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Saturday 21 September 2013

Camping and the Yorkshire Moors

I drove for 12 miles without finding any fuel. These are distances, that as a Londoner, we can not comprehend. Went to the Hornsea Mere. A mere, is a northern word for lake, or glorified pond. Oddly, there was a sign saying - no fish and chips. Would it offend the fish in the mere, to see their dead brothers in batter? I highly doubt it.

Saw a sign for Skipsea castle. Excited as ever. It was an unmanned castle, nothing unusual about that. Opened the gate. Hill to my left, expanse to my right, with the English Heritage guide board. Aim for board. Pass hill. Reach board. Look behind hill, see cow. Assess chances of outrunning cow to gate. Seemed positive. Ran for my life.

Went somewhere looking for a camp site. I say somewhere, as eventually they all blend into one green blur. I asked in a chavtastic caravan site if there was somewhere to camp. No. The security guard however, did enjoy explaining to me how the company ripped everyone off, and suggested I check at 'Bridge Farm'. After a slight detour [read lost], I found the farm. The owner didn't have a campsite anymore. But upon realising I was alone and destined to sleep in the car, he let me camp in his garden. It was my first night camping since leaving London. Oh how the sleeping bag slides. We spent time moaning about the city - how much it smells, the noise, the dust and how stupid its inhabitants are. I couldn't disagree.

We saw a hedgehog in the garden, I've not seen one of those in years. Was bigger than I remembered. I touched it too, screamed, and got laughed at, but I touched it. The farmer, told me that cows are inquisitive animals, and if you look at them, they'll look back. I still believe they're trying to kill me using brain waves. Combine harvesters are massive and their tyres are over 5ft tall. I felt like Alice in farmerland. Last random farm fact, cows sell for £1000, but the farmer makes £100 profit. What a waste of time, with that profit margin, no wonder they're all closing down.

Scarborough Castle - the chav at the desk was exceptionally rude, and didn't even offer me an audio guide. Worthy of complaint, but couldn't be bothered. Later that day I was tailgated for 3 miles by an old white lady in a minicab. I know, so many strange aspects to that statement.

Driving through the North Yorkshire moors. Astonishing. Undescribably beautiful. And yet full of flying bastards from hell. I'd stop the car, and within seconds, it was swarmed by flies - so much so, it sounded like rain. I've never seen so many files. I couldn't get out the car. Such beautiful things, and trees and forest parks. But you can't. As soon as I stopped, they descended, hundreds of them. So sad. Should've bought some Raid.

I drove out of a forest track, which I'm shocked they let cars drive through, and I stumbled into a hamlet [small gathering of human dwellings]. Holy shit, I nearly crashed the car. Seriously. I'd found the single most beautiful view I'd ever seen [at the time, Scotland is awesome]. Through a gap between trees, the lush green valley dipped down, and then rose up in the distance, fields separated by hedges and stone, creating alternating lines from left to right. The odd smattering of trees and sheep, just emphasising that this was real, and not a postcard.

Finally after experiencing the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, I went bird watching. I saw more rats than birds. And also learnt that squirrels, although larger, are scared of them too.

Sunday 1 September 2013

Peer Pressure!

Well I've been ordered by two friends to get my ass in gear, and write a new post. So, here it is.

I've been so busy since I've been back in London. I've started working part-time at the bar I originally volunteered in. It's not as awesome now. Mainly my own personal issues with expectations and taking orders. There are some stories to tell, but for now, I'll stick to the journey.

I went back to the Humber Bridge to take another look at the heritage park. Once again, I spoke to the woman in the information unit. I stayed for two hours, talking about my adventures and the bridge. She let me charge my phone and even made me a cup of tea. Her husband appeared - "Look Mike, this is the woman I told you about - the one driving around alone!" Well blow me down, I was like a celebrity. He was more fascinated than she was. Their son however, couldn't give a shit, he was 3, and incredibly busy destroying flyers.

After I left her office, I went back into the park. I'm so glad I did, now I had the time to really look around. It's almost magical, there is a lively quietness, a connectedness to nature and a feeling of mutual respect. One of the rare places I'd visit again.

Had to wash Oz as he looked like shit again. Hanging your washing inside is one thing, looking like a tramp-mobile is another. It was £2.60. What a bargain.

The first view of Hull is council tower blocks. Oh what joy. A nice reminder, that cities are still crap, even in the country. My illusion is swiftly shattering. You can tell all you need to know of an area, from the Asda customers. What we learnt from that experience, is to stay in your car, and keep driving. The area was run down and dry. Brown concrete buildings everywhere, unkempt verges and fencing. The entire place was reminiscent of an industrial estate. The defining feature is that it smells so bad, it makes Dagenham smell like a Glade plug-in.

As I was driving I saw a church steeple. It instantly struck me that I hadn't seen one in miles. Perhaps not since leaving London. The South and North have mainly square towers, whilst East Anglia has its rarer, circular counterpart. What was flat, was once again pointy. It looked odd and out of place, but after driving past 3 more, it seemed normal again.

I went to the Spurn Heritage Coast. It's a random sticking out thing near Hull - or Ull as it's known by the locals. Apparently we East Londers say it perfectly. They should change the name to Spurn Death Trap. First you pay £3 to park, but you must drive down a 'road' first. Holy shower gel, that was insane. Once you get going, the grass is long. Savannah long. Lions could hide in that shit, long. I walked along the path. Let me emphasise that path, is loosely defined as an area where someone has once walked, and the 4ft grass is merely 2ft. And then to discuss the nature. There were warning signs to not touch the blah-blah-blah caterpillar as it's poisonous. You don't need to tell London people not to touch a caterpillar - why the hell would anyone do that anyway? There were bees, flies, butterflies and all manner of flying beast present. And species of flowers, so tall they should be classed a trees.

I walked past railway lines that went off the cliff edge, abandoned military huts and a old lighthouse. The whole area stays the same shape, but moves left a few meters every year. Across the 'path' and eventually onto the beach. The amount of litter was shocking. It looked like a market at the end of the day. I walked a good mile around it and was tired. I stopped and asked two humans how to get to the carpark. Oh, one smiled, just walk up there and follow the path. So I did. Fool. What was I thinking? I'd already experienced 'the path'. At least I had the option to choose where I wanted to go. This, was a one direction path. And no, not the singing idiots. After nearly killing myself, I decide to scrap that idea and keep walking along the beach. After a total of 3 hours walking, I was back in the car, driving down the 'road'.

I went back to the man in the parking office. I asked him for my 'London Achievement Award'. He didn't know what I was talking about. Well, I explained, after surviving THAT, Londoners should get a prize. He laughed, but not before taking a moment to figure out if I was insane.