Time Travelling. Madrid - 27-31 October 2011

If you could travel through time but only go either to the past or the future, which would you choose?

The alarm came on at three fifteen in the morning - well, I say morning, but the day was still wrapped in black as I dragged my sleep deprived body, closely followed by my still snoozing brain, into the bathroom. Autopilot got us both showered and dressed and, thanks to a bit of forward planning, we jumped into the already luggage-laden car and pointed it at the airport. Today's destination - Madrid, to join our favourite Spaniards for a nice long weekend.

We’d not seen the family since the summer, and although only a couple of months had past we had really missed them all. The flight went by without incident and had taken off bang on time. Easyjet get a fair bit of stick generally, some warranted, but in the main they’ve been nothing but good news for us. There’s definitely also a degree of snobbery about flying budget airlines – or rather not. Well, if they can get me and mine to most major European destinations for under seventy quid return you won’t hear me bemoaning the lack of a reserved seat or in-flight movie.

An incident free two hours and ten minutes later we touched down at Madrid Barajas Airport. The weather forecast had been ok; the best that could have been said of it was that it was going to be dry. We’d kept our fingers crossed that it was going to stay that way as we had planned an overnight trip to Cuenca and the E­­nchanted City, about an hour and a half West of the capital. Lynda and I had recently read the excellent Spanish Civil War novel ‘Winter in Madrid’ by CJ Sansom, in which Cuenca had featured quite a bit. We had mentioned it to Ana in the summer and she’d arranged the trip for us.

So when we stepped off the plane into the pouring rain our spirits were literally dampened. Passing for the first time through the electronic passport scanner – the first time we’ve been through one that’s actually worked I mean – we grabbed our bags from the carousel and having summoned Frank from his desk a few minutes earlier, were whisked away back to the house.


After the usual routine of installing ourselves in our temporary home and a welcome lunch we decided that as the rain had let off to take a hike to the town centre, and in particular the main shopping street. Not that we wanted any shopping, the street also happens to be home of several very nice bars, which came in very handy to shelter in when the heavens re-opened. Ever the considerate chap, Frank phoned to say he was leaving work and would pick us up rather than see us drowned. This had the added advantage of allowing us to pick the girls up from school with him, which made for a wonderful reunion. Back home and waiting when we arrived were Pablo and Citrus. Which one was more pleased to see us I’m not sure but both gave us a lovely welcome. That evening was a blur of frantically ripped off wrapping paper, chinking of glasses, chattering over dinner and some pretty decent cuddles.

Frank had explained on the drive back from the airport that the weather forecast for the Cuenca area was very dodgy and as such a two-day trip wasn’t a great idea. An alternative had been planned however and so on Friday morning, having first got the kids to school, we grown-ups made our way to the mountains north of the city for a driving tour that was to take in history, culture, scenery and some pretty fine eating too.

Our first stop was the very old and pretty chilly town of Buitrago del Lazoya. Try saying that after four cervezas!! Not pretty but certainly chocker block with history ‘BdL’ as it shall henceforth be known provided an excellent breakfast stop and the sizzlingly hot coffee and delicious pan con tomate fitted the bill perfectly.


After a quick look around the town’s church and medaeval walls we quit BdL and made our way further into the mountains to what turned out to be a spectacular hidden gem.













































The Ermita de San Frutas – silly name but amazing place – is an abbey built on the site of a Hermitage not too far from the town of Sepulveda. The drive there from BdL had already taken us through beautiful scenery but Frank and Ana, who had visited the same place over ten years previously, had promised even more delightful views from the Hermitage. We were not disappointed. EdSF as I like to think of it, is completely hidden from the main road and is approached by a half-mile walk from the car park, along which you’re taken past a sheer drop to a canyon at the bottom of which nestles a river, stuffed full of huge fish poking their heads rather smugly through its surface. The first treat is a view down to a horseshoe in the river where it makes a hairpin turn, doubling back on itself before disappearing into the distance. By now the sun had well and truly got its hat on and had warmed the morning, and us, considerably. As we stood marvelling at and photographing the incredible vista we had a further treated in the shape of a group of eagles that flew very low right over our heads. Although framed beautifully in our binoculars our camera lenses were not really up to the job of capturing a decent image of these amazing creatures, but despite that we felt so pleased and indeed privileged at being able to spend a few minutes watching these beautiful birds circling overhead.

