic for no charge.

Next day we’re off once more.

It’s a hot journey to Cardiff and hotter still by the time we arrive. We need to locate our parking space and it’s away from the centre of the city. We also need to negotiate our way through a vast throng of traffic, clearly in pursuit of the same goal as ourselves. The Principality stadium is popular today!

We reach the housing estate where our space is- marked, as warned, with a yellow spot. It isn’t a large space and it’s between two other snugly parked vehicles, but Husband manages to manoeuvre in, leaving us a space to wriggle out- just. Phew!

Before leaving we draw all the curtains, to keep the sun out and the curious, too.

Now to find the rail station, which takes some doing, By now, the weather has become very hot indeed and traipsing to the station with overnight bags is not for the faint hearted. But then we’re on the train and after a few stops we’re in the city centre. Next- to find the hotel. Having asked several station staff members we discover it- across the road from the station…

At last we can sit in the hotel bar with a cold beer and relax before making our way to the stadium…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

The Good, the Bad and the Sad

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On the last day in Nether Wasdale it rains steadily for the entire morning, then brightens up for us to get out walking in the afternoon.

This time we take a route around to the other side of the lake and it’s beautiful with woods, lanes and spectacular views. Part of our route follows the lake then up through some overgrown paths on to the narrow road. I spend some time attempting to photograph the butterflies on the brambles, without success as they have a tendency to flutter away while I’m trying to focus!

In the evening we stroll across to the pub to get a meal and it turns out to be exceptional for pub food. It’s also busy and characterful- surprising for such an out-of-the-way hostelry- and many of the customers are locals.

Next morning it’s time to go, although I’ve a soft spot for this tiny backwater. We have to dodge rain to pack up and as we leave the heavens really do open. There’s a hiatus while we get in a muddle and go the wrong way, confused by the very narrow roads and turnings, but at last we’re out and away.

The motorway M6 is never a pleasant journey at the best of times and as we negotiate the busy junctions and ‘spaghetti’ that is Birmingham we are dogged by traffic jams. I feel bad for those who must drive routes like these every day.

It’s a long day. Following a protracted search for a stopover to break our journey I found a pub site a camping field in Staffordshire, ‘The New Broom’. The route takes us through some of Stoke-on-Trent, which has historically been a pottery town but has suffered huge economic blows in later years, mainly I suppose from cheaper, imported pottery. I’ve never visited and I’m sure Stoke has some lovely, historic sights but what we see as we pass through is run down and unlovely.

After the early morning rain, the day turns hot and sticky. In the pub’s field, several units are already set up. It’s near to the popular theme park, Alton Towers, so there are families with caravans or vans and excited children. The bar is thronged with customers when we go to check in- some kind of ‘do’…a wedding. perhaps? I ask the barman. No- it’s a wake…

The New Broom pub is by a busy road but the portacabin showers are clean and acceptable, although later, when we go to take advantage of the bar meals, we are obliged to wait a very long time to be served despite the very few fellow diners and when it does arrive, the meal is disappointing,

There’s a noticeable increase in the price of UK sites and stopovers, reflecting, perhaps the general state of the UK economy?

A slew of traffic holdups when we left has forced us to rethink our route home. The weather turns hotter still. We stop at a small service station outside Warminster and I go to get us an ice cream as a pick-me-up. I make tea. We go to set off again- except that we’re going nowhere- there’s no way to get the van into gear. We’re at the roundabout by the garage. Husband forces the gearbox into first gear so that we can limp round into the car park- which also happens to be the Travelodge car park- and there we stop, our only option the insurance recovery, which I ring, receiving a promise of a 2 hour wait.

Six hours later I ring again. It’s now almost 10 o’clock, which is the time by which you must book if you want to reserve a room at the Travelodge, which we do. The recovery call handler expresses shocked disbelief that nobody has come and assures me that someone will be here in the morning. There’s nothing else for it- it’s a night in the dubious splendour of the Travelodge with a choice of Burger King, Greggs or Subway. Luckily we have bread and cheese in the van and in any case- Subway, as the apologetic server explains, has no bread left.

Next morning the AA man arrives promptly to tell us what we already knew. We need a recovery vehicle to get us and the poor van home. Ho Hum…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

The Nether Regions

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The site at Nether Wasdale is at a working farm and has, allegedly, a farm shop, which sounds promising, although when we pull up to check in it appears to have everything except items you would expect from a farm shop, eg vegetables, fruit, meat and so on. A cursory glance around reveals a wealth of sweets, toys and ice cream, which might say more about the clientele on site than the farm. Later, when we call in, in search of potatoes, the woman behind the counter tells us there’s no call for them. They do provide breakfasts- presumably of the ‘full English’ kind- but we’re not breakfasters.

