Getting there...

Beverly near Hull. Such a beautiful town. The church of St. Margarets is the most beautiful building I've ever seen. Nothing compares. Inside there is a rabbit statue, which was the inspiration for Alice in Wonderland. This church was so amazing, I was seriously contemplating attending service. Which was at 8am! With Jesus people. There were arches, 15thC pews, stained glass everything, magnificent paintings, and the ceiling. Oh my life, the ceiling is remarkable. I'm certainly going back.

After I, sadly, left, I drove past two traditional gypsy caravans. They were pulled up on the side of the road, with the occupants sitting on camping chairs, around a fire. That's one way of doing it.

Continued my factory tour. Quorn and 7 Seas make the list.

Stupid place names - Skidby and Swanland. Heard from a local that it was called Swineland [because of pig farms], but they changed it. Sounds worse, swans are evil.

Saw signs for a hospital with a hyperbaric unit, but no A&E. Priorities.

And finally, the woman who was having a breakdown [prancing and mildly screaming], because her dog ate dog shit. Oh my God, oh my God, oh how could you? No! No! Idiot.

Still Behind...

I've been back in London for almost a week now, and from your view, I'm not even in Scotland yet. Feeling pressurised to finish the blog. Although no one is harassing me, I don't like expectations.

Being back here is making me miserable. But I'm pulling through. For reasons you'll eventually know, I've not eaten artificial sugar in over 2 weeks. I don't think I haven't eaten sweets or chocolate that long, since I was physically able to eat them.

Sugar was my constant energy source. When I crashed, I ate more sugar. But now, I'm finding my energy elsewhere, and I'm cooking. Me. With a fire. And I've used the chopping board more this week, than I have in the last year. And that is not an exaggeration. I'm working up to the notion of doing some exercise. I want to do exercise, but I don't want to die. Combined with this 1 million times better diet, I could lose over a stone. It will be harder because of my PCOS, but not impossible. As well as being a problem with laziness, it's a problem with confidence.

Inspired

She broke the law. Or at least she should have done. Tesco carpark, through-and-through parking space. She didn't drive through. She just stopped, thus guaranteeing she'd have to reverse out. Foolish woman.

Backtrack to the flint mine. Little child is running in the shop with no shoes on. White people, again. EH woman advises he wears shoes, as it's a damn flint mine. It's fine, said the mum. But, said the concerned staff, there's flint everywhere and the stairs down are as rough as sand paper. Oh, he's used to it now, aren't you Edward, said dad. Yes, said Edward, as he almost crashes into a wall. And I wonder who would be suing English Heritage, once little Edward has a 3“ shard of flint embedded into his foot.

Bumper sticker - How's my driving? 0800-fuck-you. It was surprisingly good.

Best kept village of the year 2012 - Tetney. I visited in 2013. I don't know what happened, to the little village of Tetney, but those twelve months weren't kind. Drab concrete, broken garden walls, dying hanging baskets and a general disheveled, mismatched look. Could've featured in Crap Towns.

You know those signs you see, showing you that the road is slippery? Normally for 100-600 yards. I saw one for 8500 yards. How flipping far is that? I can't even guess a parking spot 300 yards away. I asked Google. That's 4.8 miles. Not that I could judge that distance either, but it would've made more sense. Slippery for fucking ages.

I went over a cattle grid and the car stalled. Cattle grids mean cows. I wasn't happy.

I've decided we should be able to volunteer as traffic wardens. I can't remember what idiot brought me to this conclusion (again), but it was enough to make me want a ticket machine.

I've decided to speed things up. I'm getting a little lonely now I'm back on the road alone.

Today I crossed the Humber Bridge - it was very impressive. Created in the 70s, at a cost of £93 million, it was a feat of engineering. For many years it remained the longest suspension bridge ever built, and experiencing that pleasure costs £1.50. The bridge connects the south, to Kingston-upon-Hull, named so in the maps, but all signs direct to Hull. I had to ask someone because I couldn't believe it was the same place. That was probably the most confusing place so far. In London, Kingston-upon-Thames, is known as Kingston, not Thames. The nature park under the bridge, is by far the most fantastic little area I've found. Not many know of it, and yet there is much to look at. In the basin of an old chalk mine, where the roots poke through the cliffs, exposed as they fall to the ground. The park is astoundingly beautiful. Cliffs, ponds, meadows and willow arches, with spaces to sit, places to climb and beautiful, sweeping views. 

This place was so special, it inspired me to write the first poem I've written in over 15 years. I was sat in the carpark, and took less than 5 minutes to write.