The walk down to the Hermitage is considerably easier then the haul back up to the car park, especially as the sun was now at its highest, but the warm feeling we left with had a lot more to do with the experience of having been in such a wonderful place than by the weather.


Next stop was Pedraza. All that walking had left us very thirsty and quite peckish too so we decided that the sightseeing would wait until we’d sorted out the catering first. However, this beautifully preserved old town is as sight-seeing treasure trove from the moment you enter it, and even before we’d got to the car park we’d ‘ooh’d’ and ‘aah’d’ several times. We stuck to our guns though and carried out a bit of a recce of the menus displayed outside the traditional bars and restaurants before deciding on the splendid "Bar Restaurante Reberte". We opted for one of the set 'Menu del Dia' and we weren't disappointed, especially with the highlight Cochinillo Asado, or roast Suckling Pig. Brilliant food, brilliant service and brilliant value.

We fell out of the restaurant with very full tummies and that all-over glow of satisfaction that can only be had after an enormous feed in good company, washed down with some decent wine, and at an unbelievably low price.


Pedraza is really well worth a detour if you’re in the vicinity. It is beautifully kept and its ancient streets snake out from the wonderful galleried square that clearly was and probably still is the heart of the town. Pedraza also benefits from a picture book castle. I’m afraid I’ve no idea what the castle does or did because it was shut but it certainly makes for some very nice photos. It was whilst walking round this lovely town that I asked Frank, Ana and Lynda if they could travel through time but only in one direction, would it be to the past or to the future? This caused much furrowing of brows as there were many benfits to both. I'd go backwards I said, as too did Lynda. Frank opted for going to the future and doing something noble for all mankind like bringing back the cure to something terrible. A little less noble was my thought that I'd only go forward till the next Euromillions draw and come back with the winning numbers. I think Ana just thought I was stupid and couldn't are less which way she went as long as it ended up at home.

Time was however inevitably moving on, but we’d managed already to pack so much into the day. There was room however for one more stop before we turned south for Madrid, and once again we weren’t disappointed. After a glorious winding drive through pine forests carpeted with fallen golden leaves and lit by the low autumn sun, we arrived at Rascafria, and the Hotel Santa Maria del El Paular.

Not surprisingly given its strong Catholic tradition, just about every building we’ve ever visited in Spain was, is, or is scheduled to become some kind of religious establishment. This hotel, a former monastery, was no different. Now a 5* pile in the Sheraton empire it made for a splendid coffee and loo stop before making our way back home.

Saturday once again confounded the meteorologists by serving up another sun-kissed morning. The bad weather had been scooped up and given a hefty shove westwards, which whilst bad news for the citizens of Valencia, was great stuff for us in the capital. And indeed it was there we headed this morning having first dropped Sofi, Carla and Andy at their various painting, dancing, boxing, bricklaying, etc classes. We parked up just off Gran Via and slowly meandered down past and through the many shops and cafes on the way through to Chueca. Bored of waiting

for Ana and Lynda outside just about every shoe-shop in the district, Frank, Pablo and I drifted into a newly refurbished indoor market and marvelled at the produce stalls on the ground floor and then the wonderful bars on the first floor. Sadly I don’t know the name of this splendid place so if you want to know what it’s called you’ll have to go there and do the walk yourselves!!

Sunday was once again such a beautiful day that we decided the wraps would come off the BBQ. The morning saw some furious activity in and around the kitchen in preparation for the afternoon’s feast. Numerous BBQ’d sausages and pieces of meat, dished up with salads, grilled peppers and the freshest bread ever followed. Wine and beer of course featured strongly, and fortunately our splendid hosts keep a fine, both in terms of quantity and quality, of both. This raised the time travel question again and it must be said that Pablo, like his father like son I suppose, also opted for a choice based on the good of mankind. His involved travelling back in time and doing for one or two famous "ne'r do wells" from history. I was still fixated however on winning the lottery.

After such a feed we only had two options really; a big old snooze or far healthier, a nice long walk. See, you were wrong weren’t you? You thought we all scrapped for the sofas I bet. Well, we actually went for the walk option which took in some of the recently established parks near the house, and some serious snooping at some of the posh houses on the route back to Frank and Ana’s posh house.

We woke the next day with mixed feelings; we were looking forward to a day with the kids as Frank & Ana were at work, but we were disappointed that we were flying home that evening. One of the great (of many) things about the kids is that they are so easy to entertain and this morning was a perfect example of that. Lynda and I had promised Sofi a trip to the local designer mall to get her a present of something nice to wear. This resulted in our very own conga line to the shops, a whirl round the girly outlets, then back to the town centre before walking home again. Almost four hours walking but lots of laughing and not a single complaint, and all fuelled by a couple of ice creams and a bag of Halloween sweeties!! What splendid chaps they are, and how we miss them and their parents now we’re home.

