Monday August 19
Leaving Bath. Drizzling!! I had to get up early and go down the road to the car park, to pay for another 2 hrs.
I mentioned this is a pay and display. What I didn’t mention is that it’s free from 20 o’clock till 0800. Yesterday we paid till 20 o’clock. If we are gone by 0800, then we are golden. But Sarah didn’t want to have breakfast till 0800, so off I go to give it a top-up. We have breakfast in the restaurant downstairs. It is one of many owned by Marco Pierre White, a celebrity chef who turns up every year to scare the shit out of contestants in Masterchef Australia. I think he still owns the place we’ll be staying at in a few days when we see Downton. Nice. Buffet for cold, order the hots. Very fast kitchen turnaround. He has trained them well.
So I bring up the car, and we load up, and we’re off.
I’ve decided to head for Barnstaple for lunch. On a couple of previous occasions, I had chosen a particular place to eat, and then we couldn’t find it. So Sarah made a rule. No more imaginary pubs. Just go to the town, and we’ll find somewhere to eat. Works for me. Then she breaks her own rule. She chooses a place on the other side of Barnstable, and Gladys the GPS hasn’t heard of it. Not to admit defeat easily, we head to Barnstable, and use Uncle Google on my phone to find the place. That’s the problem with built-in GPSs. They don’t have the detail and the updates that Uncle Google has. Even a new Beamer.
So we get to Barnstable in under 3 hrs, and start moving in on our target. It’s in a pedestrian only street. Buggery buggery boo. We are not best pleased. I park up next to a Marks & Sparks, and head inside for a pitstop. Sarah has decided to stay in the car and eat some of the food we had stashed for just such an occasion. After I’ve drained the tank, I join her for a quick snack. Then we’re off again.
Our hotel in Port Gaverne is programmed in. About an hour and change. We’re off.
I chose Barnstable for two reasons. First, somewhere for a break. Apparently not lunch, but that’s all good. Second, Bath to Gaverne by the straightest route would be another boring motorway. By choosing the non-motorway route to Barnstable, we go through a thousand cute wee villages. That’s why it’s almost 3 hrs. Then, Barnstable to Gaverne is along the coast, so potentially better views.
As it happened, we didn’t see the sea till we were almost there. Mile after mile of road, flanked on both sides by those fucking hedges we all know and love. Can’t see a thing. There could be a mile of naturalists clubs on the other side of those hedges, and you wouldn’t be any the wiser.
For almost the last mile and a half, we were following the guy in a tractor who’s job it is to trim back the gorse hedge, to at least give us a fighting chance. There was no danger of overtaking, and anybody coming from the other way just couldn’t. We just crawl, and watch as he gets on with it, oblivious to the 21st century crowding in on him.
We made it to the hotel, and then the next problem emerged. Parking. There are already cars dotting the roadsides, forcing traffic to take turns getting past. We drive up the right-of-way between the hotel and a cafe. Nothing. Now the challenge is to turn around and get out.
Just up the road is a sign. Parking for Port Gaverne Hotel. YES! In we go. No, no, no, private parking. There it is! About 6 parks, and miracle of miracles, one is empty. It’s ours. We’re not budging.
We check in, leaving our luggage for the moment. She asks us “Did you get a park?” Yes. Then stay there. Walk everywhere. So how far is it to walk to Port Isaac, I joked. It’s just over that hill, but there’s a tuk tuk that gives free rides over there. Don’t move your car.
Leaving Bath. Drizzling!! I had to get up early and go down the road to the car park, to pay for another 2 hrs.
I mentioned this is a pay and display. What I didn’t mention is that it’s free from 20 o’clock till 0800. Yesterday we paid till 20 o’clock. If we are gone by 0800, then we are golden. But Sarah didn’t want to have breakfast till 0800, so off I go to give it a top-up. We have breakfast in the restaurant downstairs. It is one of many owned by Marco Pierre White, a celebrity chef who turns up every year to scare the shit out of contestants in Masterchef Australia. I think he still owns the place we’ll be staying at in a few days when we see Downton. Nice. Buffet for cold, order the hots. Very fast kitchen turnaround. He has trained them well.
So I bring up the car, and we load up, and we’re off.
I’ve decided to head for Barnstaple for lunch. On a couple of previous occasions, I had chosen a particular place to eat, and then we couldn’t find it. So Sarah made a rule. No more imaginary pubs. Just go to the town, and we’ll find somewhere to eat. Works for me. Then she breaks her own rule. She chooses a place on the other side of Barnstable, and Gladys the GPS hasn’t heard of it. Not to admit defeat easily, we head to Barnstable, and use Uncle Google on my phone to find the place. That’s the problem with built-in GPSs. They don’t have the detail and the updates that Uncle Google has. Even a new Beamer.
So we get to Barnstable in under 3 hrs, and start moving in on our target. It’s in a pedestrian only street. Buggery buggery boo. We are not best pleased. I park up next to a Marks & Sparks, and head inside for a pitstop. Sarah has decided to stay in the car and eat some of the food we had stashed for just such an occasion. After I’ve drained the tank, I join her for a quick snack. Then we’re off again.
Our hotel in Port Gaverne is programmed in. About an hour and change. We’re off.
I chose Barnstable for two reasons. First, somewhere for a break. Apparently not lunch, but that’s all good. Second, Bath to Gaverne by the straightest route would be another boring motorway. By choosing the non-motorway route to Barnstable, we go through a thousand cute wee villages. That’s why it’s almost 3 hrs. Then, Barnstable to Gaverne is along the coast, so potentially better views.
As it happened, we didn’t see the sea till we were almost there. Mile after mile of road, flanked on both sides by those fucking hedges we all know and love. Can’t see a thing. There could be a mile of naturalists clubs on the other side of those hedges, and you wouldn’t be any the wiser.
For almost the last mile and a half, we were following the guy in a tractor who’s job it is to trim back the gorse hedge, to at least give us a fighting chance. There was no danger of overtaking, and anybody coming from the other way just couldn’t. We just crawl, and watch as he gets on with it, oblivious to the 21st century crowding in on him.
We made it to the hotel, and then the next problem emerged. Parking. There are already cars dotting the roadsides, forcing traffic to take turns getting past. We drive up the right-of-way between the hotel and a cafe. Nothing. Now the challenge is to turn around and get out.
 |
| A sight for sore eyes |
Just up the road is a sign. Parking for Port Gaverne Hotel. YES! In we go. No, no, no, private parking. There it is! About 6 parks, and miracle of miracles, one is empty. It’s ours. We’re not budging.
We check in, leaving our luggage for the moment. She asks us “Did you get a park?” Yes. Then stay there. Walk everywhere. So how far is it to walk to Port Isaac, I joked. It’s just over that hill, but there’s a tuk tuk that gives free rides over there. Don’t move your car.
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