Chester

As the town of Church Stretton awoke this morning, the surrounding mountains reminded us of the Rhone Alpes region in France. On top of one of the nearby mountains, a lone tooth of rock stood in the early morning light.

After breakfast we took a walk to Carding Mill Valley, a return walk that should have taken an hour. 2 hours 45 minutes later we returned. Once we reached the valley we decided to walk to the waterfall, upon reaching it, we climbed a steep precarious rocky incline. So precarious, a descent did not seem safe. According to the National Trust member of staff at the entrance to Carding Mill, this was the 'easy route'! A lack of signage meant we walked up onto the heathland without a clue of how to return back to Marge. Four other women, as ill equipped as ourselves had no idea either of the return path. The only thing we all agreed on, was that they probably wouldn't send out a rescue helicopter for less than six clueless people.

We did remember to bring sustenance though, a delicious scotch egg from the local butchers and flapjack from the bakers. Sorry other lost walkers, they're not for sharing.

After much walking through a carpet of bracken, and following of others who looked like they knew the way, but turned out not to, we asked a couple of professional walkers, equipped with all the right gear, for directions. Result, we were now on the right road, enjoying the beautiful scenery of England's green and pleasant landscape. For anyone interested, by the time we were reunited with Marge, we had walked about 13,000 steps.

Our overnight stop tonight is Chester, adjacent to the river Dee, Chester racecourse, (first racecourse in England), and the Covid Test Centre! There are many other vans, it's almost like being on a French aire. After dinner, we left Marge in the company of the other vans and walked alongside the river, marvelling at the Georgian riverside properties.

At the Queens Park suspension bridge, built in 1923, we turned back on ourselves and walked into the historic city. Chester has extensive Roman walls made from local red sandstone, a two-level arcade and Tudor style half-timbered buildings, all well worth a visit if you find yourself in the area.

Today has been a long day, but so far, we have achieved what we wanted to from our trip, to spend more time exploring and less time travelling.

Church Stretton

You can't keep a good woman down, so Marge is on the road again, this time heading north. We should by now be en-route to the warmer climate of Spain, but for obvious reasons we are not, so we decided to head somewhere a little cooler. Watch out Scotland, Marge is on her way!

Tonight however, it's less of the continent and more of the cooperative. Yes, we are spending the night in a designated motorhome space behind the Co op in Church Stretton, Shropshire.

The town is set in the shadow of the lush green rolling Shropshire hills, with fields ploughed in neat stripes on the lower levels, like strips of hessian, and miniature white specks of grazing sheep high on the peaks.

This afternoon we took a walk around the town to look at the many independent shops, buying insect repellent from the chemist, ready for the hungry midges of Scotland, who are on the lookout for a tasty human until the end of September.

To mark the first day of our holiday, John bought a couple of tin mugs from a quirky toy/gift shop, their slogans summing up what may lie ahead.

As the sun slipped over the top of the mountain, we enjoyed our first of many meals in Marge whilst planning a rough route onwards in a northerly direction. We may not be on the continent, but are looking forward to seeing some wonderful sights in our own country, which of course we will share with you. Tomorrow we will drive to Chester.

Clifton Hampden (Day 2)

Happy Birthday John, 65 years old and retired at last. No more stress or worries.....Marge why have you sprung a leak yet again!

Welcome to retirement John.

This morning we took another walk alongside the river, stopping on the way back to walk around the outside of St Michael's and All Angels church, view the pretty sixteenth century cottages with their clambering roses, and most importantly, buy a coffee cake and candles from the village shop.

Back at Marge a bevy of swans drifted by on the gentle current, nonchalantly pecking at the river weed as they passed by. The plan for this afternoon was to launch our pack raft, but the wind was persistent, and we considered it a little too strong, so aborted the idea. We watched as a young couple tried to erect their tent, the wind billowing out the denim blue nylon, as it tried to release itself from their clutches. Been there done that, we thought. The sun shone, despite a bruised sky, and the pear tree alongside Marge shed its fruit in the wind, a welcome treat for the swarming wasps who descended upon the blushed yellow fruit with greed. In the nearby willow, a pair of goldfinches practiced their high wire act on the top branches. What a spectacular view they must have had of the river.

Nearby to us is a small van with a toilet tent erected alongside. In the late afternoon sunshine it lost its privacy. Does anyone remember shadow puppets?

Time to head to the Barley Mow pub for John's birthday meal, where we both enjoyed mains of pie and mash, a welcome change from the pasta, stir fry and the curry meals of home.

Tomorrow we return home, to another hectic week or two, but don't worry Marge, we've missed you, and are already planning our next trip away, but only if this leaking nonsense stops!

