Back Home In The Searing Heat

We have left beautiful Northumberland behind us and are back at Casa Piggy, where, I am delighted to report, all seems to be well. The cats have been collected from the cattery this morning and the Groupie is already hard at work in her transplanted office - because of the heat (it is what we meteorologists term bloody hot) she has moved downstairs to the North facing study. As for the Pig, well I have been to the municipal dump to decant historic garden rubbish and am now looking forward to a game of golf at the Royal Pype Hayes - haven't touched a club since tour three weeks ago. Expectations are low.

Reflections on Northumberland: it is an area that has a magic about it. Judging by the throngs at Bamburgh it is no longer quite right to describe it as an undiscovered secret but there is plenty of scenery to go around and I would recommend it to anyone. The village of Beadnell was a happy accident for us. We had booked relatively late in the day and Bamburgh was full. In fact Beadnell was a better alternative - not as crowded and a great base. I even ran from the village out to Seahouses and back on our final day. The Groupie and I then retraced my steps (and a little further) that afternoon. I slept bloody well that night.

A great holiday deserves a great film. We duly watched one. When Harry Met Sally - I use the descriptor 'great' quite advisedly. We have seen this film umpteen times but always find enough new in it. Its most famous scene is in fact rather de trop and yes I do know that it borrows some narrative tricks from another great film, Annie Hall, but this is a delightful piece of art - Baby Fish Mouth anyone? 90/100.

You know I got all excited about the golf ball I found at Dunstanburgh Castle. Well, would you believe it, I found another one as we walked through Seahouses Golf Club. I intend using these lucky charms at Pype Hayes this afternoon. We will quickly learn whether they are indeed lucky or just like every other ball I have ever owned - doomed.

And of course, whilst we were busy holidaying, the country lost a Prime Minister. No need for much comment from me. I have made clear my opinion of the shitbag Johnson. I could even find some satisfaction in the line that the generally hopeless Keir Starmer deployed at PMQ's as the cascade of ministerial resignations went on - the first instance of sinking ships deserting the rat. 

Now to go into my pre-golf mental regime - designed (badly) to avoid hitting the trees alongside the first tee. Om.

A Wee Bit O' Culture And A Fine Piece Of Fish

The weather looks drab as I write this, armed with my morning coffee made in the stylish new stove-top pot I bought in Berwick. We have been lucky with the weather here in Northumberland and it is supposedly going to clear up today. Destination - Bamburgh Castle.

We went to Edinburgh on Monday. Great city. We drove to the excellent and refreshingly cheap park and ride at Newcraighall, then onwards by train into Waverley Station. We went for the cultural option and visited two fine museums, the National Gallery of Scotland, and the National Museum of Scotland. A wee bit o' culture does you good. Particularly impressive is the galleried hub of the National Museum, shown in the second picture below. We were unadventurous at lunchtime but Pizza Express was a handy and satisfactory option. I recommend the American Hot with jalapenos.

We were back in our walking boots yesterday, following the public footpath across Bamburgh Golf Course before descending to Budle Bay and returning to Bamburgh via the beach. The golf course is one of my favourites and always brings to mind my late friend Rod Meere - he and I enjoyed some great golf there . It is proposed by some as the the most scenic course in Britain (the world?) - they have a point. As for Bamburgh beach, well, all one can say is that it rivals the sand belt in Oregon - and in Oregon you don't get a castle.

We ate yesterday at the Craster Arms, next door to our apartment. The Groupie, after her slight disappointment at Lewis's on Saturday was delighted with a gargantuan piece of cod and excellent chunky chips. The Pig had an excellent burger, chips and a side of onion rings that were world-class. In my lifetime one of the greatest improvements has been the quality of pub food. Two pints of Beadnell Blonde helped the cause.