The site is in an attractive location, surrounded by hills and has been sympathetically landscaped, except that our allotted pitch is almost entirely encased in trees. We move to a sunnier, more open pitch next door. There are very few tourers here, although the chalets look busier.

The weather has turned changeable but we’re keen to get some walking in, especially as I’ve had a few months off from exercise. We start by having a wander around the village, which doesn’t take long. Just outside the entrance to the site there’s a tiny church, white painted, which you could easily mistake for a house- its interior cute. I wonder what size of congregation attends the services.

Along the road there are two pubs opposite each other, one looking more actively operational than the other. Further on there’s a stone bench and a phone box plus a sign to tell us it’s ‘Copeland’s best kept small village’. We are none the wiser- we’ve no clue as to the whereabouts of Copeland. Opposite the sign there’s some kind of stone monument, looking like a miniature castle, that may have been a drinking fountain. Other than a few houses further up the hill that’s about it for Nether Wasdale.

We strike out in the other direction, away from the village and discover more habitation. There’s a cafe with a gift shop on the site of an old water mill, the mill wheel still turning behind a glass window. It’s a pleasant spot, clearly popular with walkers and we can sit outside with a coffee, by the river. I become fascinated by the conversation a group, sitting around at the tables outside, is having. They are some young people in deep discussion with an older man, [group leader, perhaps?] and are not at all happy- indeed are disgruntled- especially one young woman who declares herself bored and not enjoying the activities on offer on what is, perhaps a youth centre break. The older man is trying to establish a consensus on what they’d all like to do next day, with little success!

Next day we set off on a longer expedition- to Was Lake, up a gravel track, through a farmyard and down between fields of sheep- which are, of course, everywhere. Up above us , rocky hills have thin streams of water tumbling down their steep sides. Once we reach the lake there’s a large pipe in the water, coming from a stone building on the edge of the lake, here to alleviate the drought conditions which are affecting most parts of the UK currently.

But this is as far as we can walk on this side of the lake, unless we want to try and walk round on the scree- which we don’t!

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Off the Beaten Lakes Track

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At Hillcroft campsite, Pooley Bridge, Ullswater, we are directed to the top of the steep, terraced hill, where we are almost in splendid isolation with just two fellow tourers in our area.

The fine weather has departed, leaving us with scudding, intermittent rain, although it’s not cold. It’s a long walk down through the site [and back up!] but once down at road level there’s only a couple of minutes more to get into the village, which is small and cute and has just about everything you might need, from groceries to books as well as coffee shops, pubs and hotels.

We can’t see the lake from our pitch but it is visible from further down the site, where there’s a camping field and pods. Down in the village, a footpath before the bridge takes us to the lake’s edge where we can see a small pier. There should be steamers running but they aren’t stopping at Pooley Bridge at present,

The tiny gift shop has some lovely, locally made items but no jewellery, which I was looking forward to getting for a family birthday. We conduct a short survey of the village pub/restaurants for the following night, choosing the ‘Pooley Bridge’ itself, which gets good reviews. We are to find that the reviews are not entirely accurate, since although it’s pleasant inside and popular with diners, my steak is disappointing and flavourless and the meals overall lacklustre.

On our final day at Pooley Bridge we head off into the village and on to a riverside footpath which leads us across fields, up through a farm/campsite, across more fields, along a road, back to the river and returning to the village for tea and cake at the coffee shop overlooking the river.

The campsite, Hillcroft Farm, has new modern, huge showers and even a dishwasher! But I’m mystified by the games room, which has slot machines and other games plus a vending machine for snacks- and yet there is no bar or cafe and only a tiny, ill-stocked shop, both of which would be much more popular with visitors.

But we’re off next day, leaving Pooley Bridge and following the lakeside towards Keswick. We can’t stay there as the lovely lakeside site is full, but we need some groceries so we’ll make a stop for a supermarket. I’d forgotten all about Booths, although we must have shopped there the last time we came, so when it pops up on our SATNAV shopping chip, we pull in to the car park.

Booths is an exceptional supermarket. I f you thought Waitrose was posh, you haven’t visited Booths. Everything in this spacious, upmarket store is top quality- from the [very expensive] butcher’s counter to the delectable bakery items. Faced with such an array of delicious and tempting foods, we decide on some eye-wateringly expensive steaks [to make up for the tasteless offering at Pooley Bridge]. Following this and after stowing everything, we stay and have lunch before getting back en route.

The final part of the journey to Nether Wasdale is tortuous, with tiny, bendy lanes but at last we arrive to the miniscule village, which has very little, seemingly and it’s easy to spot the site- at another working farm…

ovels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Strawberry Hill

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Our first proper destination on this northern trip is to a site near Durham called Strawberry Hill Farm. The older sibling I’m visiting cannot accommodate a van but we’re near enough to do visiting and meet up.