Easyjet were once again faultless in jetting back home on time, Luton Airport was its usual crappy self - a place that seems to be run for its own benefit and profit; screwing its passengers out of every last penny it can at every opportunity whilst making it as inconvenient as possible for those travelling near or through it. That’s my perception, and that of several of my friends and family that are forced by convenience to endure its complete contempt of those that actually keep it open. Despite that, our overwhelming feeling was a very warm one, the same as every visit to the family out there. Once again they fed, watered and bedded us down wonderfully. They showed us new sights and gave us new experiences and laughed a good deal with us. They even arranged for the sun to shine. All in all, most holiday boxes were well and truly ticked. The wine got home safe and sound too - thanks Frank!!

And the time travel question? I guess having had such a good time and enjoyed so much during our trip I can only conclude the best time to be anywhere is right now. Stop moaning about it, enjoy it, live it. Think less, feel more because it can all disappear so very quickly and easily.

11th – 13th September – It’s not grim up North

It’s mine and Lynda’s very good fortune to have a wonderful circle of friends and family with whom we share many good times and sadly but mercifully rare, some bad ones too. Our photo albums, computer hard drive and indeed these pages are all testimony to the brilliant fun we’ve enjoyed with our nearest and dearest. It’s also our extremely good fortune that a very agreeable number of those we clasp closest to our bosom either live in or own property in some delightful locations, either in the UK, abroad or in some cases both. In fact I think I’ll make it a rule from now on – You want to be our friend? Well, show us your property portfolio first.

I joke, honest.

The latest addition to our expanding choice of ‘Great places to stay with friends and family’ nestles very nicely in the East Riding of Yorkshire, it being where Rowena and Rollie (or R&R as we lazily refer to them collectively) have chosen to make their home from home. The ink from R&R’s signatures had barely dried on the deeds and already, foolishly some would say, they opened their door, spare bed, fridge and drinks cupboard to us for a long weekend.

The car loaded up, fully fuelled and tyre pressures checked we left the house mid-morning on the Friday and had a very pleasant journey in thankfully free-flowing traffic. As we drove into the village we knew straight away we were going to like it. It’s very idyllic; its centre dominated by a beautiful, stream- fringed church, opposite which, as is the case in most English villages, sits the pub. The village, picturesque enough as it is, on that particular day was further enhanced by being bathed in the late summer sunshine. As we parked the car outside the house, the front door opened and out stepped Rowena and a waggly-tailed Daisy to greet us. Rowena & Rollie were fortunate enough in not only finding a perfectly positioned and appointed home, but also one that needed almost nothing doing to it before they moved in their bits and pieces. Clearly though they’d very worked hard in the short time they’d had the house to get their furniture and other possessions in, and to stamp their personalities on it. After we unloaded the car and had a guided tour we sat for a while drinking coffee, chatting and soaking up the afternoon sun in the cosy and very individually landscaped garden.

Lynda & Daisy in the garden pre-walkies

The village centre

Rollie was still at work and so we took advantage of the time before he got home to take Daisy for a walk through the village and into some of the beautiful surrounding countryside. At one point we were able to see across to the Humber Estuary and the Humber Bridge, a quite spectacular and unexpected sight. We’d only been in the village for a couple of hours but already Lynda and I felt as relaxed as being on holiday.

Once Rollie was home the champagne cork was popped and the weekend really got underway. R&R had put a good deal of thought into an itinerary for time together and after draining our glasses and a spot of fabulisation we were on our way to dinner in Market Weighton (pronounced weeton I’m assured) for dinner, borne in the leather cosseted luxury of Rollie’s new car. The four of us love Indian food and in choosing The Bengal Brasserie R&R had made sure we weren’t disappointed. www.bengal-brasserie.com

After what was a rather excellent meal (superb chom-chom) we left the restaurant and took a stroll up the High Street to take a look at a statue that Rollie was particularly keen to show us of one of the town’s most celebrated sons. We made many quite silly guesses as to who it might be but were way off the mark. It turned out to be a life-sized statue of William Bradley (1787-1820), who at twenty years old stood a staggering seven feet and nine inches tall and weighed twenty seven stones. He was in fact Britain’s tallest ever man and still immensely respected in the town. A date for your diaries; the next Market Weighton ‘Giant Bradley Day’ will be held on Sunday 30th May 2010. www.wicstun.com/giant.html

Saturday morning was once more beautifully sunny, perfect for our planned trip into Beverley. Apart from it having a race course Lynda and I knew nothing of the town and so were looking forward to exploring it. We were really taken with the place. Beverley is a lovely old and traditional market town with lots of history and historic buildings, including the fabulous Minster, which that day was hosting at least two weddings, both of which were going on as we arrived. Saturday is also one of Beverley’s market days, Wednesday being its other, and the market was in full swing as we arrived.

