Saturday was our penultimate day on the road, taking us
from Edinburgh down to Thirsk (Heriot County) via Berwick-upon-Tweed, the Holy Island of
Lindisfarne (almost), Bamburgh Castle, Hadrian’s Wall, and a gratuitously large
and bizarre sculpture-artwork thing next to the main road.
The first stop of the day was Berwick-upon-Tweed. Berwick
has lots of numerous wonderful things to photograph, a list of things that doesn't include the above the sign. But come on, they’re advertising REAL
food?! Who can resist real food? Which begs the question, what the Ell are all the other eating establishments
serving? (To be fair, I was never under the ghastly false impression that haggis is real food).
OK, so this is the real Berwick-upon-Tweed. Berwick is so
fiercely proud of its Scottish heritage the town is literally situated on
flowing Tweed (hence its name). Unfortunately, no-one has remembered to tell
Berwick that they are solidly and completely in England. Ooops.
Here is Gordon standing in front of the Tweed on the
historic walls/ramparts. And Gordon waving at me. Well, I thought he was waving
at me but he was really saying, “you nonce, your camera is going to autofocus
on the tree branches and not me”. The walls and rampart are very impressive and
were part of the stimulus package introduced by Mary I and consequently
fulfilled by Elizabeth I. Of course, the ramparts went vastly over budget and
were never finished, even though the Berwick had openly claimed that the
ramparts were “shovel ready”.
Here are the quaintly-name water closets (why do we Brit
do that?). In Berwick, they are called “public conveniences”, and yet you have
to put money into a machine to get a ticket which then lets you enter the
“public conveniences”. Just like it’s national identity, no-one has remembered to tell
Berwick that their public water-closeting is actually rather inconvenient.
This is the "Bedrocks" nightclub in Berwick. Is it a
nightclub for geologists? I bet it plays terrible music to terribly dressed men (and women) who are terribly bearded (even the women?), drunk, and disheveled. Sounds like my kind of place.
The Holy Island of Lindisfarne is a great place to visit,
beautifully situated on a peninsula that is connected to the mainland via a
tidal causeway. A tidal causeway that is closed for many hours each day. As
much as I wanted to see how far my dad’s car would go, we decided it was best
to stop because…
… the road was looking a little too tidal and I did not
want to be one of those folks being rescued by a helicopter that then have
their face plastered on posters to show what happens to people with poor
judgment.
Bamburgh Castle in Bamburgh (Bam-burr-rer). The ratio of
“castle impressiveness” to “town smallness” is officially the greatest ratio in
the entire world. And if such a ratio metric does not exist , someone should
invent it pronto and promptly reward Bamburgh.
This is Gordon posing in front of his bizarre sandwich
(there was an incredible disconnect between sandwich filing and the sandwich
itself) and perhaps the worst cream tea I have had the misfortune to have
indulged. For goodness sake, they used WHIPPED CREAM – I couldn't even do that
in my worst nightmares. Consequently, Bamburgh is also well known for having
the worst ratio between “local pub food” and “castle impressiveness”.
This is Chesters Fort on Hadrian’s Wall. Remarkably, the
one thing this fort does not have is any part of Hadrian’s Wall. I kid you not.
It was apparently an impressively comfortable fort centered around the
bathhouse and the river. I dare say that the Romans were just not cut out for
life in Northumberland, especially with those darned Berwickians Scots just the other side of their
wall.
Here is Gordon trying to get into the Hadrian mood by sitting in
the hot bath room. It’s currently November in Northumberland, thus Gordon
failed miserably.
But just a couple of (Roman) miles away, we did find a 40
foot-long piece of Hadrian’s Wall just waiting to be visited. So we did. This
is Brunton Turret, and it is one of the few places that the Northumberlanders
have not entirely stolen the stones and made themselves a jolly nice
house/sheep shed. Currently, the defensive wall is manned by tetchy sheep and a nasty looking rivulet (christened "Hadrian's Rivulet" by Gordon... because the rivulet did indeed get Gordon) - pictures to follow!
And finally to the gratuitously large and bizarre sculpture-artwork
thing, also known as the “Angel of the North”. Why anyone would do this is
entirely beyond me, but it is absolutely fantastic. If you’re wondering, Gordon
is the small t-shaped thing at the base and, quite frankly, he is not anywhere near as impressive as the Angel. Sorry Gordon.
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