We discovered ten days in the diary with no appointments or commitments, a rare thing at the moment, and so we decided to head off to “somewhere”. Where should we go? Our only source of useful information came from the weather forecast plus Shirley’s desire to go fishing. We also both wanted to play golf along the way. Dumfries and Galloway was ruled out because, for once, they had a bleak forecast. The North East of England seemed the way to go and we set off with only the first stop planned.

Derwent reservoir is a popular fishing spot in Northumberland. It has overnight parking permission for motorhomes so we got online and booked a place. We found it on the map and on the satnav and headed south without a care in the world. We had paid for fishing and the fee for overnight parking and, having read about the possibilities of great dog walks and easy flat parking near the visitors’ centre, we were happily visualising how we would spend the afternoon and evening.

Following the signs to the reservoir we saw another motorhome in front of us. Right enough it was going in the opposite direction but it was definitely in the same region. We soon found ourselves on a single track road, having passed a sign to a car park with no mention of the visitor’s centre. We could see the blue water twinkling in the bright sunshine to our right and, despite the narrow and pot holed road we were getting quite excited. That lasted until we came to a dead end. The necessary multi point turn in a 5 x ton van with six wheels was difficult but we achieved it somehow. Shirley was driving and I was outside gesticulating wildly, trying to avoid a reverse into a ditch or worse, a prang on a farm gate. We then understood why the other motorhome was going the opposite way. They had made the same mistake. Back in the direction we had come from, we entered the aforementioned car park and found a small sign saying that the Visitor Centre was 3 miles away. Shirley had a look around and realised that she couldn’t fish the lake from this position. So, off we went again and found the visitor centre and Shirley went in to ask directions to the fishing car park. While she was in I noticed a sign saying they sold ice cream and so I began hatching a plan to walk the dog here and eat ice cream while Shirley tried to catch our tea. Sadly she came out of the shop with the news that we had another few miles to go. We were now beginning to understand that Derwent Reservoir is huge! Following the map they had given her, we found ourselves in the right place at last. We could see several motorhomes, lots of fishers and a huge expanse of beautiful water. A very happy Shirley set off to do her thing wearing wellies, a hat and carrying her fishing gear. It was only when I got out of the van with Poppy that I realised it was too hot to walk her. The tarmac in the car park was hot and the sun was beating down. Despite opening every window and rooflight the temperature in the van rose to 29c and Poppy and I sat in a heap looking out at the tempting blue water. Signs everywhere said “No swimming” and “Danger of drowning” so we had no choice but to sit and drip (me) and pant (Poppy) whilst hoping that Shirley hadn’t melted in her fishing gear. We were 70 miles from home and it felt like another country.

Sadly there was no fish for our tea, so we somewhat reluctantly ate some chilli that I’d made in advance. It was not an evening for hot food but we managed anyway – come to think of it we rarely fail to manage anything that involves eating. The evening cooled, the fishers went home, the reservoir staff came and made sure we had all paid our parking fee and we managed a couple of short walks with Poppy. It was then that we hit on the idea of moving to a different spot where the view of the water was better. We parked between two other motorhomes and it was only when we had turned the seats around again and got settled down with a cold drink that we realised that the two vans had arrived together. A third one turned up (we were probably in his space) and the six adults set about having a merry get together. We became a reluctant audience, listening to their playlists and trying to identify the songs. Nothing stopped us sleeping however and by the time we woke up in the morning the other vans had gone.

Over coffee the next morning we made plans for our next overnight stop. We were a short distance from one of our favourite motorhome stops – Backworth Hall just north of Newcastle, so we decided to visit for two nights. It was still early so we planned to park up at a farm shop on the way, buy some nice fruit and sausages and have our breakfast in the car park. We knew of Brocksbushes, a huge farm shop on the A69 close by but agreed that on a Saturday morning in the sunshine it would be very busy. Consulting Mr Google we found another farm shop with fabulous reviews and headed towards it. A scary turn across the dual carriageway and a long single track road (this is becoming a theme) brought us into a tiny farmyard with an impossible entryway into a small car park. Realising that we couldn’t possibly stay, we did our multiple point turn again – this time with Shirley waving and gesticulating and me driving. Back at the end of the road and we saw there was no right turn so we found ourselves back at the Brocksbushes roundabout and decided to go in anyway We were met with hordes of cars in the car park and numerous excited children running about. Once in the car park we realised that building work was going on and the shop and café was closed. Out in the grounds there was a van making bacon rolls and coffee, a pick your own strawberry field and a fairground for small children. We sat at a picnic bench and ate our bacon rolls (they were lovely!) and watched all the mayhem going on around us. One child was wailing that he didn’t want to go home, another one was wailing because he was desperate to get into the funfair and I remembered my. mother saying “there’ll be tears before bedtime” – in this case there were tears before lunch.