Inspired by the Humber Bridge

Watching as the sun sets
The trees begin to sway
The birds replaced by bats
Sign the end of the day

The bridge looms ever closer
Guiding thousands home
The country park lies under
A beauty that not all know

The people move so hurriedly
Preoccupied by life
But they miss they greatest pleasure
Of simply being alive

Skegness and the Asshole

Went to Boston. Just as embarrassing as California. We should be ashamed. They stole our place names, and made them better than we could ever imagine.
I've been driving through 'The Fens'. That basically translates to, dry-ass boring flat part. There was a sign for a hill and I got excited, essentially it was a glorified hump. It was the fastest I've driven since being on the road. Look left, flat field. Look right, flat field. Drive 5 miles and repeat. Not all countryside was created equal. God must have been distracted that day.

There are some strange place names in England. I drove past Old Leake, Ingoldmellis and Hagworthingham. I don't know who made this shit up, but I want what he was smoking.

I pulled into a forest carpark to cook some food. Made pasta and mackrell. No pineapple this time. A stoat ran past. Feeling all National Geographic and shit. As I was admiring the location, a family pulled up. Man, wife, two kids. He was emotionally and verbally abusing his wife. He sent a son to find his lighter; he didn't find it. You're so stupid, I bet you've fucking moved it, shouted the asshole. I was very upset on her behalf, and the children. When it was further away, I walked over to her, with a map, pretending to be lost. I told her what I needed to say, "You're a wonderful person, and you deserve better. Look after yourself." I know, she said sadly. And with that I left the area. As much as I wanted to confront the asshole, I knew I couldn't, as once I'd left, he'd take it out on her.

Important information; I've now driven 2000 miles :-)

Skegness. Wow. Just wow. I cannot express in words the sheer number of caravans. Why, for the love of all things blue, would these people chose to stay in a metal box. Next to hundreds of other boxes. As soon as I drove in, I encountered a Ford Fiesta with go faster stripes. Then there was a sea of Fiestas and Clios highlighted by the dilapidated walls decorating the seafront. More fish and chip shops than were humanly required; at one point 4 in a row. It was one of the worst places I've seen, and yet it was packed with orange people. There was a car park there with a sign, highlighting 18 parking contraventions, and the associated fees payable. Most were £70. Avoid Skegness at all costs. Most of the British seasides are run down, with mismatched, often garish signage. And the 'resorts' are laughable at best. No wonder people mock us about them.

Differences compared to London. No internet cafes, no halal signs and no £1 a bowl. Wooo! Pick your own strawberries are very common. From a field. On the side of a main road. The human is there till 5pm. But the field doesn't move. Why not pick them for free at 6pm? Another weird thing they do, is sell eggs from little carts at the end of driveways and farm entrances. Sometimes they'd have fruits, veg, jams and pickles too. With a note of the prices and a box to put the money in, with no supervision. The first time I saw one, I stared at it for ages. Imagine that in London. Not only would someone take the eggs, and the money, they'd take the damn cart too.

I'll end with two business names, they obviously chose whilst on drugs. The 'Linga Longa' fish and chip restaurant, and a pub called 'My Fathers Mustache'.

Getting the hang of being a traveller.

Here's something weird. Now frying new potatoes. Seriously, in so many fish and chip shops, there are tacky signs promoting this new, exciting trend. You know what's unexciting? Not being able to get a flipping saveloy. I should mention that they also fry Mars Bars, Double Deckers, Snickers and even Bountys up there. But none of them sold saveloys. One even asked me what that was. I just shook my head and walked out.

I can now recognise Norman architecture, their choice of materials, style of decoration and form. I really have gone castle mad. Also Priory mad. They are so inspiring. A declaration of what man can achieve when he puts his mind to it. And today I went to three historic sites. History-r-us.

I'm now hanging my washing in the car, sporting a new washing line across the rear seats. Two bungee cords and some pegs later, he looks like a moving hostel. But my clothes are dry, and I'm no longer embarrassed. I don't even bother to put my sleeping bag away anymore.

Drove through Kings Lynn and within 10 minuets, 4 screaming police cars went by. Not going to the same place either. Full of chavs. And I left. Happy in the knowledge I'll never return again.

Back to history, with Castle Acre Priory. It was truly magnificent. The sheer scale of the site, the workmanship, the design. That someone envisioned it, is impressive enough, let alone put into practice. Each stone, carved by hand and placed using wooden scaffolding. And then ripped to pieces, by that fat narcissistic pig, Henry VIII. But then if he didn't, I might have been a nun, so good on him. Was listening to the audio guide and it said, to walk down the slope.  The were two. I took the one on the left. Mistake. The further I went, the more I realised something was wrong with this path. The arches were too small for doorways. Turns out I was walking under the 'toilet block' and through a river bed. Which was roughly the same time I realised I was sinking. The joy of walking in 1000 year old piss.

