Watchet

 

Up early again this morning to meet up with Angela's son, his wife and grandson Elliot who have been on holiday in Ilfracombe for a few days. The sun shone, the sky a vibrant blue backdrop to the slow-moving cumulus clouds. After coffee and a walk with the family we returned to Marge annoyed to see a school minibus had taken one of the only four Motorhome Only spaces in Ilfracombe. Can't you read?

More pastry products eaten we headed off in the direction of the Exmoor National Park. What's going on. This is punishment! The drive was horrendous. Steep long hills then a drop into the valley. Twice Marge objected and went in to safe mode. We couldn't blame her. If Angela had realised the drive to her chosen overnight spot would have meant enduring this drive she wouldn't have bothered. And the signpost had said this was the route to Minehead avoiding the steep hill! All that effort and we decided not to stay at the campsite behind the pub we'd seen online as it was in the middle of nowhere alongside a busy road. So, we drove down a 17% hill and into Watchet where we knew there were two overnight motorhome bays.

Oh, dear Marge. No room at the inn. We parked in a car bay hoping one of the vans would leave. No luck. The police drove in and Angela asked them if we'd get away with overnighting even though Marge was 'not parked wholly in the bay' as instructed on the information board. They thought we should buy a ticket and not worry as it was unlikely the parking enforcement officer would come around until nine in the morning. So, we didn't buy a ticket, hung around Marge and talked to our English neighbours who were over from Spain where they were residents. At  six o' clock the parking went free until nine in the morning. Another early start Marge. Up by eight. We really wanted to take a look around the newly built arts centre at east quay, but apart from the two spaces, where the vans supposed to park. Crazy! Money saved on a campsite and Angela's bargain haircut we decided to track down a Chinese takeaway.

John wanted spicy. Local people don't like spicey the girl in the take away told us. Lightweights. 

Marge is now with the other two vans parked alongside the West Somerset Railway. Twice we have enjoyed seeing the steam engine as it hissed and wooed out of the station.

A lovely sunset ended the day. Tomorrow we will leave the coast and head south across country. Hopefully there will not be too many hills. Could we go to Norfolk next time? Yes Marge, sounds a good idea, nice and flat around the fens.

Ilfracombe

We were up early this morning ready for the parking enforcement officer as we were a little concerned because Marge's rear was overhanging our space and we'd heard that down in Cornwall there had been parking fines given for this. At eight thirty when he arrived, he emptied the cash out of the payment machine and left. Thanks for that matey. A lady collected litter in the car park and down on the viewpoint. She stopped to chat. Twice a week she came around to litter pick. If you fancy some gardening as well, Bideford could do with a hand weeding their flower beds. Down below shadows rolled over the landscape. Some local people who seemed disapproving of the vans (who had paid to stay overnight) in an almost empty car park mumbled a perfunctory good morning. 

Mid morning we bid farewell to Great Torrington and the model village of Taddiport down in the valley. One last glance at the view below and beyond we swung Marge around and drove out of town. Next stop Marge Ilfracombe. No stop. Lidl on the right. Now Ilfracombe where a space in the motorhome parking area in the centre of town awaited Marge. Angela had caught sight of her wild hair in a few shop windows recently and hoped she'd secure a haircut whilst here. Result. Zig Zags lady's salon. How much? Ten pounds! That cost a tenner? Yes Marge. I'd ask for a refund! Rude. Angela's hair looked just as it did when she visited her own hairdresser where ten pounds wouldn't get you through the door. 

After an early start we were tired, but still walked out along the seafront and down to the harbour where we met a young couple who'd just finished laying out their bedding in the back of their land rover discovery. They were from Worcestershire and had come down to Ilfracombe for the night.

Then a look at Damian Hirst's sculpture Verity before stopping to talk to a man who was converting a VW T5 patient transport vehicle. Then a meal in the Wetherspoons where we talked about a trip in June to celebrate our wedding anniversary which we unfortunately share with her majesty's platinum jubilee celebrations, so we expect campsites to be busy.

Not taking me then. Not sure Marge, probably not. Marge, we hardly dare say, has been fine since her wobble when we left Tintagel on Saturday. It's like she belched and her system cleared. Please now stay as you are Marge; we'll be home soon.

Great Torrington (Day 2)

This morning the church bells peeled for half an hour. The sound of them reminded us of many places we've stayed in France. Despite a quiet night, we decided to move Marge to a space at the top of the carpark nearer to the parked cars where she wouldn't be so isolated when we left her to go cycling. Also, because a group of youngsters in cars and on motorbikes arrived near us around ten o' clock last night. Not that they were any problem, just meeting up to chat, leaving around eleven.

 Enjoy the view, Marge. The fields below looked stunning. To the right the two leper strips visible, remnants of seven strip fields from the medieval period. One hundred and fifty years ago in the nearby village of Taddiport there was a leprosy hospital. 