Only there a fortnight but Rollie's already established a foothold

Beverley, its market & Lynda - all glorious in the sunshine

Once again we were really impressed by the market both for its variety of offerings and for the very reasonable prices. After a spot of shopping that included four of the largest pasties we’ve ever seen – ‘Phat Boys’ as they’re appropriately named – we walked through more of the shop-lined streets (closed to traffic which was great) to the Minster. Because of the weddings we couldn’t go inside but that’s something we’d definitely like to do on another trip. Leaving the Minster we decided to find a nice bench in the glorious sunshine on which to see-off our monsters of pastry and meat. By chance Lynda spotted a sign for picnic tables pointing down a side road. We were delighted to find the sign referred to the YHA, which here was a beautifully restored and converted Dominican Friary, dating back at least as far as, and even referred to in the ‘Canterbury Tales’. www.yha.org.uk/find-accommodation/yorkshire-wold-moors-coast/hostels/Beverley-friary/index.aspx

Beverley's Youth Hostel - lucky Beverley youths

Rowena puts a brave face as she struggles with the giant 'Phat Boy'

The lunch polished off and a quick tour around the outside of the Friary taken, we walked back into town to the Kings Head Hotel and a slurp of what Rollie promised us would be a very splendid beer, Jennings Bitter. At 3.5% strength it is, as was perfectly described by our very pleasant barmaid (or whatever it is that we’re meant to call them these days) a good “session beer”. I could see what she meant; it did not disappoint and but for the promise of more champagne back at the house I could easily have seen us staying there a good deal longer. It’s worth having a look at the Kings Head’s website as although they’re not all listed here; they were offering some amazing deals on food, drink and accommodation.

www.marstonsinns.co.uk/Home/hotels/hotel-beverley/kings-head

Beverley's beautiful Minster

From there we walked on to another Beverley highlight, the White Horse, or ‘Nellie’s’ as it’s better known locally. It’s got to be a stopping off point for any trip to or near to Beverley. In the gas-lit snugs and narrow passages you could be forgiven to expect Old Bill Barley, Bill Sikes, Seth Pecksniff or any other Dickens character to appear beer in hand and take a seat nearby. http://www.nellies.co.uk/

We went back home to a very excited Daisy who clearly knew that her lunch and a good walk were on the cards. The sun was still exceptionally warm as once again we rambled across the surrounding countryside; across fields and through woods, stopping occasionally for a bit of a breather and to curse the fact we’d forgotten to pick up the hip flask.

Back at the house we showered and changed and saw-off another bottle of champers, together with a very unusual but very tasty bottle of Blanc de Noir Rosé. The bottle had survived the journey back from R&R’s recent trip to South Africa, but only managed to survive about half an hour from when the cork was extracted. Beautiful it was too.

Forever the Champagne Charlies. Rollie expertly coaxes a cork out and we're very grateful he did

Dinner that night was another treat. We were booked into the Hotham Arms at Hotham. Rollie had told us the place was very different, indeed bordering on the eccentric and he was spot on. Approaching the pub it appears to be no different from most but once in the car park you can see there’s something that sets this place apart. The first clue that the owners have a bit more imagination than most was when we saw that the walls and trees around the car park are all covered with old enamelled tobacco and cigarette signs, odd nick-knacks like small antique bottles and other unusual make-shift but charming baubles. Adjacent to the main part of the pub is what we guessed is the smokers’ facility; brick built and open-sided but complete with dining table and chairs, chandelier, fireplace and even a television. Inside the pub is much, much more of the same. We were very warmly greeted by who we learnt was the owner, decked out in chef’s whites and looking and sounding right away like someone that we were going to like and was likely to facilitate a very good night out. The walls and shelves are covered with collections of all manner, shape, size and ages, ranging from still sealed reel-to-reel teach yourself French tapes to a Dan Dare ‘Laser’ gun. A bakelite TV set from the early sixties here, a set of encyclopaedia there, all of which looked really interesting and none of which was at all cheesy or modern chain pubby in the least. I found out by chatting to the owner (whose name I’m maddened by being unable to remember – you’ll see why later) that all this stuff is only a fraction of what he’s collected over a lifetime. Mock (I think mock although I wouldn’t be surprised if they were real) Tiffany lampshades hang from the ceiling and bathe the wood panelled walls in a very comfortable, soft light. The menu is excellent and the food superb. The wine list is brilliant, “Red, White or Rosé” the waitress told us. No chateaux, no vintages, just what colour would you like. It wouldn’t suit everyone but it worked well for us. The red was lovely and complimented all four of our main meal choices perfectly. I have to stress here that although drink flowed freely this weekend Rollie was always meticulously abstemious when he was driving or going to have to drive. Silly we often are, stupid he definitely is not.