Dan keeps calling me. Over and over again. Obsessive much. Turned even more ghetto, and now I've upgraded from warming soup, to cooking rice on the side of the road. Next thing you know, I'll be making a roast. Went to Swaffham. Very nice place, but ridiculously expensive. I saw a teenager purchase 3, 500ml bottles of Lucazade for £5.07. And he didn't even flinch. Nothing. I was in shock just watching.

Went to Grimes Graves, a Neolithic flint mine. Predating Stonehenge, these people dug 150 mines, some up to 60ft deep. They dug so deep because they wanted the black flint, not the other flint. Fussy or what. Got to go down one mine (as the others were back filled), and the tunnels were tiny. It was insane, how they worked. Was feeling lonely that day, so I stayed talking to the staff for an hour, and had them cracking up, so much so, that I got free oat cakes, which were surprisingly nice.

One thing I appreciate about the countryside are the road names. Yes, most roads aren't even named, but when they do, they do it right. Castle Rd leads to the castle, Beach Rd to the beach, School Ln to the school.

War of the Walls.

So I took Reg up on his offer, and went to stay on his drive. Of course before bedtime, I was allowed in the house. I should have expected the lack of cleanliness,  but I was unprepared. Never, in my life, have I seen a house so dirty. There were leaves all over the kitchen floor, the carpet was unidentifiable, there were slugs living in the kitchen and cobwebs. Oh my sweet tuna, the cobwebs. It looked like something out of the Adams family. That aside [for now] the best part was going to see his babies. No, not the rodents, which probably lived there too, but his plants. Hidden away, down secret passages and hidden doors. Shocked was not the word. That's one way to pay for your retirement. He doesn't care, as they'll only slap him on the wrist if he gets caught. Which he might do, because his house smells very inviting. It was a smokers paradise. Then, he showed me the bathroom. And the bath that was still full, of the most grey, grey water you've ever seen. He keeps the water to flush the toilet with. Fair enough, but I don't know what went into that bath, because I never saw him change his clothes in three days, let alone wash. The first night he offered me dinner. He was eating noodles. Phew, built in wheat excuse. I'm so glad I wasn't allowed to stay inside, because I'd have died.

Morning arrived and I was offered some tea. So I went to was the dishes [and clean the kitchen]. There was no hot water. I asked him to turn it on, and he moaned about 'London people wasting money heating water JUST to wash up'. What do you do? I foolishly asked. I just put it down for the dog and then rinse it off. Rinse. Not wash. Rinse. Feeling thirsty, and a little sick, we went to the boat yard, blah blah blah and then back to his house. He offered me dinner. Damn. It was chicken and rice. I'll spare you the highly questionable preparation methods used. I got out of it. Or so I thought. He ranted at me, pissed off that I'd eat Dan's food but not his. Um, that's because Dan would rather cut his hand off than eat from a dog washed plate - as would I. He didn't understand what our problem was. Our problem. Not his, ours.

I couldn't look at them anymore, so I decided to do something about the cobwebs. Armed with a snooker cue and a wet sock, I went in. Words cannot express how many there were. Every room was disgusting, but the passageway ceiling was covered. Every corner, even straight walls. I had to rinse the sock over 15 times. Yes, I was wearing gloves. It was time to tackle the back of the passage door. This cobweb, no exaggeration was stretching 2ft to the left and right and then 3ft down, plus it went back 2ft across the ceiling. Massive. This was the arachnid headquarters. I moved in quickly, flanking the army. Swoop and swish. Into the bathroom to dunk them into the grey abyss. I approached quietly as it was time to attach the central hub. And that's when I saw him, the leader! He was huge and making a run for it. I attacked, but he deflected, darting back into a bunker. But I had my sock and I was determined to put an end to this war. Whack, he's on the move again, but this time I was prepared, and he went down. I decided to leave the other 10+ spiders in there, mainly because something had to eat all those flies.