A Fine Day

Just occasionally come days of wonder. Saturday was such a day. I ran for 5.5k and was thereby bathed in that ridiculous warmth of self-reighteousness that comes with even mild athletic endeavour. In the company of my favourite person we headed for Seahouses, a place which deserves the old-fashioned description of being jolly. We found a parking space and the pay and display ticket machine actually worked - often they don't for me. We then collected our tickets for the Billy Shiel's boat trip to the Farne Islands.

The sea betrayed a slight swell, enough to make the outward journey exciting, those sitting in the exposed areas getting a souvenir soaking from flying spray. Seals were observed as they basked on the rocks. At Inner Farne we disembarked (that makes it sound rather grand but work with me here) and spent an hour observing closely the nesting birds, most photogenically the puffins. This was not tamed nature, this was nature in the raw, right down to the feisty Arctic Terns who peck your head (wear a hat!) to remind you just whose domain this is. Brilliant. The return voyage (again there's me being rather grand) skirted the threatening rain. 

But that was not all. I have ventured the opinion before that Lewis's in Seahouses serves the world's best fish and chips. Saturday's gargantuan portion did nothing to disabuse me of this view, although, in the spirit of journalistic completeness, we should record that the Groupie was not so convinced and seemed to be favouring Bennlech's Golden Fry for the world title. No matter that slight controversy. Days of wonder.

A Stately Pleasure Dome

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan / A stately pleasure dome decree

Coleridge lived too early ever to have seen the stately pleasure dome decreed by the remarkable Lord Armstrong at Cragside but the poet's lambent words went searing through the Pig's pretentious mind as he walked from the car park to Cragside this morning. Don't get me wrong, the Pig loves this sort of stuff, that is to say both Coleridge's poetry and Armstrong's grandiosity.

The house itself is a higgledy-piggledy affair, remodelled and extended on several occasions by Armstrong as he rose from a law office to mechanical genius - yet another case (take my mate Walter Bagehot for example) of someone qualifying as a lawyer and deciding there was a better life elsewhere. If only, if only, muses the Pig.

The whole Cragside Estate is testament to man working on his environment - lakes were created, hydro-electric power harnessed, millions of trees planted. It is fabulous. The Groupie made a very good point as we soldiered about in the rain - precisely what would the modern media make of a billionaire who had the audacity to try something as adventurous as Cragside today.

The Coleridge lines get an outing in Citizen Kane of course. I don't know enough to say whether Armstrong died bereft like Kane, but he certainly died childless and a century plus later his creation is in the hands of the National Trust who do a grand job. Death and taxes - life's two great certainties.

Cragside - a brilliant and thought-provoking day out. No dining out today. We're having shop-bought pizzas and I've opened an insolent (vinous argot for cheap) rioja. Good times.  

Another Fish Finger Sarnie And Chips

This time to Sinners Cafe in Berwick-upon-Tweed as a prelude to a meander around the town. This was cafe food at its basic and tastiest best with no pretensions or frills. This magical part of the world has not disappointed on the culinary front and we always knew that it would be scenically brilliant. I love it here.

Berwick bears the marks of the relative poverty that has settled on English townships in the face of those twin impostors - the internet and Covid. It is no earthly good the fortunate amongst us snobbishly bemoaning the surfeit of charity shops and empty properties if we do all our shopping online. I don't have an answer to this although I did buy myself a new stove-top coffee maker in Berwick today. One fish finger sarnie and a coffee maker and the Pig somehow convinces himself that he's done his bit.

Anyhow, Berwick is a distinguished town what with its town walls and three bridges. It seems still to have a good conceit of itself. Quite bloody right - we all should. Ruination lies the other way.

Goodness but I slept well last night after all that running amd walking. No run today and relatively little walking. There's aways tomorrow.

