Yeah, this entry is over a week late. Blame that petite blonde Californian sleuth girl.
Fictional? No, she isn't fictional...
Anyway.
Weekend before last, I went caravanning with my mummykins. And I took photos. Obviously. So to begin with we will simply introduce you to the wonders of Dunstan Hill campsite, near Berwick upon Tweed (for non Brits, this is on the east coast, about as far north as you can go in England). I travelled up by train after work on the Thursday and was there in enough time to collapse into bed (well, sleeping bag) exhausted.
Okay, so welcome to my world - we have been caravanning for our main holidays ever since I was 7. Views of the campsite itself...towards the caravan end:
A big tent that had been occupying that yellow patch had just packed itself away into the trailer. Car headlight intruding into frame is my mum's...and then turning round and looking the other way we have the more tent-filled end of the campsite - or, as the warden put it to my mum, "it's like Ethiopia down there." Um - yes.
Then we have the wonder that is our caravan itself. Its name is Buttercup, although we don't often call it by that, and my dad named it anyway (because at the time we had a car called Daisy and he thought that was amusing). More pertinent facts about it are that it is two-berth, it is beginning to get stains from water leaks under the front window and on the visible areas of the flooring board, we bought it second-hand when I was 7 and we think it was made in 1984, which makes it a year younger than me. And that towel hanging over the gas bottles at the front is drying, having just gone to the shower with me.
The grass in front was brown and horrible because the people who had had the pitch before us had had an awning and killed it off. By the time we'd been there 4 days it had begun to regenerate, though.
And here is the point where I hope my mum doesn't wander by my blog, because she may just kill me (or that would be rather dull...there would probably be a more interesting form of vengeance involved) for posting this picture of a typical relaxed evening inside the van.
Ruled by our pet? Well, not as much as these people - my mum came back from the toilet block one morning, grabbed her camera and headed out again, so of course I followed. These are guinea pigs, with specially-made chickenwire 'tents,' who had come tenting. Seriously. Apparently in the evenings they curl up on their owners' laps inside.
The campsite was in a rather nice location, only a mile or two from the beach. We could have walked this but never did as Cara would have undoubtedly sulked about having to come back the same way, so we drove down and parked nearer to the beach. Well, the beach and the ruins of
Dunstanburgh Castle, which my mother was interested in because it had something to do with John of Gaunt. Apparently. I am not so great on history as I should be. Its ruins made a rather pretty backdrop to a walk along the dunes, though:
Oh, and what was that Myo was asking so long ago about golden sands? I know they probably have rather more seaweed and rocks, and just out of sight in this picture are several families huddled behind windbreaks pretending it was still summer, but nonetheless we have our decent beaches too, you know.
When I can next be bothered writing a post, I might tell you something about what we actually did over the weekend. I bet you can't wait.
