Our original plan was to return home on Monday but we don’t have to be home until Tuesday. So, Francine asked if we could stay on an extra day. Regrettably this wasn’t possible since all five pitches were booked. So, Monday it is, then.

One of those having booked the pitches arrived this morning. Here was someone who doesn’t believe in travelling light. As well as unloading two 40ltr water containers (which seems to have become de rigeur these days), he also unloaded twin waste water containers (which I’ve never seen done before). The waste outlets are side by side on the van so a little of the normally required plumbing would have made one waste container perfectly adequate, I’d have thought. Weird! Not, however, as weird as the next item unloaded: here was someone travelling with two large flower pots, one of appears to be a long planter containing seedling lettuces. Now I’ve seen it all. They’ve got a dog, too.

Our usual leaden grey skies were back but we thought we’d risk a walk into Seahouses to try the coastal path in this neighbourhood. We got to Seahouses just as the rain did and took shelter under a small arcade outside a few shops. As I stood there waiting for the rain to desist, I heard a woman mutter, “stay outside with your dad, darling”. I turned expecting to see a small child but, no, Mrs Bozo had been talking to a dog. The dog, of course, understood every single word and suffered an immediate identity crisis thinking it had been fathered by a human. Ye gods!

The afternoon brightened so wandered a while along the coast near good ol’ Bamburgh castle. Whilst a decent photographic subject, it really must be the ugliest castle I’ve ever seen. It is imposing, though. We returned to another new camper setting up with yet another dog. They were setting up next door to another dog-owning camper (a third one, not the first one I mentioned). As we ferried stuff from car to Guillaume, I heard the new camper encouraging their dog to “go and say hello nicely” [to its new canine neighbour]. Once again, I’m sure it understood perfectly. It’s enough to make you puke.

There’s supposed to be good weather here for the next three days, sod it! The rain’s returned this evening though so I shan’t be sorry to get home. I can’t ever recall saying that before.

At long last, a relatively windless day with a majority vote for clear blue sky was forecast. What a relief; what an unmitigated joy – except for the fact that Francine had set her alarm for 5:00 AM to keep her delayed appointment with dawn on Bamburgh beach to shoot Bamburgh castle. The sacrifices one makes for art. Still, if one is going to fork out £400+ on pro-grade filters, one’d better put some effort into using them constructively. I originally intended to remain au lit but had slept well and was unavoidably awake: I tagged along to watch Francine at work and dawn arrive for myself. 🙂

I’m a self-confessed mobile phone dinosaur but smart phones are beginning to convert me – dangerous stuff! Francine has one and it is undeniably useful for some things, given the right “app” of course. [:)] In this case the right app was the Met Office enabling one to look up photographically important information like sunrise and sunset, as well as a guess, usually bad, at the weather. We were on site ~5:20 AM to get ready for sunrise at 6:40 AM. There is a lot of wandering about to be done considering different views before settling on a tripod location. I remained in the car for some warmth before joining Francine as dawn approached.

To both our minds, I think, the light before dawn was more appealing than the light once the sun had risen. Playing with a “CA” setting on my camera, which I really must look up, I snagged a picture of Francine taking her picture. Here are both making for an interesting comparison, I think. I’d say the expensive filters are worth it.

The celestial artistic director had creatively arranged for the sun to rise directly behind the innermost of the Farne Islands. This looked like a chance not to be missed but, with no tripod, it had to be a hand-held shot. Thank technology for image stabilized lenses. I had to clone out an irritatingly placed man and his hyperactive dog, both of which were positioned between me and the surf. We’re clearly not the only maniacs out and about pre-dawn.

After a well deserved hearty breakfast, we shot off to Alnwick to check out its castle and market. The castle had the ubiquitous scaffolding, so beloved of historic buildings, but in a distant shot wasn’t too offensive. The market was a little dull but there was an excellent cheese shop where we finally managed to purchase one of the Doddington Dairy “artisan” cheeses: Berwick Edge, “a strong and fruity Gouda-style cheese”, and very good it was, too. In chatting to the cheese shop proprietor, we learned that the Doddington Dairy had had a bad time with a foot and mouth disease outbreak and now kept everyone off the farm, including the postman. Had we actually found the farm, there is apparently an honesty box outside to make purchases.

The sun continued to shine and we continued to Craster, famous for kippers, though Seahouses claims to be the original birthplace of the kipper. More appealing for lunch, however, was one of the crab sandwiches being offered by the Jolly Fisherman pub overlooking the coast sounded even better, especially as I could wash it down with the finest pint of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord bitter I’ve tasted. Everyone visiting the bar was ordering crab sandwiches with their drinks; they were doing a roaring trade.

