Our friends in the north

We had pondered whether to go to the wedding we had been invited to in Northumberland. In fact we had cancelled the week on the farm where we had planned to stay. But, I got some tax money back, and Julie had been wanting to go away, and so we decided to go for just a few days, and so we had to try to re-book our room and then get someone to cat sit for us.

And so, bright and early we set off from Dover at just gone five on Saturday, set the controls for north and let the car do the work. In reality we just wanted to get through the Dartford crossing before the queues built up and get as many miles as we could before everyone decided to head out onto the roads. After about three hours we stopped for breakfast at a diner near Newark-Upon-Trent; Julie had a stack of pancakes and I had bacon, eggs and pancakes all smothered in maple syrup. So rare to get an American breakfast over here, and it was very welcome.

We made such good time, we decided to stop off near Ripon, to visit at ruined monastery called Fountains Abbey. It was one of many destroyed by Henry VIII in the desolution of the monasteries. It now lays in the landscaped grounds of an ornamental water garden, but looking stunning in that setting, and it's broken walls and towers a striking backdrop.



We arrived just as the gates opened, and I struck out getting some clean shots before the crowds arrived. The light was a little tricky, but I was quite pleased with what I got.



We had lunch in a small cafe overlooking a swan filled lake; we ate huge prawn baps washed down with elderflower presse, whilst rooks and jackdaws waited to see if we dropped anything.



We set off again; the country changed, rolling fields turned into hills proper; we turned off the great north road and into the wilds of the border lands that separate England from Scotland. Our base for the next few days was Hexham, a market town on the banks of the Tyne River, set in a verdant valley, all built with a creamy coloured stone.



After getting lost on the town's one way system, we found our way into the hills overlooking the town to where the farm was, where we would be staying. Down a steep valley and over a stony stream by means of an ancient narrow stone bridge, and up again at a steep angle to the hilltops before arriving at Slaley and our farm.

The farm was a working one, surrounded by sheep and lambs; free range chickens roamed the yard, and I knew that cockerel would have something to say at dawn the next day. We had a nice small room, with views over the yard, but that was fine. Tomorrow we were to move to another room, but for now this would do.

That evening we headed back to Hexham for dinner; Julie had seen a nice looking curry house, and that seemed to be what we fancied to eat. The curryhouse turned out to be wonderful, and I had a house speciality all made with barbecued king prawns and all very wonderful.

And indeed, the cockerel was awake just before four and let everyone know the fact.

Sunday we set off for the Northumberland coast, where there are a series of picturesque fishing villages and castles. The weather was wonderful and bright, and out of the breeze even warm. We ended up in the town of Bamburgh, and the red stone castle that towers above it. It is even more famous now for being one of the locations in the Harry Potter films, and so is on most people visiting lists.



We headed back down the coast towards Newcastle, to a really stunning village we had passed through called Warkworth, all stone houses and pubs and also dominated by a castle; this one a little tumbledown.



Being Father's Day, everywhere was full of people, but we found a cafe in a courtyard that had a table, and so we sat down to quiche and salad whilst a fountain tinkled behind us amongst the flowers.

We stood on an old stone arched bridge and watched as dozens of swans glided beneath us, all around us, birds sung at their delight.



We headed back to the farm as so to get ready for the wedding. We had only been invited to the evening reception, but we were still looking forward to it, me especially as the groom was an old friend from my Air Force days. It was at at golf club, Slaley Hall, and all very posh, but the bar prices were fierce; £4 a pint, and nearly £5 for a bottle of cider. My fiend, John, was pleased to see me, and we were made to feel very welcome indeed, but as we are not so rock and roll these days, we headed back to our beds at eleven as those younger than us got their dancing shoes on, and their drinking heads, and began to party.