An Excess Of Exercise. A Greater Excess Of Eating

As the Moody Blues put it, it's a question of balance. And Big Fat Pig is on the wrong side of the equation. We have been on holiday for four days now and I have been a good boy and been out running twice - including a tortuous 5K this morning. So far, so good. The problem is that the Pig cannot help himself when faced with a pub menu. I have already told you about the excellent fare at the Joiners Arms, and now we have to add the Market Tavern in Alnwick to the list of recommendations. Not so haute cuisine as the Joiners but none the worse for that. A truly gargantuan portion of ham, egg and chips and two pints of Alnwick Amber Ale. Stuffed.

That was yesterday and today we have been good. Not only did I go for that run but the Groupie and I also walked from Newton-on-the-Sea past Emebleton and out towards the daunting ruin that is Dunstanburgh Castle. We went along the beach for the outward portion of the walk and then trudged up and down the coastal path through the dunes for our return. We were walking alongside Dunstanburgh Castle Golf Links, one of my favourite courses. As an added bonus I even found a golf ball (Callaway, so no cheapo) that must have been hit heroically off-line on the eighth. We took a picnic lunch (bought locally of course - support your local sheriff) and have actually managed to go a whole day without diverting into a pub. My poor old legs feel as stiff as the proverbial. I feel more than vaguely virtuous. Mind you there's an impudent Gavi chilling in the fridge here at Piggy Hall.

Where Did The Apostrophe Go?

The Joiners Arms, Newton-on-the-Sea, Northumberland. No apostrophe. This describes itself as a 'gastro pub', a self-delineation that I sometimes think can be a hostage to fortune. No such worries here. The food is superb. Chicken in a mushroom sauce for the Groupie, and a hearty fishfinger stotty with chips and a bowl of five bean soup for BFP. The Pig washed this down with a pint of Black Sheep Bitter.

You may gather from this information that Groupie and the Pig are on tour, staying in a suitably luxurious apartment in Beadnell. We were supposed to be in this glorious corner of England to celebrate the Pig's sixtieth two years ago, but Covid put paid to that. Now we are here and the Groupie had her own significant birthday yesterday. I won't get all soppy on you but it has to be said that it is the highest of honours that she passes her life with me. Many Happy Returns Gorgeous.

Before our lunch we had walked along Bamburgh's magnificent beach and in the evening we had a further celebratory drink in Beadnell's Craster Inn, a walk of fully fifty yards from the apartment. They were serving some gargantuan looking portions of fish and chips but we will save that treat for another day. The Pig confined himself to a pint of Beadnell Blonde. Life's been good to me so far. 

Advent 12

 Dunstanburgh Castle Golf Club in Embleton, Northumberland is where I fell in love with links golf. Summer 1975 and my brother and I had only recently taken up golf. This was the last family summer holiday that Bill and I went on together - other commitments and activities took us off on our own adventures thereafter. The course had no clubhous in those days, just a shed with an honesty box for green fees. It may be a false, rose-tinted memory but I seem to recall that our junior week tickets cost 50p.

I have been back several times since and it does now have a clubhouse although that serves as a tea-room for the nearby Embleton Beach as much as for the needs of golfers. The course is a superb strip of land behind and between dunes, rarely more than two holes in width. Classic, beautiful and eminently affordable. This is my kind of golf.

I could have chosen the 13th for its sheer beauty - a par three sitting under the lee of the castle and played over a ravine - a public footpath wending its way past the hole so that you often make a fool of yourself before an audience of passers-by. However that hole is a mere 100 yards long and so I select the 6th, a delicious par 4 played from an elevated tee that gives a commanding view of the bay, the fairway curving left beneath you. The photograph shows the hole running from bottom to top of the frame. The right of the picture shows the adjoining 1st hole. Simply breathtaking. 

Bill and I later found our golf subservient to team sports - cricket for him, rugby for me. However golf is now our shared enthusiasm. We played yesterday at Pype Hayes. I played like a clown. He won. There's always a next time.

Advent 8

Bamburgh Castle Golf Club might very well be the most scenic course in Britain, hell the world even. I haven't played enough international golf to be so bold as to make that claim but, on balance (and, of course, I always strive for balance), it's definitely the best situated of any that I have played.