Part of the amazing interior of the Hotham Arms

The food, drink, service and general bonhomie was top notch, and the place was heaving. Surprising therefore that not only does this place not bother with a website – it clearly doesn’t need one – but googling it produces nothing either. Maybe they want to keep it secret? Apologies for mentioning it here if that’s the case.

After driving back and parking the car we walked to the local and spent a very agreeable hour trying out their wine, beer and coffee before going back to the house for Port (only a small bottle you understand) some Brandy and some pretty damn fine music and chat before falling – literally – into bed. This is why as the time of writing this I do well to remember my own name, let alone that of the splendid landlord of the Hotham Arms.

An understandably very blurred photo - that's how it looked through our eyes too

On Sunday morning, once more perked up by a good night’s snoozing, the smell of bacon enticed me and Lynda from our bed, into the shower and downstairs where Rowena had been working away on a fantastic Eggs Benedict while Rollie set the table. We demolished that in pretty short order and not long after were once again walking in the local area to not only give Daisy some much appreciated exercise but to blow away one or two of our own cobwebs from the night before. The original intention had been to head for Hull a few miles away where there was a weekend of great activity centred on Clippers, something to do with the slave trade and if memory serves some sort of concert. We’d been tipped off however that the place was so full of people that parking and moving about was nigh on impossible so rather sensibly we abandoned that idea. The Red Arrows had been due to do a fly-past, which we ought to have been able to see from where we walked. Whether the dull, cloudy skies that dominated Sunday morning had forced them to re-think their plans or we simply missed it we don’t know, but we certainly didn’t see or hear them.

Back at the house we slumped in front of the Italian Grand Prix while Rowena once again hit the kitchen and whipped up another culinary storm, this time a marvellous ‘Boil in the Bag’ Beef Wellington accompanied by some excellent veg – especially the roasted beetroot – and another of R&R’s excellent South African wines, this time a silky smooth and beautifully rich Shiraz.

With lunch over we realised that all of a sudden so was our weekend. Rowena needed to travel back with us, which meant having to say a really sad goodbye to Rollie. It felt bad enough to Lynda and me leaving Rollie on his own there after such a good time together, so it must have been really hard for Rowena to leave him behind.

It was a really brilliant weekend. We’d had a fantastic time with R&R, whose company is always a treat, and they made sure that we lacked nothing while we were their guests. The food, drink, and trips out were all perfectly planned and executed and we enjoyed every single moment of the three days together. It’s really nice that we’ve seen their house and the village so that we can visualise it all when we’re back home and talking and emailing with them. It also confirms once again our long-held belief that the UK is as good as anywhere in the world for a holiday. It has its faults no doubt, but it also has history, beauty and character in spade-fulls. Helps when the sun’s shining on it too.

Thanks so much to R&R for everything; we hope we haven’t put you off having us again! It was an honour to be your first guests chaps – much appreciated.

8th - 15th August 2009 - Norfolk and Good

This year, May and June had some wonderfully sunny days, even remarkably at the weekends. The smells and sounds of barbecues drifting over garden hedges and fences, the very English drone of lawnmowers, girls going about their business in strappy tops that displayed their obvious reckless over exposure to the till then rare sunshine and the Met Office predicting a ‘Scorcher’ of a summer, all gave us hope that we weren’t, as in the last few years, going to spend the holiday season watching it from behind rain-lashed windows. However that was all very short-lived as soon the climate reverted to type and down came the rain.