Thus fortified, we wandered the 1¼ mile coastal path northwards to Dunstanburgh Castle, considerably more of a fixer-upper than the other two castles we’d seen earlier in the day but definitely in an imposing location. Francine took the low road by the water’s edge whilst I took the high road by the sheep; here’s a shot from the high road.

Eventually some hazy, high-level cloud reclaimed the sky and we returned to Guillaume after the best day of our trip, though it has to be said that there’s been little in the way of competition for it.

After re-pitching Guillaume to face into the wind in the middle of last night, hopefully without disturbing too many of our neighbours, we finally got some sleep after 3:00 AM had disappeared behind the advancing hands of the clock. The wind was unabated this morning, which came later for us than had originally been intended. Consequently, Francine missed her dawn appointment with Bamburgh castle.

After our late start, though still v. windy, the day had some brightness to it so we visited the beach anyway. Other than the fact that there were quite a few people walking quite a few dogs, the beach was a little like the Sahara in miniature: the strong north-westerly wind was blowing sandstorms along the surface of the beach and up across the dunes which lie between it and the town. There were also little miniature sand dunes on the beach complete with sand shadows on the downwind side. Sand racing along before the wind is difficult to capture on pixels but Francine’s shot may give an idea. Incidentally, that’s one of the Farne Islands on the horizon.

As with most campsites, our little farm site has various tourist information leaflets. One such is for Doddington Dairy which makes ice creams but, more importantly and of particular interest to cheese-aholic Franco, six different “artisan” cheeses. The last time I came across the word artisan, it was used in relation to over-priced sandwiches at a service area on the M6 as we headed north at the start of this meteorologically disastrous trip. Nonetheless, finding Doddington would provide and excuse for us to investigate inland a little so we set off with my digestive juices exhibiting eager anticipation. We found Doddington – blink and you miss it – but could we find the Doddington dairy? No! Francine looked on the info leaflet for a postcode to stick into Sally Satnav and spotted, in small print beneath the “get in touch” section:

Sorry, we do not have a visitors centre at the moment and we are not open to the public.

Hmm. What’s the point in an expensive, glossy, trifold, double-sided professionally produced flier if no one can’t visit you, pray tell? Grrr!

Disappointed, we re-planned and headed back coastward for the Holy Island causeway, just to go “ooh, ah” and say we’d seen it, though, since we knew the tide was in and  we wouldn’t be able to drive across. It made an interesting comparison to the passage de gois which is a similar flooding road to an island off the west coast of France. Naturally, people behave much the same at both by wandering up to the tide’s edge.  However, whereas the French motorists tend to ignore the road closed warnings and cross spraying plumes of salt water anyway, Brits are much more controlled and wait.

I noticed in the distance that Bamburgh castle now appeared to have favourable light on it so we called in on our way back to Guillaume and spent an interesting half hour or so making up for having missed the early morning show. The potential feeling of solitude offered by such scenery is, of course, lost by Joe Public and his/her blasted dogs again, of course, but Photoshop may help in that regard. 😉

The blasted wind was still pounding us but it is forecast to abate overnight for tomorrow. Fingers crossed.

The Caravan Club site at Edinburgh is located north of the city very close to, all but on, the southern shore of the Firth of Forth. Very close to the firth it may be but visible the firth isn’t, regrettably, mostly because there are large trees in the way but also because the firth is lower than the site. There is something else very close to the southern shore of the Firth of Forth: the inbound flight path to Edinburgh airport.

For a little entertainment on rainy evenings, we’ve been watching Stieg Larsson’s Millennium trilogy in the original Swedish. Our choice to watch the original Swedish version was suggested by the irritating American over-dubbing of the so-called English version, which was available on the DVDs as an alternative, and was confirmed by the fact that, at regular intervals, jet airliners would drown out the sound during their trip up the firth as they made their low, final approach to land at Edinburgh. At least they weren’t flying in front of our laptop screen and stopping us reading subtitles. Mercifully, flights stop overnight so sleeping was not a problem.

After knocking myself out with a wee dram from yesterday’s sunnier-than-expected wedding reception, I was awake at some time during the night to appreciate a rain shower or two. I was also awake to savour the engines of Edinburgh airport’s first inbound flight of the day approaching just above us along the firth at 5:40 AM. The second flight made its final approach at 5:47 AM and the third at 5:59 AM. Then there was something of a lull in operations. Sleep did not return but that didn’t matter, I don’t plan to either – return, that is. Today we were heading south of the border back into England.

After a swift 10-mile round trip to collect the stuff we were to be ferrying back on behalf of others, I hitched up Guillaume, attached the towing mirrors and we were off on the 80-ish-mile trip to Seahouses on England’s north-east coast where Francine is hoping to get some moody photography done. I was a little sad that there appeared to be no “Welcome to England” road sign as your drive south on the A1. There’s an English Borders lay-by but no sign or triumphal gate. Poor show!