Not a long course, Bamburgh opens with two tough par 3s and then continues the idiosyncracy with two par 5s. It is the first of those 5s that I select today although, if I'm being honest (and, unlike our Prime Minister, I always strive for honesty) I could have picked any one of half a dozen holes on this course for inclusion. Anyway, after those two testing par 3s, you launch yourself towards Budle Bay and the promise of what is to come. When you play Bamburgh, I defy you not to feel good about the world.

Still Pretty Shocking At Golf

A funny thing happened at Alnmouth Foxton Golf Club on Wednesday. The Pig was hitting the ball quite passably off the tee and almost as well when approaching the greens. But could he putt? Could he bollocks. No feel whatsoever, to the detriment of his score. In the ferocious winds at the magnificent Goswick links on Thursday, this inability continued unabated. So it was left to Big Willy to hold off Mikey B in the battle for the inaugural Dunmore Shield. All great fun in that beautiful North East of England. Non-golfing highlights included fish and chips from Lewis's in Seahouses and a very good early curry on the Wednesday.

Goswick

It doen't half take it out of you all this golfing, eating and drinking an so the Pig has spent an inordinate time sleeping since his return to the family fold. He did however keep awake long enough to watch The Theory of Everything and rather enjoyed it. It's quite an old-fashioned biopic about the remarkable Stephen Hawking but none the worse for that and carried along by Eddie Redmayne's stellar leading performance. 7.5/10.

Advent 22

It has a castle. It has a fabulous golf course. It has good beer. It has good food. It has a flawless beach. It is Bamburgh.

Advent 19

I am sure it is a phase that all children go through but Daughter Number 2 was particularly keen on questions beginning 'What's your favourite ......?' She would usually and mischievously end an interrogation with 'Who's your favourite daughter?'

Well, today in answer to 'What's your favourite National Trust property?', I present Cragside in Northumberland. Built by William Armstrong (later Baron Armstrong of Cragside - the first industrialist to be ennobled) it is a phantasmagorical piece of architecture set amidst vast gardens and forests artfully sculpted. The grounds incorporate the mechanisms of the country's first ever domestic hydro-electric supply. And for children of a certain age and disposition (as DN2 once was) there is a very fine adventure playground. What's your favourite playground?

Football's Coming Home?

The question mark in the title is important, preserving as it does my self-diagnosed status as detached and sceptical commentator.

Thus far I have avoided the World Cup in these mental peregrinations and I must confess that I had not watched any match in its entirety until England met Colombia, preferring highlights and/or repeat showings. The denouement of that Colombia game was almost too painful to watch particularly once Henderson had missed his penalty. Yesterday's victory over Sweden was easier on the nerves although I don't quite buy into the total dominance narrative that seems to have found favour - no match that you win 2-0 and in which your keeper makes three fabulous saves can be a procession. So now I am all up for the semi-final - dare I watch it other than on my own, that having been the 'lucky' formula for the two knock-out matches thus far? To paraphrase Ray Prosser - it's only a game, well what the f*** do we have goals for?

My mate Donald Trump will be in this country later this week. I have seriously toyed with the idea of joining a peaceful demonstration against the wanton vulgarity of his presidency but I'm afraid the thought of breaking bread with the daft left has put me off.  Anyway it's too hot for demonstrating. On which front (weather front - geddit?) my precious lawn is burnt to straw but, always look on the bright side, the weeds have retreated completely and I can postpone the need to buy a new mower, perhaps getting one last season out of the old faithful - a man can attach the same emotion to his first petrol mower as to his first car.

The heat makes of me a sluggard - I can function well in the perishing cold but extreme heat gets the better of me. Nonetheless I have had to abandon my usually effective plan of waiting for cooling rain and instead set out for a run in the broiling weather yesterday morning. To the usual and absurd get-up of lycra and Oakleys I added a cap. Only shuffled a couple of miles but must admit I feel the better for it.