Like millions of other Brits, and of course a pretty hefty number of foreign visitors, we were looking forward to a UK-based holiday in August, and like all those other Brits and foreign visitors we had our fingers firmly crossed for if not beautiful sunshine, then at least a week where it didn’t rain every day. Six foreigners in particular shared that sentiment, and were looking forward to a few weeks escape from the boiling cauldron that is Madrid in the summer for the cooler UK climate. Frank, Ana, Pablo, Sofi, Andrea and Carla were due to arrive at the end of July for their annual summer family visit, and we had a week’s holiday arranged with them and Mum in Sheringham (thanks Scotty) in mid-August. They were going to get plenty of ‘cool’ we thought. In the run-up to their arrival we’d seen enough rain to warrant gathering two of each species of animal, sticking them on one of Cunard’s finest and heading off to the Caribbean until it stopped pouring, or the on-board bar ran out.

They arrived and still it rained. We were a week away from Sheringham and though the rain wasn’t going to spoil our holiday, Lynda and I were hastily considering our wet-weather options.

In the event we needn’t have worried. We collected our hire car on the Saturday morning in bright sunshine, loaded it and our own car with people, luggage and a vast picnic and set off for our first stop – collect the kids. They’d spent the last week at a Hogwarts look-alike private school in Suffolk enjoying (immensely as it turned out) an activity holiday with a herd of other foreign kids. We chucked them and their dirty laundry into the cars and in no time at all the grown-ups were stretched out on picnic blankets on the sun-washed Southwold beach nursing their over-stuffed stomachs while the girls and Pablo dug huge pointless holes and made sand castles. The holiday had started very well.

When finally we were able to move again we packed up, had a short walk around the town and then motored on to Sheringham. Thanks to our great friend Scotty we were lucky enough to have a wonderfully large, well equipped and perfectly located house to stay in for the week, which was soon full of our holiday ‘stuff’. As it was a beautiful evening, and more to the point as we’d been promising the kids fish & chips, we walked down to the sea only to find we’d arrived in the middle of the Sheringham Festival. The streets near the front were full of happy holiday makers dancing to the live bands, and once we’d had our much anticipated seaside feast and ice cream we soon joined in too – much to Sofi’s embarrassment. It was here that Carla came out with one of the holiday’s more memorable quotes. She and Sofi were bickering as only sisters can. Sofi told her “you’re stupid and everyone knows it”. “No” answered Carla firmly, “not everyone knows it”. That night we all slept very well indeed.

Mmmm.....chips....

We’d already decided that we’d take this break at a very leisurely pace and try to make the most of what was on our doorstep. Originally a fishing village made popular following its discovery by white collar Londoners as a quaint holiday destination, Sheringham is a lovely old seaside town, set in some fantastic countryside and circled by many wonderful places to visit with lots to see and do. It has an old world feel to it, mainly due to its architecture and to its traditional shops, pubs and seafront. It’s well served for facilities, including a range of restaurants, local supermarkets and even an appropriate sprinkling of charity shops – an essential requirement for the kids and their holiday cash. It’s also home to the North Norfolk Railway Poppy Line, a beautiful preserved and well run salute to the pre-Beeching age of rail travel between Sheringham and Holt only about six miles away, stopping at Weybourne en-route. A great source of info on the town, its amenities and its history can be found at www.experiencesheringham.com

Sunday; the festival still in full flow and the sun once again shining we decided to stay in town. After the manic rush for breakfast and the bathroom we ambled into down the High Street and on to the seafront. Carla and Andi had stopped on the way to buy buckets and spades and were determined to create enormous and elaborate sand castles. Their disappointment was not hidden in the slightest then when we got to the beach to find it made up of very large stones. Lynda, ever one to seek a solution for all eventualities, asked the nearby kiosk owner where in the locality we could find a sandy beach. “Right here” said the cheery chap. “Give it half an hour for the tide to go out”. So, slightly embarrassed by our lack of nautical knowings, we spent a couple of hours drooling over the large and splendid collection of classic cars on display in the town before nipping back down to the beach, seeing off yet another large picnic and spending the rest of the day burying Andi in a mermaid-shaped hole. Mum then came out with memorable quote of the holiday number two. Messing about with a towel, Pablo wrapped it turban-like around Mum’s head, which the wind promptly whipped off and dropped over her face. “Oh no” said a startled Mum, “I can’t see my eyes”. That evening Frank, Lynda, Pablo, Mum and me walked to the nearby Leisure centre to join the modest crowd watching the lovely firework display that marked the end of the festival.

