By the Rivers of Babylon

Today, I ventured to a land far, far away with my friend. Tootling along in her Peugeot 106 (Suh), we stocked up on deliciousness in the form of cheese and celery sandwiches. I could leave it there to suggest a healthy picnic, but no! We also purchased a large bag of crisps and FOUR beautiful, delicious, glutinous Belgian chocolate cupcakes with chocolate fondant in the middle, chocolate chunks in the chocolate sponge, chocolate icing and chocolate shavings. We decided against the strawberry and vanilla flavour.

After approximately three minutes on Google, we selected Kielder Forest for our adventure. Not so far away that we never find our way back, but somewhere we can feel wholesome and full of life, whilst scoffing over 100% of our guideline daily saturated fat intake. After a quick rendezvous in M&S, we retrieved Suh and prepared for take-off. Which almost didn't happen. We hadn't even left the car-park, (which was rammed with Saturday shoppers) when some whippersnapper almost ploughed into us in his brand-new, shiny black vehicle. I may be over-exaggerating here, in that he did see us, did not hit us, but DID stall three times attempting to reverse so we could squeeze past. And when he finally crunched the stick into 'R', he really did almost plough into a casually-waiting man in an estate car behind. We tried to stay poker-faced as we cruised past, because the poor lad looked so embarrassed, and really did look about fourteen.

Nevertheless (I wanted to work that word in somewhere), we set off through some dodgy district of Newcastle. The drive up to Kielder is b-e-a-utiful, lots of winding roads, and also some very straight Roman efforts with hills. Also many sheep, sometimes on the road. We stopped off at a little village called Bellingham, which promised an exciting and authentic Farmers Market. Needless to say, the market consisted of one person selling marrows, one selling pies, and another woman trying to flog lots of mismatched junk at extortionate prices. Before continuing, we decided to stock our wallets, as Kielder isn't famed for its ATMs. In a little cobbled alley we found the most prehistoric ATM known to man, so-called because it could only handle one transaction (Holly's), and thus I left empty-handed.

No matter. On we travelled, and eventually made it to the Kielder district, after many sign-hunts. Our first stop was a the reservoir and birds of prey centre. This is where we became borderline diabetic through cupcake consumption. We had a wander, bought some jam (Holly), laughed at a man in a cowboy hat and white vest, growled at an annoying man in a Land Rover, and both had a turn on the amazing, shiny tunnel slide. The type which would be searingly hot in peak summer, but which had an ominous puddle lurking at the end due to a recent shower. I discovered this too late. The effect of water on my bum and down one leg did indeed look as if I had wet myself. Holly escaped dry. Winding up the road back to civilization, Holly screeched Suh to a graceful halt. A RED SQUIRREL ran onto the road directly in front of us. As if carefully choreographed, it stopped and watched us, before bounding up to the nearest tree and dancing around. We got very, very excited, and it really was so cute. I hate that word normally, but there is none other which can do it justice. I don't agree with this whole 'slaughter of greys' ideal, but I do think the reds have the edge on tail bushiness, eye brightness and just general sweetness. We both squealed in a high pitched fashion anyway. And onwards once more.

Next stop...Scotland. This was one of the finest moments. We were certain there would be a main base where we could get lots of leaflets and Touristy Info, and so we pursued this one main road. Which wound on and on up the reservoir, until we approached the 'Welcome to Scotland' sign. Again, much excitement. We stopped just past the border, picked some wildflowers and then did a quick swift turn about (with me driving this time).

On our way back, we decided to stop at Kielder castle to pretend we were monarchy and so on. In the distance we could see the castle turret, but no signs. After bumping into a barren car park, with a caravan 'To Let', we unearthed the tiniest, most weather-beaten sign directing us to walk up a ridiculously steep hill. Nevertheless (got it in again!), we got there, and it was pretty rubbish. A bit of a museum and gallery, but the best bit was undoubtedly the Minotaur Maze. After deciding to conquer it on our own, I promptly found possibly all of the dead-ends, but it killed a good few minutes. And on again. Maybe I should mention for future visitors, Kielder Forest Park areas do not work with one main base and then walks to events and areas of interest. There is a main road with smaller huts and so on dotted along.

Next stop on our return was the Osprey Watch post. This was really great, as we got to use some fantastic telescopes and the volunteers were brilliant. I think I confused the men manning the car park by waving manically, but they were staring at me like we were old friends, and I was flustered. We quickly followed this by a visit to the Calvert Trust Open Day, where I wasted £2 on a fruitless tombola, but we also got to stroke some gorgeous owls (one of them only six weeks old). I stalled the car only once getting back on the road too (great result).