Clifton Hampden

Marge is on the road again! She's taken a 45 minute drive down to the river Thames to Clifton Hampden near Abingdon.

Tomorrow is John's 65th birthday, and, Marge seemed the right person to spend it with, along with Angela of course. The campsite we are staying on is right beside the river, next door to the Barley Mow public house, said to be one of Britain's oldest pubs at around 650 years old. This quaint medieval inn, was mentioned in Jerome K. Jeromes book, Three men in a Boat. From Marge, we can see the elegant arches of the 19th century bridge that spans the river.

Late this afternoon, with Marge settled, we set off for a walk along the Thames path. The charcoal clouds were now less threatening, moved along by a keen wind, which rushed through the arches of the bridge and rippled the reeds. Activity on the river was un-seasonally quiet, with boats swaying on their moorings, awaiting the return of their owners.

Our walk took us to Clifton Lock where we sat for a while, impressed by the crew of a large hire boat, who managed to enter the lock without the usual ricochet of the lock wall. Almost perfect, just one small piece of advice from John for them, 'always put the stern rope around the bollard first, it acts as a brake and avoids the front of the boat swinging across the lock'.

Early evening, time for a cheeky glass of wine, whilst watching the weeping willows dance in the breeze. A raft of ducks raced across the grass to nowhere, whilst the pure white doves unperturbed by their frantic activity pecked the ground amongst them.

Nearby a family of Swans huddled comfortably together and shafts of sunlight shattered through the clouds, and the long, awaited sunlight bathed the lush grass around us. Beautiful, tranquil and unbelievable that we should once again be able to enjoy time in Marge.

And to end the day, a glorious sunset, the sky alight behind the lush green trees on the far riverbank.

Longwick. (Home).

The sea crossing from Dieppe to Newhaven yesterday evening was supposed to be moderate, which is was when we set off. Around one and a half hours into the sailing, conditions changed, and it became a little rough. Angela took a visit to the ladies toilet, where she came across a genteel elderly lady gripping on to the wash handbasin with both hands. as Angela exited her cubicle, the lady dashed in, she could almost be heard saying, " moderate, my a---!". Security on the ferry had been upped. We have never experienced having our bags checked before whilst on-board. The search so thorough, the two knives Angela had in her bag were undetected. Marge however, was subjected to a thorough search both on embarkation and disembarkation. We know Marge all that rummaging was a nuisance, but necessary.

At Newhaven port, new fencing and two new check points had been erected at the lorry terminal, whilst we'd been away. the overnight lorry parking was no more. Not such a bad thing, who wants to listen to lorry engines and refrigeration units running? Parking in the main car park had also been reduced, but Marge's space in the corner was still available, so we parked her up, sat down, had a drink and allowed our sea legs to adjust. We were back in England. Where had the last nine weeks gone, it seemed an age since we had set off from this port. As T.S. Eliot wrote. 'We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started, and to know the place for the first time. How apt!

This morning the weather was glorious, a typical bright, crisp clear English autumn morning. Last night there had been a mist of stars, but we were cosy in Marge. Mcdonalds for breakfast, nice, but after so many weeks of eating 'properly', it felt a little naughty.

Then we set off, not home but to Worthing, Marge needed one last adventure. Just north of Newhaven, we joined the A27, gone the acres and acres of French fertile land, replaced by the hills of the south downs covered with skeletons of trees. Shortly after, a Hypnos Bedl orry passed us, their factory is about a mile from our home. How surreal. But we weren't heading home, we were off to Worthing. The beautiful weather made us yearn for yet another walk along by the sea. Driving on the left, now no difference to driving on the right, Marge all confident now, was pleased to visit the town. When she was a young girl her parents used to take her down from London on the train, subsequently, Angela and her siblings were also taken there, and Angela has fond memories of trips out in a motor boat on the boating lake with her father. Sadly the boating lake is no more, destined to the past, but at least she has her memories. Then it was time to leave. Take us home Marge.

At twenty to five this afternoon, coincidentally exactly the same time we arrived for the car ferry yesterday, we arrived home. The circle was complete. We had traveled a total of 4,683 miles, thanks to Marge. What a fantastic trip. T.S. Eliot also wrote. 'Only those who will risk going too far, can possibly find out how far one can go'. A thought to hold on to over the next few months.

We hope both us, and Marge have kept you entertained. As you may have guessed Angela writes the blog, John may add a few words along with his excellent photographs. Our aim is to include you in our travels, and even make you laugh or smile, which we hope we have. Rest assured, Marge will be on the road again in the near future, and we look forward to you tagging along.

Thanks for reading our blog.