Enjoying Sheringham on Sunday

Pablo picks his favourite 'classic'

Forever a soft spot for the MX-5

Andi mermaid

Grand Designs

Super Nan

Lynda can't believe the sunshine

Sofi loving the camera

Finished for the day, Carla & Andi's own 'scorched earth' policy

Hard work these sandcastles

It's party time ~ Samba in Sheringham

By Monday morning we’d got breakfast and bathing off to military precision, which enabled us to present ourselves relatively early at the ticket office of the North Norfolk Railway. www.nnrailway.co.uk. The station is a real look back at a long-gone age of rail travel. It’s a romantic view of railways which for most commuters is unrecognisable today. The station looks as it’s straight out of ‘Brief Encounter’ – not the space ship film, the romantic one with Trevor and Celia. As I watched the train standing in the platform with its magnificent almost animal-like engine idling, ready to haul us away from Sheringham, I have to confess that for the briefest of moments I was a young boy again, excited at the prospect of riding in the corridored carriage with its separate compartments, just like those in ‘From Russia with Love’. How many spies and furtive lovers had ridden the train before us? How many dapper Belgian detectives had twirled their waxed moustaches before revealing who did it in the very train we were about to board? Probably none to be honest, but it was fun to speculate.

At Sheringham Station

Sofi travels light

A monster of steam, and a train in the background

Only first class will do

"What happens if I press this then?"

Holt ~ the end of the line, and our first stop

The route takes you a few miles up the coast to the first stop at Weybourne before swinging inland to Holt, the final destination. We decided to go all the way and then call in at Weybourne on the return leg of the trip. Holt station is about a mile out of the lovely Georgian town itself so we walked to the nearest bus stop (we dallied a bit too long in the café / gift shop to get on the complimentary bus service between the station and town centre) and caught a ride into town. Holt is a very charming place to visit, and is almost a museum of Georgian architecture having been destroyed by fire and then rebuilt in the early eighteenth century. Have a look at www.tournorfolk.co.uk/holt.html for more info and great pictures. We had a good wander around, including a visit to the splendid food hall of ‘Bakers & Larners of Holt’ www.bakersandlarners.co.uk before sheltering from the first rain of the break in a very pleasant fish & chip restaurant. Yes, I know, fish & chips again. Well, we were on holiday…..and it was raining.

On the Buses

We got to Weybourne on the trip back a little later than planned so contented ourselves with enjoying the station itself. There’s plenty to occupy an hour – the shop, waiting room, the signal box and the very enjoyable and nostalgic display of all the TV shows and films that have used the line and station as locations, including Dad’s Army and other Perry & Croft classic comedies. Back on the train and back to Sheringham to finish off what had been a wonderful day with a well-earned ice cream. Ah, nostalgia is definitely not what it used to be.

Weybourne. I'm sure Sofi's got more luggage

Ana relaxing on the homeward leg of the trip

A very odd train spotter

This staying local lark was working out really well and so on Tuesday we called in at Sheringham Park, once again you’ll not be surprised to learn, armed with a pretty devastating picnic put together by Ana and Lynda from a visit the local butcher cum Deli that morning. Of all the wonderful places we visited and things we did during this holiday Sheringham Park was the biggest surprise www.nationaltrust.org.uk/main/w-sheringhampark It’s really, really lovely. The National Trust has done a fantastic job of maintaining a network of walks through this erstwhile country squire’s pile. There’s a temple in the grounds, a rather nice main house and our favourite bit, an observation tower with views over the coastline that take in the railway line and a lovely windmill. We inadvertently timed our climb up there (and it is a bit of a climb) to coincide with a steam train rolling by. The scene was perfect; the coastline, the train and windmill behind them both, and the sea beyond them all – fantastic. All this for only £4 per car.

Sheringham Park's collection of rare Spanish monkeys

The house itself

On the observation platform

....and the incredible view

Frank looking for all the world as if he was born to it

Mmm...where shall I put the Orangery?

Pablo & Andi wearing off the picnic

After our lunch and a great deal of laughter sat at a picnic table in the grounds we climbed back into the cars and decided to make our way a bit further along the coast to Holkham where we’d heard there’s a pretty impressive beach. We weren’t disappointed; ‘impressive’ is definitely the right word. We’d arrived around four thirty and the tide was about its furthest distance out, revealing a vast and beautiful expanse of sand and dunes. The walk to the sea itself must have been at least half a mile but it was well worth it. We gathered shells, went for a paddle – until we saw the jelly fish – took photos, chatted and laughed. It’s a truly wonderful spot, breathtaking in its scale and beauty. What we didn’t realise is that it also boasts a naturist beach – that is the right word isn’t it – nudies, not animal lovers, although I’m sure the two aren’t mutually exclusive - I think I’ll stop right there actually. We enjoyed a lovely couple of hours there before we set off for home.

