Road trip

Good morning after another torrid night in a tent.

Yes, we’ve gone camping. Again.

Not phased by Carfest North, and heavens knows why...

...we have dipped our toes back into the predictably muddy waters. 

To be fair, this trip - our road trip, as the kids have insisted on calling it - has been long in the planning.

Every family needs to spend a fortnight in the south-west coast of England, and this is our chance.

I admit it, I like a bit of foreign all-inclusive action as much as the next person. But the novelty wears off on kids as they get older. Plus, they soon begin to realise how much wine their parents have had. 

So yesterday we - well, Vanessa - drove 320 miles from Guiseley to Dorset.

We left at 0625 and had breakfast two hours later in Loughborough.  I almost went to university there and it seems a fine place.

We travelled on to Stonehenge, which doesn’t quite rock like the Giant’s Causeway. But I would say that.

Then we moved on to nearby Salisbury.

I was hoping to meet up with some old friends, but it didn’t work out. (I made that up. I just thought it would be amusing to be photographed pretending to be a spy. I’m holding Vanessa’s £1 flowers. She paid for them herself).

We took the kids to Salisbury Cathedral, a must for all tourists these days. The spire was just as magnificent as President Putin’s men described it. 

The kids had their picture taken with an infamous bench in the background (I didn’t tell them about that bit).

And had a pasty in what, for a period, was the most familiar Greggs in the country - despite being closed.

A seriously top city Salisbury, well worth a visit if you’re anywhere near.

I’m now inside our hurricane-battered tent 40-odd miles further away. Thankfully it’s still standing but it was touch and go during the hours of darkness.

Later today we’ll hang around locally, maybe hit the beach. 

Let’s see. The forecast isn’t great, but it never is. The Whites are on holiday.