The wonderful Quantocks

Another sunny Sunday! This time to the Quantocks, the glorious Quantocks in Somerset. I didn't know it was possible to drive less than an hour from Bristol, park just off the motorway and find yourself in the countryside. We walked up a big hill, and surrounded by gorse, heather and cows, sat in the sunlight and silence, eating scrummy salads. I love feeling this far from the city when I have a lot on my mind, because as much as I love Bristol, I can't find any part of it that is really quiet and free from traffic noise.
But knowing that the days are getting shorter, I dragged myself to my feet again, to make the most of the light and get walking. We headed down the other side of the hill into a valley of oak trees, and meandered through the dappled light and cobwebs. As we stopped to inspect a feather on the floor, we heard a loud noise in the woods beside us, and caught a glimpse of a wild grouse and heard the stamping of deer running away. We'd obviously scared the deer, who had then scared the grouse.
We walked along the river back to the car, and ended the day near Kilve Beach, which is a crazy place. I've never seen anything like it, except maybe at Giant's Causeway, but these weird rock formations go on for miles, and there are many fossils to be found amongst them. It was such a bright, calm day, the beach looked really beautiful and eery.
Somerset is such a surprising and pleasant place.

Burnham-on-Sea

Burnham-on-Sea. That's misleading. It's actually Burnham-on-Bristol Channel, or Burnham-on-Estuary. But the truth would not be flattering.
It's a nice place though. After a heavy Saturday night we were broken, but the sun defied our hangovers and enticed us outside. Sunny days in October are precious and we felt compelled to embrace the light and warmth, so off to Burnham-on-Sea we drove.
In the car I felt so rough I was variously moaning, complaining or sleeping, and could not imagine the exercise I was about to undergo.
We parked near the golf course and followed the footpath to the 'beach'. It's a strange old place this Bristol channel, as beaches can go on for miles and mud masquerades as sand. The tide was out, but we stuck to the very top of beach, as this is where the treasure could be found, and the ground would be less likely to claim us.
Treasure in Burnham-on-Sea takes various forms. Plastic bottles, glass bottles, over-worn shoes, bouncy balls, string and lots of wood. Almost a wood in fact. I wonder how so many trees and logs find their way up here? The amount of rubbish washed up is incredible, and I became aware that for each bottle top there was a bottle still in the ocean somewhere. It occurred to me that for every floatable, non-biodegradable piece of junk that can be seen on the shore, there must be lots more junk, that didn't survive it's seafaring experience and is destined to eternal life on the sea floor. How depressing.
Despite the rubbish and the amazing quantities of sandhoppers, jumping their frenzied way to nowhere, we were content to wander along the huge expanse of beach, as the sun setting cast a romantic light on our surreal surroundings. So content in fact, that we didn't realise how far we'd come, or how quickly the sun was setting until we decided to turn around. On the return, we chose to walk a little further down the beach, less heavily populated by sandhoppers. This worked out well. Although we now had the beach to ourselves, we could see the footprints of past walkers and felt relatively sure we wouldn't sink in the darkness before reaching the car again.
But then I felt my foot sinking, and we found that the footprints had run out, and it really was getting darker. We'd come too far and needed to cross the wet muddy bit and get back up the beach. Not a problem, as we could just retrace our footsteps until the end of the mud, but this added quite a bit to our return journey. As the sun was fast disappearing, we had to walk quickly, but we made it.
By the time we reached the car I'd power walked quite a distance, and my hangover was cured!

Snowdon

Snowdon is fun. It's a long way from Bristol though.
I'm so glad we checked the weather forecast before we went, and delayed our trip by a day, or it would have been a wet and miserable climb. As it was, most of the rain we came across fell mainly on the windscreen, and we were lucky to see the glorious view from the top of the mountain.
We set off from Bristol on Monday, finally reaching Llanberis at tea-time, and set about knocking on the door of all the BnBs we passed, almost every house on each road of this little village. All were full, or said they were, except for Glyn Afon, and it is lovely. Our tiny room was clean and comfortable, with no detail spared. We even had a teddy on the bed! In need of a decent dinner, we strolled along the high street, only to discover that our options were limited. Not wanting to eat takeaway in the car, we settled down in the Spice of Llanberis, just as the rest of the customers were leaving. The waiters watched us like hawks, whipping away our plates the moment we finished the last forkful, and were clearly pleased when we left, with nowhere to head but for an early night before the climb.
A trip to Tourist Information in the morning helped us to choose our route - up the Pyg Pass and down the Llanberis Pass. The Pyg Pass is fairly steep in places. Not quite on a par with the Inca Trail, this is not a bad UK equivalent, as I'd be lying if I said our heartbeats weren't raised! But no real problems heading upwards, and a sense of satisfaction at the top, where we stopped for hot chocolate.
The path down is easy-peasy. Or so it seems, as you follow the train more or less all the way back to Llanberis. However, after a morning on your feet, by halfway down it's hard to keep the news of your aching limbs to yourself, and by the time we finally, thankfully, reached our lovely guesthouse, we'd been on our feet for around 6 hours. I started to think that the three peaks challenge might not be such a piece of cake after all!
Remembering our difficulty finding places to eat the night before, we stuck a pin in the map of North Wales and headed for Caernarvon for dinner. It's right at the top near Anglesey and has a castle, so it seemed like a good idea. We ate in the Black Boy Inn, a cheap and cheerful choice, serving '70's baskets' of things with chips. I chose chilli, and ate far too much.
We'd intended to discover more of North Wales on Wednesday, but our haphazard approach to planning didn't serve us so well this time, and we spent much of the morning on the road in the rain, stopping briefly somewhere distant and unpronounceable for a wet walk along the beach, and in Aberystwyth for another.
By the time we got back to Bristol in the evening, we felt we'd finished a driving marathon, both of us tired and achy from our mountain walking and our sitting still. We'd driven through lots of pretty villages with tiny miners cottages, and as the hours ticked by we'd come to realise that North Wales is far from here. It felt further still to me, distanced by a total incomprehension of where I was most of the time, as I could not even say the name places in my head.
But now I've followed a smelly goat up Snowdon, I feel like it was a good use of three days away. It's important to be reminded that in life, happiness is not just about reaching the top, it's enjoying the climb.