Our next stop - and yes, there were many - was to travel across the dam to what we thought was an exciting route through artsy villages. I sped across at 60mph (only to be told later by Holly it was a 20 zone), and we did 3 laps of the car park which was the only attraction to be had. We dubiously crawled down a track with lots of loose gravel, with Holly leaning far out of the window to gulp in the country air, but nothing. Back we travelled, across the dam and onto that bloody main road again. At this point, we started heading back Newcastle-wards. One quick stop in Falstone, the tiniest village EVER, and things went drastically wrong.

I locked the keys in the car. They were even still in the ignition. Luckily, the entire population of the village (seven) came to offer assistance, advice and screwdrivers. Due to a previous break-in, the car had a hole near the lock which could be jostled and, thus, open the vehicle. The audience thought it was highly amusing. I did not dare try to leave while they stood around chatting, certain I would stall or run somebody over. Luckily, I escape with only a minor hiccup (almost careering into the screwdriver-wielding man's vintage car). And we were off.

The journey home was thankfully less eventful, apart from my being tailed by a police car for a few miles (luckily I wasn't under arrest). I even drove through Newcastle city centre with zero hiccups. Possibly the only cock-up was, when sitting at traffic-lights explaining how I loved keeping the clutch at bite-point, Suh gracefully and casually stalled. Such a supportive car. I managed to park on the very edge of a bus stop. A delicious meal was consumed, but the events of the day had us in stitches. I hope it makes everybody else laugh too. Seriously, if you ever need a pick-me-up, get me in the drivers seat and I'll cruise your worries away.

Great British Travel

Tomorrow, I'm venturing to the bright city lights of London. After (almost) twenty years of being a Lincolnshire lass, I am hopping on the 9.15am NXEC to Kings Cross, in aid of my very first Theatre Royal experience. Yes, I am going to see Oliver! with my Mum, who is very nervous after (almost) fifty years of limited train-travel experience. I find this astounding; she has managed her entire life with no more than long-distant memories of train journeys to Cleethorpes as a toddler. I spend more than enough of my life waiting on various platforms, with too much luggage, inappropriate attire and no sustenance. This is because I am poor. Whereas I could stretch to a car which wasn't Flintstones-esque (by which I mean has a floor, and is not powered by running feet), I cannot afford the luxuries of insurance, tax, mot...all of which I'm told are 'vital'. Saying that, despite my Railcard (complete with horrendous photograph), train fares are now becoming r.i.d.i.c.u.l.o.u.s. Ok, so we only booked theatre tickets 36 hours in advance. And yes, admittedly it took us a fair while to agree on travel times. But really, £71 per adult, and £47 for me, is pretty painful. All for a sweat-ridden journey where the trolley lady bludgeons my ankles, I worry that terrorists will blow up the toilet, and I attract all the drunken conversationalists who think I am their daughter/wife/long-lost cousin.

However, all that aside, I confess that I LOVE trains. Not in the trainspotting sense, hanging around platforms in an outfit entirely based on tweed. I love them because I feel so cosmopolitan on them. I have my little powder-blue vintage suitcase, a scarf over the shoulder, and I would wear travelling gloves if I wasn't worried about being ridiculed. Even though everybody is in a state of disrepair on the train, either sweating from the humidity, or slate grey from the movement, there really is an element of competition. Last time I ventured homewards, I was gently jostled by a girl wearing something which I am positive was made exclusively of fish-bones. From across the aisle, a woman glared at me over the top of her over-sized sunglasses (it was cloudy outside). I perspired copiously in my thick tights, but for the sake of fashion (darling), I put up a damn good fight.

So, instead of arranging Tube connections and bus transfers, I will spend a vast portion of this evening putting together my travelling attire. I will choose my ballerina pumps over my trainers, my tights over my jeans, and select my largest handbag where all my tickets and reference numbers can mingle with receipts and chewing gum wrappers. At the station, I will lose my phone, my water bottle will leak and I will undoubtedly leave something on the platform. I will get mugged, get lost, get drunk and disorderly on the return journey. I will fall asleep and end up in Edinburgh. And if none of these happen, and I get home safely at the expected time, with all my vital organs in tact, I will consider my day-trip to London an entire success!