Brompton's at the ready we walked down the path behind the car park, stopping to speak with a lady who informed us it was her eighty first birthday today. We asked if she knew the route down to the Tarka Trail. After some thought she pointed us in the right direction down a steep path towards the river. Soon we had to stop. John's front tyre was flat. Our cycling trip looked in jeopardy of not going ahead. After twice trying to repair the inner tube with patches well past their sell by date success was achieved. We decided to press on to Bideford rather than Barnstaple just in case the repair didn't hold out. 

Following the instructions given we cycled through the derelict site of the old Dairy Crest creamery awaiting development after thirty years of closure, then along a rutted track to the Puffing Billy cafe where there was no sign to tell us which direction we needed to go for Bideford.

Asking some local cyclists, we were soon on our way enjoying cycling off road over a tarmacked surface up and down gradients, through tunnels and over bridges following alongside the river Torridge. Due to our false starts it took us two and a half hours to reach Bideford.

We lunched by the river watching a man paint an ancient and very rusty tug boat. We wondered if he would ever finish this project the task seemed monumental. Nearby we could hear the dulcet tones of a brass band trumpeting, drumming and oompahing popular tunes. We listened a while whilst we ate ice cream. John couldn't bear the sight of the weeds growing in the adjacent Diana Memorial Rose Garden and set to pulling some of them up.

Across the road a beautiful floral display in celebration of the queen's platinum jubilee caught our eye.

Bideford a thriving port in the fifteenth century exporting pottery to Europe and America. The ships returning with tobacco and salt cod is described as one of the prettiest and distinctive towns in north Devon. 

Just before five we returned to Marge having stopped on the return ride to pick wild garlic from the side of the cycleway. We took a different route back into the town walking with our bicycles up a very steep road that seemed to go on for ever. Whilst we have found Devon to be very pretty and scenic, we are starting to hate the hills. Aren't we Marge? Hear you had a bike malfunction today. It's not just me that causes your ills then? No Marge. Tomorrow we're off to Ilfracombe, don't be getting any ideas about playing up please.

Great Torrington

Yesterday afternoon Angela noticed a lady walking her dogs appear from a path behind the public toilets. Thinking the area looked like good hunting ground for fungi she suggested her and John take a walk that way.

Sadly, the fungi were in short supply and John only spotted one on the back of a tree in the lane by the old rectory.

The evening sky was clear, so just before nine thirty we walked down to the castle hoping to catch the sunset.

The ticket office for the castle was closed so we walked into the courtyard area for a sneaky peek. We needed to gain height to see the sunset so climbed high up onto the coast path.

We were too late to see the actual sun setting. All that messing around down at the castle had caused us to miss it. A couple who'd seen it shared their photographs with us. Never mind, we've seen some beautiful sunsets on our travels and know we have many more yet to see.

Only five vans including Marge last night. Our new neighbours had a teenage daughter. What's she wearing? They're a bit short. Very hot, hot pants Marge.

This morning we awoke to notification that two comments had been left on our blog. One from Ben ( Youtuber - Bejam) who we'd helped out a North Sands and another from the couple we'd met last night up on the coast path. So, it appears comments can now be left after a technical issue. So, feel free folks. Comment away. 

It was lunchtime before we left Tintagel walking down to Pengenna Pasties to buy our lunch. Not long after we left Marge decided to have a right strop going into safe mode, and then illuminating a warning light that caused concern so we stopped. Honestly Marge, you're bad for Angela's heart. All this stress. We restarted her and the light had gone out. Look my engine management lights not illuminated either. Well thank god Marge!

Bude was our chosen lunch stop. This is where we spent our honeymoon twenty-three years ago. The town was busy. We parked Marge with some other vans, paid for an hour's parking and took a walk around. Bude is no longer motorhome or campervan friendly because someone was living in a van by the canal. There were signs up everywhere saying basically you're not welcome! You're banned between eleven at night and nine in the morning. Incredible! We wondered how the traders in the town felt about it. The car parks are nearly empty at night, why not charge a small fee like they do in some of the other towns. Angela is so infuriated by it she's going to email the chief executive of the local council.

More driving on to Bideford. Fortunately, Marge created no more worries for us but Bideford did. We were expecting there to be lots of vans there, but there wasn't. The area didn't feel comfortable. We deliberated for some time about staying and after much too long decided to leave. The next stop was no good. No Campervans Overnight! Why? So, we drove inland to Great Torrington where we knew we could stay for eight pounds. 

Great Torrington is a pretty unpretentious town. It reminded us of France as do the far-reaching views across the open countryside behind Marge. Stunning. Angela is a believer that some things happen for a reason. Bideford's loss is Great Torrington's gain, especially Yau's House Chine take-away. What a lovely meal.

Tomorrow, we hope to cycle a section of the Tarka Trail. We will probably stay at Great Torrington a second night, our eight-pound overnight charge covers us until Monday evening as the parking is free on Sundays. Result Marge.