In addition to the football I have also enjoyed the Irish Open golf from the magnificent looking links at Ballyliffin. Seaside golf, either playing or spectating, can't be beaten. Oh to be in Northumberland hacking up the course at Goswick, the day ended by a walk on the sands at Bamburgh.

What I Did On My Holidays: 9

We're back at home now after a drive that couldn't have been much different from the difficult journey up to Northumberland. Then we seemed to be in one traffic jam occupying most of Yorkshire whereas yesterday we sailed home with minimal delay. We had pizza for tea to ward off post-holiday blues. I washed it down with a nice chianti.

Our penultimate full day on holiday took us to Alnwick Castle. Fabulous - don't be tempted to do the garden and the castle together in one afternoon. If you must do both on the same day, make sure it is a full day. The state rooms in the castle are particularly impressive - monumental spaces and magnificent art on the walls. Also some of the most knowledgeable and approachable room attendants known to man. As you can probably tell I really liked the place. Hats off to the resident Percy family who seem to me to be handling their great good fortune with an appropriate touch. Oh, and don't worry - they don't overdo the Harry Potter connection.

Dining Room at Alnwick Castle

Our last day took in some beach walks in high winds and an evening meal at the Potted Lobster in Bamburgh. Bloody good, most particularly the salt chilli squid I had as a starter - The Potted Lobster

Final thoughts - Northumberland, a magical county, particularly in the lucky weather we encountered. I have had a monopoly over the company of the Groupie for a fortnight and that can make a magical place seem even more enchanted. Am I glad to be back in the luxuries of home? Not quite yet, but I'm getting there. And anyway we're making a very swift run up to Anglesey tonight to see how the installation of new kitchen and bathroom is going. Not exactly the Percy family but we should count our blessings.

What I Did On My Holidays: 8

Back to Cragside today, not to revisit the house but to attempt to do justice to the massive estate. You could quite profitably spend the best part of a week getting to know the forests and lakes. There is a six mile road around the estate with numerous parking areas with intersecting walks commencing in them. We found time to do five walks from four of the car parks. Best views are from the Maroon Trail from the Crozier Car Park. What a place.

What a place

We indulged our habit of breaking the journey back here to have a pint of Black Sheep and a large sauvignon blanc at the Victoria Inn. Also a delicious but unnecessary portion of chunky chips. This really is a great part of the world. Gavi going down nicely - will be eating hunter's chicken shortly. As little orphan Annie used to say - it's a hard knock life.

What I Did On My Holidays: 7

Kelso Abbey

We conducted a whistlestop tour of the Scottish Borders today, pride of place going to Kelso which (and I may be miles wide of the mark here because I have done no research) exudes an atmosphere of dignified affluence, nowhere better exemplified than in the strikingly well maintained Garden of Remembrance. Kelso may very well be the pie capital of the world - only £1.10 for a chicken curry pie, this a full seventeen pence less than the excellent chicken and mushroom pie I had in Alnwick last week. Can we take these prices home with us please?

We crossed back into England for dinner and on that subject I have some exciting news for you. It is official, OG has spoken and the Groupie will verify his claim - Lewis's in Seahouses is the best chip shop in the world. Yes even better than the Golden Fry in Benllech. Fabulous chips and divine haddock. Fizzy wine for pudding I think.

What I Did On My Holidays: 6

Yesterday back to Alnwick but this time to visit the Alnwick Garden, a modern wonder of creativity and monumentalism.

The Grand Cascade at the Alnwick Garden

Today has been one of sporadic rain and high winds but in the face of my lethargy I plodded for four miles this morning. Coupled with our walk this afternoon from Craster to Dunstanburgh Castle I now feel ready for pesto pasta and vinous accompaniment. Judging by the clatter of bottles we delivered to the bottle bank at Craster we have been doing well by the vintners of the world.  I'm also doing my bit for brewers - two pints of Black Sheep at the Jolly Sailor in Craster. Bosting.