Sunset in Somerset

Heading off at 6.30pm, we went for a wander around Chew Valley Lake in Somerset. It's huge and surrounded by woodland, where we spotted frogs, bats, birds and bugs. We walked to the hideout, designed for twitchers to watch birds or lovers to watch sunsets through spiderwebs. It looked as though the hills in the background were on fire as the sun set beyond, lighting the sky with orange.
On the way back to Bristol we decided to take a detour to Wells, as I'd never been before. It is a stunning city. I wish all the cars could be taken away so you could really feel as though you'd stepped back in time through 500 years. Walking around the cathedral, every shop, hotel and house is perfectly presented, with huge thick stone walls and intricate archways. This is the setting for the film 'Hot Fuzz', and I can understand how the film makers might have felt that there is a kind of scary closed community of people spying on one another here... especially when we came across the Police Community Support Officer taking obvious delight in pasting an unnecessary fixed penalty notice on the car windscreen.
We ate in Wells, and headed back in the blackness. The nights are drawing in, and an autumn feeling creeps alongside them.

Taunton to Bridgwater

A sunny Saturday in September. It would be wrong not to go outside all day long. On a bike. Along a canal. Stopping at pubs. In a group of 18 people. So that's what I did.
We took the expensive train to Taunton and met a crew of fellow enthusiastic cyclists. After stopping to stock up on sandwiches and pump up tyres we were off, caterpillar spotting, high-fiving, falling, whooping and stopping regularly for rehydration in the form of beer. Every couple of miles or so, as how else can you coordinate 18 people on bikes? Pubs make great markers along the way.
The ride from Taunton to Bridgwater is easy, flat, and just the right distance. Somerset in the sun. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday.

A magical Cornish weekend

Penwith is magical in the sunlight. This bank holiday weekend couldn't have gone better. It started with a trip to Porthcurno beach on Friday, where I jumped in the sea and soon got smashed back onto the shore again by a big wave, sand all over me. Then we went to take a look at Porthgwarra. No beach as the tide was high, but the views here, as the sun sets, are just incredible. You get a panoramic view of the tip of England, with the Atlantic below and the rugged cliffs beyond, the sun sparkling on the sea, heather on the ground and birds flying overhead. Perched on a rock on the edge of a cliff, this is a place to feel free.
Saturday was a lot of fun too. We headed to Sennen, to set up Pippa's 30th beach party. We trudged across the beach a number of times to get all our tables, windbreaks, pasties, cupcakes, cider, wine, flags, bunting and children, to a spot perfect for buskers and rounders games, and set up a wonderful party area as requested by Pip. The sun shone and a fabulous time was had by all, many going for a surf or a swim as the weather was so good. As the sun set we headed up the cliffs to our campsite, and sipped pink champagne as we waited for our curry to arrive.
On Sunday I met up with my school friends, who talked about houses and jobs and other such grown up things of which I know very little. Then we spent a long time making our way via Perranporth and Newquay to Polzeath, a part of Cornwall I don't know very well and which seems like the posh part. After a quick and exhilerating dip in the sea, we set up camp and headed out for a night in Wadebridge, only to find ourselves stranded as apparently no taxis work over the bank holiday here. We managed to hitch a lift back and spent a cold night on a clifftop.
Monday was spent walking along the beach to Rock, with a stop for a picnic, and catching the ferry to Padstow, which is a town made almost entirely of food and fat people eating it. Ice-cream, pasties, fish and chips, fudge... Not a lot else goes on here as far as I can tell, apart from the odd art gallery or jewellery shop. Oh, and clothes for posh people. Fat posh people. So after a pint in the pub we headed back, along the sand dunes this time, all the way to the campsite and into the car for the trip back to Bristol.
A wonderful weekend filled with buskers, bunting, balloons, beaches, babies, pasties, pink champagne, camping, clifftops, swimming, sunshine, family and friends.
I love Cornwall!

Boomtown Fair

I want to be back in the land of Boomtown Fair, where drinking all day is encouraged, mechanical horses carry children through the crowds, the music is mad and the people are smiling. I've just come back to earth with a bang after a fabulous few days in a field in Buckinghamshire. Yesterday I woke up in a tent, worrying only about how many wasps were heading inside my mouth (three got in during the course of the festival, it must have been all the hot cider I was drinking). Today I have a monumental headache after having my wisdom teeth pulled out. Ouch.
Boomtown Fair began life as a one day cider festival in a field in Bath, graduated to become Recydrate the West somewhere near Hay-on-Wye, and finally became a fully fledged festie with a new name last year, in the Forest of Dean. I have been there to witness all the changes, and I intend to keep up this tradition. I love Boomtown, because the music is mental, an incongruous but incredible mix of ska, reggae and gypsy-jazz, designed to keep you dancing. I love the people and what they wear, everything from flouncy, flowery dresses, stilts and superhero outfits, to nothing but body paint. I love any excuse to watch the Bristol based Invisible Circus. And I love drinking cider all day.
Boomtown may have grown up, but most of all, I love the fact that for three days straight, thousands of party goers can forget that they have too.