When we arrive to site, having religiously followed the instructions and not our SATNAV, we pull up opposite reception- which- in spite of the sign indicating it should be open- is firmly closed. We peer in at the window at the tables, chairs and stacked shop shelves [the site claims to serve breakfasts and teas]. We stand at a side gate marked ‘private’ with a view of sloping lawns and dogs not inclined to bark. There is no bell, buzzer or phone number to ring. At last a young man appears and opens up. The site is quiet. We’ve booked. Were we not expected?

We’re directed through a barrier and to our pitch, which is fine. We’re opposite a large, new shower block- unfinished. The existing showers are next to reception, there are two and they are a little past it, something we knew already from reviews. But if it’s clean and there is hot water I’m rarely concerned about site showers.

Later on, the rellies turn up to visit, which is lovely, except that while we’re in mid-flow of catching up, an interested campsite caretaker is Hell bent on getting a conversation too…

In the early evening we decide to go down to the nearest pub- which is about half a mile down the road, walkable except that there’s no footpath alongside the busy dual carriageway. A path down through the fields would have been lovely though. we pile into the car.

We have a couple of days going out and about doing family things in County Durham. The weather has turned hot and once Friday comes we return from an outing to find the site jam packed for the weekend. The ‘Giddiup’ bar [a repurposed horse box] is doing a roaring trade and the tables outside reception are full.

It’s time to take our leave, but as we’re not about to make this journey without seeing a bit more of the north of our country so having packed up, we turn the van towards the Pennines. The day becomes squally and we’re dogged by traffic jams. We’re not able to find anywhere remotely ‘picnic’ for lunch, which we must stop in a layby to have, the views across the moors obscured by gales and rain.

We’re heading to the Lake District- a beautiful part of the UK that is also a tourist magnet. The last time we came up here was during a winter, in January, cold but still lovely. Now though, in June, it’s much busier and our preferred site, at Keswick, is packed and has no availability, so we’ve opted to visit a much less well known place at Ullswater, Pooley Bridge. The site- an enormous area by a working farm, is only just out of the village up a steep hill, but it’s walking distance. So far so good!

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Going up the Country [apologies to Canned Heat]

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We’ve had a lengthy period at home since our French trip. This has been due in part to my incarceration from a nasty IBD flare. For the uninitiated, IBD can be revealed by googling. It is neither glamorous nor pleasant, this bout being by far the worst I’ve ever experienced. It also revealed what a parlous state the NHS seems to have got into, as the lengthy duration and virulence was, in part, due to my being unable to obtain my usual meds or access the specialist team.

During this prolonged spell of confinement to home, we’ve had a late spring/early summer heatwave and the garden had been a source of great solace, as while I wasn’t able to actually do much, lolling about outside was soothing. I was relieved, however, that I’d done a lot of work before the current flare set in!

At last, however, though not out of the woods, I felt able to cope with a van trip- one that had been planned for a long time and that I’d been very reluctant to cancel or postpone. We are off to see an older sibling of mine.

I must confess we’ve not been wonderful at contact over the years, since he moved further and further northwards and I further south. We’ve done plenty of worldwide travel between us, but not in the direction of each others’ homes. It’s time to put this right.

Preparing the van for travel can be hard work at the best of times, but it all gets done and we set off on the first leg of the journey up country, using motorways, principally and stopping at services en route.

Motorway services are a bugbear of mine, each visit an experience of such low quality as to be endured rather than enjoyed. Once the service stations had sold out to the likes of MacDonald’s, Burger King, Subway, KFC, Starbucks and the like, all semblance of a pleasant, restful break was dashed on the rocks of fast food and disposable garbage. There are a couple of exceptions- one notable one being Gloucester Services, a farm enterprise built in an eco=friendly structure and selling home-cooked meals as well as providing a shopping experience of delectable, local foodstuffs and other items. There is a landscaped outside area with a beautiful pond hosting ducks and other wildlife, too. But I digress…

We make a stop at the inappropriately named ‘Leicester Forest’ services- where you would be hard pressed to spot a tree- a dire, hideous place.

A later, lunch stop at least provides a Cornish pasty, which is some comfort. We’re lucky in having the van and able to park by a patch of green to have lunch.

Then we’re off to our overnight spot- a site near Sheffield, over the Rother valley. It’s high up, a modern site, huge, landscaped and sparsely filled with tourers. I’d guess it’s popular at weekends with those from large, northern towns.

We check in. There’s a cafe/bar of sorts, although when we walk up after dinner to see if Husband can get a beer it is, of course, closed.

The heatwave continues, we deploy our two fans and I get the best night’s sleep I’ve had for several weeks, which is a result!

