Saturday, 21 September 2013

Camping and the Yorkshire Moors

I drove for 12 miles without finding any fuel. These are distances, that as a Londoner, we can not comprehend. Went to the Hornsea Mere. A mere, is a northern word for lake, or glorified pond. Oddly, there was a sign saying - no fish and chips. Would it offend the fish in the mere, to see their dead brothers in batter? I highly doubt it.

Saw a sign for Skipsea castle. Excited as ever. It was an unmanned castle, nothing unusual about that. Opened the gate. Hill to my left, expanse to my right, with the English Heritage guide board. Aim for board. Pass hill. Reach board. Look behind hill, see cow. Assess chances of outrunning cow to gate. Seemed positive. Ran for my life.

Went somewhere looking for a camp site. I say somewhere, as eventually they all blend into one green blur. I asked in a chavtastic caravan site if there was somewhere to camp. No. The security guard however, did enjoy explaining to me how the company ripped everyone off, and suggested I check at 'Bridge Farm'. After a slight detour [read lost], I found the farm. The owner didn't have a campsite anymore. But upon realising I was alone and destined to sleep in the car, he let me camp in his garden. It was my first night camping since leaving London. Oh how the sleeping bag slides. We spent time moaning about the city - how much it smells, the noise, the dust and how stupid its inhabitants are. I couldn't disagree.

We saw a hedgehog in the garden, I've not seen one of those in years. Was bigger than I remembered. I touched it too, screamed, and got laughed at, but I touched it. The farmer, told me that cows are inquisitive animals, and if you look at them, they'll look back. I still believe they're trying to kill me using brain waves. Combine harvesters are massive and their tyres are over 5ft tall. I felt like Alice in farmerland. Last random farm fact, cows sell for £1000, but the farmer makes £100 profit. What a waste of time, with that profit margin, no wonder they're all closing down.

Scarborough Castle - the chav at the desk was exceptionally rude, and didn't even offer me an audio guide. Worthy of complaint, but couldn't be bothered. Later that day I was tailgated for 3 miles by an old white lady in a minicab. I know, so many strange aspects to that statement.

Driving through the North Yorkshire moors. Astonishing. Undescribably beautiful. And yet full of flying bastards from hell. I'd stop the car, and within seconds, it was swarmed by flies - so much so, it sounded like rain. I've never seen so many files. I couldn't get out the car. Such beautiful things, and trees and forest parks. But you can't. As soon as I stopped, they descended, hundreds of them. So sad. Should've bought some Raid.

I drove out of a forest track, which I'm shocked they let cars drive through, and I stumbled into a hamlet [small gathering of human dwellings]. Holy shit, I nearly crashed the car. Seriously. I'd found the single most beautiful view I'd ever seen [at the time, Scotland is awesome]. Through a gap between trees, the lush green valley dipped down, and then rose up in the distance, fields separated by hedges and stone, creating alternating lines from left to right. The odd smattering of trees and sheep, just emphasising that this was real, and not a postcard.

Finally after experiencing the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, I went bird watching. I saw more rats than birds. And also learnt that squirrels, although larger, are scared of them too.

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