Oh what a night! The VW squeezed in next to us was so close we could hear the man snoring! At daybreak we were awoken by voices, our neighbours and many other people, who'd arrived early by car were setting off on the three peaks challenge. 'Some of us are trying to sleep, if you could keep your voices down!'. Despite our early morning alarm call we were in no rush to leave. The views from Margery were stunning, and observing the throngs of walkers kept us entertained. But leave we must Margery. We have many more areas of 'God's own country' to explore.
As we left the station inn, outside Morris men and women entertained, their colourful enthusiasm mesmerised the watching crowd. We'd decided to head over to Semer Water, a thirty minute drive away along long undulating roads that swept across the dales.
Passing through Hawes, a pretty town of independent shops and eateries we decided to stop. Needing a few provisions we bought soft fruits, vegetarian sausage rolls and samosas, fish fingers and salad for our evening meal and carrot cake. Delicious.
The overnight stop at Semer Water is on the edge of a stunning lake with beautiful views. The land is privately owned by a farmer, described on trip advisor as making Basil Fawlty seem nice. The more Angela read about him, the more she wanted to meet him. The reviews were correct. What a miserable old sod! After a while of conversing with him he seemed to mellow, but only for a minute. His pricing structure was interesting. We paid £1.80 for two hours parking, then £9.00 to stay overnight on the foreshore. Bargain! Not perhaps though, for the people with kayaks. They had to pay extra according to the number of seats in their kayak. All a bit random. There are quite a few vans here tonight. Everyone is very friendly, it feels like a little community. And as expected the farmers wife came around to check we'd all paid. According to reviews, she was worse than her husband to deal with, but she seemed pleasant enough to us.
Everyone agreed the spot was amazing and peaceful, except of course the youngsters who arrived at eight thirty, parking up near the road with their engines running and loud music playing. There's seems to be no escaping these morons. Where's a farmer with his shotgun when you need him? Basil Fawlty wouldn't have stood for their intrusion.
Oh, and the fish fingers baps were delicious....
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