On the 16th I finally left the boat yard [yes I'm very far behind]. I went back to the church for a shower and it felt good! I don't need to explain why I didn't shower at Regs'. Also washed my hair and my clothes. And had two cups of tea. If I wasn't an atheist, I'd have joined that church. He even gave me more free food. And remembered my [fake] name. Had a ghetto lunch in a Tesco carpark. Mackerel and pineapple in a can. No, not together. They were in separate cans. But I did use the same fork. I know. Hard times. After less than 5mins I'm rushing like a lunatic to the toilet. I literally had to run into Tesco. Wont be eating that combo again. For dinner I warmed some soup in a forest carpark. At first it felt weird, breaking out the stove like a homeless dude, but rags, I was hungry. Decided to clean the car ashtray, and obliterate it at the same time. Nice.

Went to California, yes, we have one, and no, its not worth visiting. Most of the time I drove around feeling sorry for the poor folk living in caravans, but none more than these. Imagine being 10 and your mum saying 'Hey, we're going to California'. You don't understand how depressing it was. But there were orange folk nevertheless. Best part was the 'maze', open all year round. Except at this time of the year, it's 2ft tall and you can see the end. Idiots.

The woodland I had soup in looked awesome, but it was too late to investigate, so I went back the next day. It's called 'Pretty Corner Woods'. Aptly named. Walked into it and saw a sign of what nature to look out for on your walk. The Adder. Right. Back to the car for giant pronged stick. I was walking through that bad boy like a freaking ninja. I still stayed for an hour. It was so peaceful and quiet. After leaving there I went to Beaconsthorpe and then Bingham castle. I saw people relaxing on the grass, felt annoyed, and now I need a picnic blanket to join in.

Last note for today - parking charges. Holy tuna. They wanted £4 to park at the beach. In a field. And you know what? The dammed thing was full. Stupid people.

Attack of the burger.

After our summer fete extravaganza, I popped back to the yard to see Reg. He too was unimpressed, and repeated his speech, about people not deserving to be alive. According to him, no one has complained, and besides, just fuck them and not leave. He invited me to his 'drum'. Haven't heard that one for ages! I'm allowed to sleep in the driveway, as apparently the dog gets upset with visitors sleeping inside. Considering I'm not 'allowed' on the yard, it's for the best. Aaaaand his dog has fleas. Serious fleas. And the damned dog loves jumping up. Do you know how hard it is to get a giant dog off of you, when the owner won't allow you to just shove it away. If he'd trained him in the first place, this wouldn't be an issue. Damn mutt climbs on everything. Before you moan, I like dogs, I love them even, but it's a dog. They should only get on the sofa with permission. And certainly not when they're infested.

I've been warned. People on the yard think I'm a whore. Charming. This is because I go onto peoples boats, to have a look around. At which point does looking at boats, translate to jumping on dicks? Repeat of the same stories, blah blah blah.

Went to smoke in the field. On the other side of the bridge were the cows. I really don't like the way they look at me. They were on the same field, but surrounded by a stream - cows apparently don't cross water. Dan assured me that waving a stick at a cow will make it go away. Seems tribal. I'd have preferred a shotgun, but apparently those aren't allowed. We were there on a bench, as far away as possible, when I spotted a cow looking shifty from a distance. Dan, I said, that cow will cross the bridge. No it won't, he said. I wasn't listening as I walked, swiftly, back to safety. Less than ONE minute later the cow ran, not walked, ran across the bridge. I'm the fucking cow whisperer now. In the distance there were three brave [read stupid] humans walking across the field. The cow was running straight towards them. The two women started to run, but the man stood there, arms folded pretending to be a gangsta. The cow kept running. He stood there. At this point I'm having a breakdown from the other side. Run you fool, run! And boy, did he run. I've never seen a cow run like that, said Dan calmly. I'm flipping sweating. I told you they were beasts from hell. 10 minutes after that, we were round the corner, when the three [clearly insane] people came into view, having walked back through the enemy lines. The two women were clearly distressed and the man was being macho about it. Dan was just pissing himself laughing, and I was expressing my concern for their life. I really wanted to slap that man. Arrogant twat.

Learnt a new skill from Dan. How to throw knives at trees [or humans]. It was freaking awesome, and a little scary. When you hit it wrong, it'll bounce back a good 4ft. I probably only got it right 5 in 100 times. Pissing himself laughing again, he informed me that he would feel totally safe, if I were throwing knives at him. Good odds. Then it was my turn to laugh, when he shouted to the dog - Trix, get out of there, you're in the death zone. She was 10ft away. Although I only hit the tree 1/3 of the time, so it's understandable.

When we got back to the boat, the lunatic decided it'd be fun to play the knife finger game. I decided to use a pen. Then he handed me another knife [as I'd broken the other one murdering trees] and plonked his had on the table in front of me. I declined, and practised on myself first. I got quite fast! Then I played with his hand, and he still has 10 fingers. Result.