Shirley was captivated by the funfair and decided to go over to speak to the lady who was managing to put ticket stamps on all the children who had paid to go in, answer parent’s questions and somehow avoid being bowled over by crowds of excited children. Shirley commented to her that it was lovely to see that the simple things that amused her when she was a child were still popular today. The lady said, “You can have a go on the bouncy castle if you like but it probably won’t be the same experience that it was when you were little.” As we walked to the van I remarked to Shirley that she probably meant that it would make her pee her pants.

We were soon on the road again towards Backworth Hall and were on the look out for a supermarket. Mr Google kindly gave us directions to a shopping centre en route and we popped in to buy fresh fruit and salad and a bottle of milk. Whilst in there we bought new trainers and Shirley had her lip threaded. (If you don’t know what that is just be grateful).

Backworth Hall is one of our very favourite stop overs. It is an old stately home that was gifted to the local Miners’ Welfare Fund. The miners used to put sixpence from their wages each week into the fund and the Hall and grounds gradually built into a great leisure facility. There is a cricket pitch and pavilion, a golf course, putting, lawn bowling, croquet and numerous walks in the beautiful gardens. In the hall there is a bar, pool tables (Hurray!) and a dining room. To stay here in a motorhome costs £10 per night and water, waste disposal and chemical loo dump is all provided. The parking is next to a canine fertility clinic, which felt a bit bizarre the first time we visited but as is often the case you soon forget it’s there. The only clue you get is when a car draws up with a pedigree dog in it and they go inside. Not long later they come out again and the dog has a smile on her face.

Poppy’s haul at Backworth.

On Sundays at Backworth Hall they do a proper roast dinner so we invited Gill, our niece who lives nearby, to join us for lunch. We had a grand meal that included apple crumble and custard after the main course that was clearly of the size miners would welcome. Afterwards we managed to stagger back to the van for coffee before bidding Gill a fond farewell and sitting staring into space.

It was while we were sitting half asleep that Shirley said, “Is Pickering the place we went to meet Katherine and James?” I reminded her that the place she was thinking of was Pateley Bridge. A few sleepy minutes went by then she said, “Ok, so was it the place we went with Mary, Chris and Abbey?” “That was Skipton”, I replied as i wondered where this was going. “Well, have we ever been to Pickering?” I assured her that she and I had never visited it together, although I had been a number of times over the years. We slipped back into companionable silence until I opened my laptop and there, facing me on Facebook was an advert for a campsite in Pickering. We decided that this was so strange that we should go and visit and promptly booked two nights.

Pickering

Pickering is a very pretty small market town about 18 miles from Scarborough. It sits on the edge of the North York Moors and is a typical pretty Yorkshire town where the North York Moors railway passes through. The site was small and very well kept and we enjoyed using its facilities and walking in and out of town. The nearest shop was Lidl, always a pleasure to find. Middle of Lidl has to be one of the best exercises for one’s willpower. We managed to get only what we needed so we felt proud. Then we visited Ivy’s Teashop – a really cute little old fashioned place with memorabilia of war time Yorkshire. Here we discovered the best scones EVER!! Mine was a fantastic mix of peppers, red onion, cheddar cheese and spinach served with butter and chunks of local cheddar cheese. Heavenly. Shirley had a cherry scone with clotted cream and jam. Our willpower, despite having a workout at Lidl, was helpless in the face of these beauties.

What did we do without the internet? We use it to find good places to stay as we travel, finding ideas for places to visit and things to do. On this particular morning we were getting ready to leave Pickering and I was looking for a golf course. Some of the coastal courses are very expensive and we were, as always, on a budget. To our amazement I found a course on a farm that had been created by the farming family. The Wolds Way golf course is a 9 hole course and you can play it twice (18 holes) for £7 per person. Honestly we weren’t expecting much but it was on our route and definitely worth a look. Arriving at the farm we found a farm shop where their own pork was on offer so we made a mental note to go in on the way back. Out came the clubs and trolleys from the storage in the motorhome and we set off, fully expecting a rough and unkempt course. An honesty box and bag tags was provided at the entrance and then we were off. Nothing prepared us for what we found – well mown fairways and properly prepared greens. The layout allowed for the many people playing (no surprise there) and we met a lot of cheerful people as we played the course. It is definitely worth a go and there is no expectation of expertise as beginners are very welcome. Even trolleys and golf clubs were provided if needed. Yorkshire people are well known for being careful with money, often heard saying, “‘Ow much??” (I can say that as a Yorkshire woman) and there was sheer delight on people’s faces as they realised what an incredible bargain it was. Later, in the shop we bought sausages and a couple of pork fillet steaks in the hopes of a BBQ at the next stop.