A two week holiday still doesn't feel like enough to do justice to this fabulous area. It's a hard life being me.

What I Did On My Holidays: 5

Unwooded, ergo imitation chablis

Two days to report. First up we went to Warkworth. Cracking castle, cracking beach. Northumberland really is, well, cracking. On our way back to base camp here in Bamburgh we had a couple of false starts in sourcing an impromptu early dinner (it is out of peak season after all and publicans have better things to do than keep kitchen staff primed for stray Brummies) but got lucky when we found the Joiners Arms at Newton-by-the-Sea. Now styling yourself a "gastropub" can be a hostage to fortune but they carried it off. Only slightly flaccid chips stopped this being a full-on five star encounter. The Groupie and I shared a stellar baked camembert, served with rustic toast. None of the components is difficult to produce passably but to get it as right as this deserves plaudits. Interesting wine list also, including a Chilean unwooded chardonnay, Campesino 2016. A nice change from habitual sauvignon blanc. Altogether worthy of a detour - Joiners Arms

We awoke to rain today, the first daylight precipitation we have seen. This suggested a take it easy sort of  a day so that is what we did. We ventured to Alnwick so that I could indulge my passion for second-hand books - Barter Books in Alnwick is simply bloody enormous. A good outing for me - found a first edition of Friends In Low Places by Simon Raven to add to my unimpressive collection. Also picked up a massive biography of Don Bradman and an early Piers Paul Read - I do love my catholic authors. After taking in downtown Alnwick we accidentally (well we knew we were going somewhere but we weren't aways sure which somewhere it would turn out to be) lighted upon Alnmouth. Quelle surprise, another cracking beach.

Tonight I will mostly be drinking malbec while the Groupie takes part in a terribly important conference call. I must say I'm rather glad that 'Dave the Mogul Years' is behind me.

What I Did On My Holidays: 4

I'm such a good boy. I roused myself from another sound slumber and warded off the worst effects of over-eating (says he hopefully) by taking on another four mile run - this time into the dunes and out again (via someone's drive - sorry about that, I got lost) and then round the village green a few times with the castle lowering over me. Back to base for coffee and a bowl of Shredded Wheat. Breakfast of champions.

The Groupie had to do some work (boo) but when that was done we went for a good walk - into the village and over the golf course for  a couple of hours. There are people who know stuff who think Bamburgh Castle Golf Club the most picturesque in Britain. Who am I to argue? I played there years ago with my late and lamented mate Rod Meere.

We stopped off on our return journey at the Victoria Inn to reward our efforts. The Groupie had her usual sauvignon blanc and I went for the Black Sheep Bitter, which as any fule kno is damned fine beer. Damned fine thick-cut chips with our drinks. Naughty but nice and we are on our hols after all. Curry for tea - I may have to run more than four miles next time.

What I Did On My Holidays: 3

Or to be more precise, what I finished reading on my holidays: All Families Are Psychotic by Douglas Coupland. I recommend this cheerfully, darkly, weird novel. It mixes multiple points of view with a bit of science, outbreaks of violence and even a smidgen of fantasy. Made me laugh and cry - well not literally but you know what I'm getting at.

Today we went to what is officially (OG has spoken and the Groupie endorses his view) the best National Trust property - the phantasmagorical Cragside, a wild architectural experiment perched halfway up a hill and with massive introduced forestry and gardens sprawling at its feet. It was the brainchild of the first Lord Armstrong, one of those polymath Victorians who leaves you feeling utterly inadequate - he was a solicitor turned engineer/industrialist who made his home the first in the world to be lit by hydrolectricity. I remember being gobsmacked when first we visited twenty years ago and it did not disappointment on return viewing.

Drinking rioja and about to have a mince pie - it will soon be Christmas you know.