1:00 PM. We arrived at our campsite, a pleasant 1-acre field for just five units, three goats and sundry chickens, beside a farmhouse.  These Caravan Club “certificated locations” are what we always used to choose in preference to more organized sites and it’s nice to be back on one. It’s an adults only site so we were instantly attracted to it. We set up and began lunch.

2:00 PM. The rain began.

3:00 PM. All texture had vanished from the sky, which was now an even, solemn grey, and the rain had become persistent and quite heavy.

6:00 PM. The rain had abated but high winds began bringing back memories of Bunree. Guillaume was pitched oriented north-south; the wind was battering him side on from the west unlike at Bunree, where he faced the gale. Dinner proceeded undeterred despite the occasional shake and rattle.

2:45 AM. After a particularly alarming battering and rattling on Guillaume’s stays, and following not a wink of sleep since retiring c. 11:00 PM, we decided that enough was enough, got dressed and re-pitched Guillaume to face west into the wind – great fun in the pitch black of Northumberland.

3:00 AM. Back to bed. Just like a ship facing into a storm at sea, Guillaume is quite steady facing the source of the disturbance.

We may be back in England but we are still north of Hadrian’s wall, the frontier of civilization.

The day had arrived, Francine’s niece’s wedding day, the day that led us into this Scottish voyage of discovery. Staggeringly, after the day’s opening couple of showers – 100% record of wet days in Scotland maintained – something peculiar and, by me, completely unexpected happened: some blue appeared in the sky and the sun shone. The happy couple must be truly blessed.

The wedding ceremony, in South Queensferry registrar’s office, overlooked the old and instantly recognisable Firth of Forth rail bridge. In the brightest weather since crossing Hadrian’s wall, the view was appropriately inspirational. Less inspirational, was the fact the script and signing of official documents took place in a bay window overlooking the view and the bright light of the window made well-balanced photography all but impossible. Everyone was having a good time, though, and smiles were broad so who cares? 🙂

We wandered outside for some more photo opportunities overlooking that bridge but this time leaning against some frankly unattractive grey railings. (There’s a lot of grey in Scotland; there seems to be an obsession with grey.) Now the awkward items to deal with were other guests’ small digital cameras, held aloft across your field of view while said guest peered upwards at the rear screen. I began to envy professional photographers formally posing endless group shots; it might seem dull but it does give them unfettered access and directional control. A photographic free-for-all makes life extremely difficult.

The clan of assembled revellers enjoyed a tasty meal including various Scottish specialities such as black pudding, haggis and rib eye steak. The dining room suffered from the same issue as the registry office – the happy couple were sitting in a bay window with their backs to that bridge, once again strongly backlit by the still bright daylight. We did what we could.

I took a particular liking to the groom  because of his approach: he dislikes formality and official protocols so the whole affair was delightfully relaxed and easy-going, without any of the normal stuffiness, nor the torture of having to endure seemingly endless speeches. Bravo!

Once my day’s driving duties were over, I could enjoy my wedding favour, a wee dram, back in the comfort of Guillaume.

Our thanks to the bride and groom and best wishes to them for their future.

The most important point to make about today is that the sky was a very strange colour this morning. I have a distant memory, from before we crossed the border into Scotland, that this colour may be referred to as blue; don’t quote me though, ‘cos I haven’t seen it this side of Hadrian’s wall. I really wasn’t expecting to awake to this colour because the rain had been on and off most of the night. It was, of course, a delightful surprise.

We are here for Francine’s niece’s wedding. Since Guillaume has some carrying capacity, we had brought with us Francine’s mother’s wedding outfit (she flew up courtesy of easyJet) to save her luggage travails and we needed to delivery it in time for tomorrow’s festivities. We will, of course, have to return with it after said festivities. We’ve also won the addition of her suitcase to go with it. Good ol’ Guillaume!

Duty performed, we trotted off into South Queensferry, where tomorrow’s wedding will be, to get the lie of the land. South Queensferry lies on the south side of the Firth of Forth where the two Forth bridges cross; one road, one rail. South Queensferry is so-named because, in the 11th century, the queen was ferried across the firth here. Unsurprisingly, there is a North Queensferry on t’other side. As is customary for tourists, Francine used snappy to snap the bridges. The much more interesting design to my mind is that of the rail bridge whose colour resembles the Golden Gate bridge in San Francisco, being a dull orange-red. The road bridge, on the other hand, clearly more modern, may physically resemble the Golden Gate bridge but is a rather uninspiring shade of light grey. Maybe this was done precisely to make it look different from the GG? Personally, I’d like to see them colour coordinated – and I don’t mean dull grey.