Mr Moo’s

Our next chosen stop was on Mr Moo’s dairy farm and ice cream parlour in Skipsea near Bridlington. There were two things that drew us to this place, one was the ice cream of course and the other was the fact that the adults only part of the site is completely separate from the families with children part. We have had some irritating experiences with children hitting the side of the van with footballs and otherwise shattering the peace on other campsites and, as this was the start of the summer holidays, we decided that being apart from them was a grand plan. We booked two nights and were soon being “helped” to set up on our spacious hard standing pitch by an elderly gentleman on a golf trolley. He kept giving us instructions about which side we should we park closest to, given that our door is on the ‘wrong side’ and after a few false starts we found ourselves in entirely the wrong position. Eventually he just shrugged and said “Aye, that’ll do”. As it happened it didn’t matter one bit as the caravans and motorhomes were all several metres apart and the grass between was beautifully manicured. Shirley took Poppy out for a pee and I turned the front seats around and plugged in the electric. Then we looked at one another, picked up the purse and headed for the ice cream. Portions were huge and we felt a tad guilty but the feeling soon past.

A good walk along the path to the beach and back allowed us to lie to ourselves that we were burning some of the calories and then we relaxed back into the van. It was quiet and the windows were open to allow a cooling draught into the van – it felt like a perfect spot, or so we thought. Moments later we heard a very loud woman’s voice coming from half way down the field. Expecting it to stop in a few minutes we smiled at one another and remarked on the fact that she had good lungs. But it didn’t stop. It got louder and louder and we thought a fight was breaking out. Next a woman came wobbling up the path shouting greetings to people who were trying to appear invisible, as they sat outside in the sunshine. Clearly inebriated she obviously thought she was just being cheery. Her husband followed her and tried to steer her back to the caravan. She shouted that she didn’t want to go back and playfully pushed him away nearly knocking him off his feet. It took all his strength and a lot of patience to get her back and sitting down but she wasn’t going quietly. There are some disadvantages of being on campsites and one of them is having to witness other people’s idea of fun.

The next morning we set off again to Mr Moo’s café to get their 5* reviewed cooked breakfast. Standing at the counter ready to order we were taken aback by the question “Small or large?” In a moment’s madness I said “large”. That was a mistake. Large was a huge understatement. When the waiter brought it he said “Here are your monster breakfasts.” We didn’t eat anything else all day except …. you guessed it – ice cream. We dashed along at nearly closing time and indulged in a different flavour of the 35 on offer. Just one scoop this time. It would definitely be rude not to.

The fact that our stay at Mr Moo’s was short was probably a blessing and a relief to our arteries. It really is a lovely place but there is no access to other places by bus or walking so we had only two choices; either stay put or take the van out for the day. We prefer not to do the latter and the first option left us a bit short of things to do. We took a very long walk along the beach on the second day and found the tide out giving Poppy the freedom to career around the beach flipping sand, digging and generally acting like a puppy. She is ten years old, which makes her around 70 in human years but she seems delightfully unaware. Skipsea beach is massive and golden but it has suffered from serious coastal erosion and there are currently only two places where you can access the sands. Mr Moo has got one of them We thought we could walk to the other access point but found out later we were going the wrong way. We were all knackered by the time we got back to the van and relaxed into the remainder of our evening like sloths.

The next morning it was time to move back North and once more we set about choosing a route and places to stay. Search for Sites is our go to companion for this. You can put in the name of a place and it will show you a map of all the available campsites, motorhome parking places and cheeky wee wild camping places. We thought it would be pleasant to stop on the coast near Redcar and lo and behold there were a couple of options available to us. As we drove up the coast road through Yorkshire we passed the Park and Ride for Whitby so we stopped there, left Poppy with plenty of water and fresh air and hopped on the bus into town. We needed a couple of small things for breakfast and we love Whitby so it was a no-brainer. Whitby was hot and heaving with people but we still loved it. We walked the length of the prom, had an ice cream (yes, another one!) and made a swift dash into the co-op before jumping back on the bus. Park and Ride in Whitby is free to park and £1.60 return on the bus. I’m not sure if that was the crumblies price or if it was the same for everyone. Refreshed, we were soon on our way again and before long we were pulling up at the large beach carpark in Redcar where motorhomes are allowed to stay, 24 hours for less than £5

Redcar Beach

The parking is huge and flat and right on the sea front. We settled in, finding a spot that was long enough and wide enough for us to stay within the lines – if you can’t do this and need to use 2 x parking places you pay twice. No big deal given the reasonable cost. As always, Shirley hopped out with Poppy to let her relax and sniff out the new place. In the meantime I swivelled the chairs and put the kettle on. We spent a quiet evening going for walks, looking out to sea from the front windows and doing puzzles. If there is any truth in the notion that doing puzzles protects ones brain as we age we should be okay for keeping our marbles. On the other hand it hasn’t helped at all with remembering names of people, places or things. Our conversations are littered with ‘whatsits’ and ‘thingies’ and ‘you know the guy that was in that film’.

The view out to sea

View from our front window the next morning.

The next day we headed home via Backworth Hall for a game of golf and another overnight in the beautiful grounds. A fun filled trip with no plans … perfect.

Part Two coming soon .. ish.