We head off again in the morning- onwards and northwards…

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Coast and Country

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Those who’ve followed Anecdotage for ever will have detected a change in our trips lately. We’ve not undertaken any lengthy, meandering van Odysee, rather dashed out for short stays, some local, others made by air. This is due to a deluge of NHS appointments [National Health Service for overseas visitors to this blog]. This means having to sandwich travel trips between doctor interventions and checks. Ho hum…

After Valleyfest we dash home, then there’s time to clean the van and do laundry before we’re off again- this time to west Dorset, to a massive site, Bagwell Farm near Chickerell [which is near to Weymouth]. And it has direct access on to the lovely coast path, right where Chesil Beach passes by on its way to Portland.

Like so many sites these days, there are dozens of permanent and semi-permanent vans and caravans. It’s a rolling, hilly kind of camp site, our own allocated pitch up high on a terrace with a view towards the sea and sandwiched between two caravans. The first thing that happens is that we blow the electric point with our plug-in lead- a mishap which has dogged us all of this year. The occupant of the caravan to our right, ‘Raymond’, emerges and strides down to reception, declaring that this is a regular occurrence here. Little does he know! The reception woman comes to reset everything and miraculously, we have electricity. So sure were we that we wouldn’t have we’ve brought our gas fridge, which is now redundant.

At Bagwell Farm they’ve thought of everything, with donkeys and goats, a well-stocked shop and their very own bar/restaurant. It’s not gourmet but will do for a lazy night. There’s also a pub nearby on the main road, accessed by a footpath across a field, although when we explore, in spite of the conventional bar we can see through the windows, it doesn’t seem to be doing much trade. We’re quite a way outside the village here and the walk is along a busy road without a pavement or a verge.

We’re here for the walks, so we strike out down through the site, down a field and to the coast path, Chesil Beach in our view, then follow the path by the water. The weather is on our side, for once, making the water in the lagoon that separates the shingle bank from the sea sparkle. There are some climbs but they’re worth the effort for the views over the farmland and the coast.

We turn in and up a track, [stopping to look at the dry stone wall which is being repaired] which takes us to a village- Langton Herring. It’s quaint and picturesque and typically Dorset, with stone cottages, narrow lanes, a tiny church and immaculate gardens. We’re flummoxed about which way to go but spot a sign and take a path through a working farmyard and up across the field again until we come to a copse and eventually out to the main road and the entrance to our site. Phew!

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Village on a Chocolate Box

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Years ago, when I was a child [the 50s, mainly], boxes of chocolates were a favourite gift and were almost always adorned with pictures- most often totally unrelated to their contents. A common theme was cosy, thatched cottages with roses around the door. My mother was very fond of boxes of chocolates, so this made buying her a birthday or a Christmas gift very simple.

So all these twee designs on chocolate boxes led to a well-known catch-phrase [at the time] of comparing country cottages to chocolate boxes. If you said a home was like a chocolate box, everyone would know what you meant.

Nowadays though, I doubt very many people would understand the phrase at all. Boxes of chocolates have largely fallen out of fashion and favour and those that do still exist are unlikely to have photos of thatched cottages on the front and a huge red ribbon around them.

The village of Lacock in Wiltshire, though, boasts enough chocolate box cottages to stock large numbers of sweet shops and is the kind of village I imagine overseas tourists dream of visiting, should they want to see traditional British life.

Here, the two main streets host terraces of ancient buildings- half-timbered, thatched, tiny or rambling- all tended and primped for visitors. Among the homes is a village store, a post office, bakery, cafes, pub and gift shops. Outside some of the houses, shelves of home-grown garden plants are on offer- even offering ‘honesty boxes’ for payment!

In addition to all of this historic twee-ness there is the beautiful attraction that is Lacock Abbey [National Trust of course], a huge, majestic pile sitting in vast and beautiful grounds, all as meticulously tended as you would expect from a NT property.

One stunning aspect of the abbey grounds is a buttercup meadow, a sea of yellow cris-crossed with mown paths, the flowers almost tall enough to conceal a person [at least- a short person like myself!]. In the centre is an old tree, wound with something at the top [possibly willow twigs?] looking like a woody planet, and hung with beautiful bracket fungus.

The wooded area is another sea- white this time, of wild garlic, which seems to be having a good year, perhaps due to March’s incessant rain? There is an unmistakeable aroma of garlic as we wind our way nearer to the abbey.

We stop for a quick look at the courtyard- presumably accomodation for the abbey inmates, then pop inside the abbey itself, which is beautiful, hung with paintings and dressed with age appropriate furniture. We finish in the enormous hall which is decked with statues around the walls and an enormous fireplace.

Back outside, we take a moment to visit the large pond, before leaving and going to the cafe, always an obligatory deviation. The sun is out and a cheeky robin visits our table to beg for cake crumbs…now as afternoons go it’s pretty good…

For fiction by me, Jane Deans, search for novels: The Conways at Earthsend [an eco-thriller] and The Year of Familiar Strangers [mystery drama]. Visit my website: janedeans.com