Our eye was taken by a restaurant, with good views of the firth and the more interesting rail bridge, advertising “fresh mussels every day”. As some form of recompense for the weather we’ve had to endure, we decided to treat ourselves to another Scottish version of moules marinières washed down by a large glass of viognier. They were not quite as stunning as those in Oban but were still so good that we ate them too fast for the camera to capture them.  Scottish rope-grown mussels rule, OK?

Now to the tale of Tailend Moss. We learned of this nature reserve, a short distance west of Edinburgh, from the BDS website. About 90 minutes after arriving in Edinburgh yesterday, we set off to find it and hunt dragons. About five minutes after we’d set off, the rain began, and continued, so we abandoned our quest. Today, after our splendid lunch in South Queensferry, we set off for Tailend Moss once again. Once again, after a mere five minutes of driving, the rain began. Tailend Moss must be fated. I began to think of it as Arse End Moss. Today, however, we drove through the rain and arrived with a little more of the exceptionally rare blue – is that the word? – sky. At a paltry 11°C, though, we were still pleasantly surprised to find some dragons:

1. Common Emerald Damselfly (Lestes sponsa)
2. Common Hawker (Aeshna juncea)
3. Black Darter (Sympetrum danae)
4. Common Darter (Sympetrum striolatum)

Francine even found a female #2 dining on a male #3. #3 was still moving. Gruesomely delightful critters, aren’t they? “Nature, red in tooth and claw.”

The rain began again so we headed for some shops in search of tonight’s dinner. We didn’t need much after those excellent mussels. Some simply grilled tuna with a spinach, watercress and rocket salad would suffice.

Note: that’s 10 days in Scotland and 10 days with rain – a 100% record so far. 😉

I had difficulty sleeping last night. I was overexcited. It was just like one of those halcyon Christmas eve nights spent as a child being unable to sleep waiting for Santa Claus to make his unlikely entry down the chimney, bursting with anticipation of what wondrous treats Christmas morning might bring. Last night, the morning treat I was anticipating was perfectly well known, however – we’d be leaving Bunree. How I have been looking forward to this moment.

During our eight days at Bunree I’ve forgotten what blue looks like. Many years ago, on a work assignment to Edinburgh, I was met at the airport by one of our consultants who, on our journey back into town and referring to the colours of the buildings, remarked, “they’ve got 68 shades of drab here”. I’ve never forgotten it. In similar fashion, Bunree seems to have a sky made of 68 shades of grey. Blue does not exist. The clouds have consistently contained some of the blackest and certainly the lowest I have ever experienced. They are oppressive; they weigh down on upon one’s psyche. The greens normally expected of a naturally verdant countryside are missing, too, or at least very subdued due to the lack of light. Though the taunting noise of the wind is almost constant, it doesn’t clear the clouds away; the cloud bank pushing in from the northern Atlantic is quite simply endless. The clouds have produced rain at some point every single day – and that is after we were told that the same had happened for the two weeks preceding our arrival – and when it isn’t raining it frequently feels darker and more threatening than Mordor. We’ve woken up to the same interminable dark grey scene every morning. A week is all I could have stood without going (even more) insane, and that was a close run thing. The received wisdom is that Scotland is a breathtakingly attractive country but picturesque scenery is of little use if it cannot be seen through the opaque mantle of low-hanging, black cloud. We haven’t seen the tops of the mountains, which are only between 3000 and 4000 feet (in round numbers); they are hardly massive. This has not been living, this has been existing. If I had to exist here for any length of time, I would surely slit my wrists. I simply do not understand how anyone can endure this willingly on a permanent basis.

While almost everywhere in England has been enjoying an Indian summer heat wave with blue skies and temperatures around 25°C, as friends and relatives have been at pains to impress upon us, the best we’ve managed under our suffocatingly grey blanket is 16°C.

Mercifully and at long last, I am now leaving and my heavy heart is beginning to lighten already. It cost me £65 to top up our car’s tank with diesel at the local filling station yesterday (that was from ¼ full) and it’s the best £65 I’ve ever spent.

However, there is a sadistic twist. Just as a child’s fantasy is destroyed when it finally learns that Santa isn’t real, so my hopes were dashed. Having dragged Guillaume for three hours up through Glen Coe, across Rannoch Moor, passed the Trossachs and beneath Stirling, we arrived at Edinburgh by 12:00 PM. The rain began at 2:00 PM.

At least during our time at Bunree we were in pole position with a view of the loch, even with occasional glimpses of the opposite shore. Here at the Caravan Club’s Edinburgh site, all we can look at as we sit in Guillaume taking shelter is the two motorhomes opposite and the laurel hedge that edges one side of our pitch. The site is within spitting distance of the Firth of Forth but we can’t see it. Merde alors!

I’m thinking of having some bumper stickers made up taking a liberty with the old, worn out “Scotland the brave” phrase; Mine sticker would read:

I braved Scotland