On the way we passed the ruins of Binham Priory, or Abbey depending on who you talk to. Ruins are a magnet to Ana – probably what first attracted to her Frank – so it was no surprise when the walkie-talkie in our car crackled to life with her suggestion that we stop for a look around. It’s quite a place actually, and apparently an important one from an historical point of view. Check out http://www.norfarchtrust.org.uk/binham/index.htm for more info.

After getting home Frank and me nipped into Sheringham’s excellent ‘Labone’ Indian Restaurant, ordering enough food to sustain the local football team, which naturally we all made short work of over the course of the evening. http://www.gourmetsociety.co.uk/restaurants/labone_indian_cuisine_sheringham.html

The one day we had really prayed for dry weather, whatever else it did for the rest of the week, was Wednesday. We had a twelve-seater day boat booked for a day’s exploration of a bit of the Norfolk Broads. It really needed to be dry to make the most of our vessel and our time in it. Naturally then it was absolutely pissing it down when we woke up on Wednesday morning.

HMS Picnic

We got ourselves up, organised and out very early and by quarter to nine were standing on the quay of Phoenix Fleet at Potter Heigham on the River Bure, strapping life jackets to the kids and loading the inevitable picnic onto the boat. A few brief instructions from the owners and we were off, albeit with the covers on, heading for Horning. Two minutes into the trip and I broke out my great surprise – Pirate hats!! Not very original I know but bloody funny none the less.

We were soon cruising at a pulse raising four miles per hour, dodging and weaving between much larger vessels. All of us took turns at the helm and some even made the most of the gentle cruising time by stretching out in the first class lounge. By eleven o’clock the sun was out, the covers came off and we were thinking about our first stop and a coffee. We ‘heaved to’ or ‘dropped anchor’ or whatever the term is, at Ranworth Broad Nature Reserve and an inspired stopping point it turned out to be. www.norfolkwildlifetrust.org.uk/naturereserves It’s a beautiful spot with a charming thatch-roofed shop / observation area. It also sold coffee – out of a machine but surprisingly good. A few minutes of bird watching followed by a much needed comfort break and we were off again. No loos on our boat!!

The nature reserve

Steerage passengers enjoy a rare top deck visit whilst others relax in first class

After an extremely relaxing hour or so’s bob along the river we arrived at Horning. www.tournorfolk.co.uk/horning.html The approach to the town is lined with some fabulous houses whose gardens run down to the water’s edge and invariably sport a boathouse of some description. We managed to moor up right outside Horning’s lovely Swan Inn. www.vintageinn.co.uk/theswaninnhorning Apart from the very persistent wasps, it’s a great stop. The pub is very friendly, well stocked with excellent beers and lagers and serves what looked to us like very good food. We didn’t eat there as we’d brought our own picnic along – you’d have been disappointed otherwise wouldn’t you? – but we bought some drinks back to the boat and tucked into them and the mass of pork pies, sandwiches, crisps and much more that we’d packed up that morning. When there was nothing left to eat we took a very leisurely walk around the village. We’d been there before on our last visit to the area and had enjoyed it so much we were delighted when we realised we could reach again this trip by boat.

Ana took the helm for most of the return trip whilst the rest of us just chilled out and took in the sights. We did make one stop though at the very unusual and significant St Benet’s Abbey. Significant because founded in the eleventh century, it was at its height one of the wealthiest Benedictine houses in Britain. Its decline however pre-dated the reformation and it fell into ruins. The unusual bit is because in the eighteenth century some enterprising cove no doubt hoping to save a few groats on bricks thought it would be a good idea to use some of the ruins to form part of the walls of his new windmill. So now what’s left of what was the Abbey’s gatehouse also has an en-suite windmill. Sadly in 1863 its top blew off in a hefty gale but the remains are still very much worth a look. It even is supposed to have a ghost – a low-life monk who “can be seen hanging from the bell tower” every 25^th May. We got back to Potter Heigham delighted with our day.

That very odd windmill / Abbey thing

Another of the many windmills

Enjoying the ride back to Potter Heigham

Thursday arrived in brilliant sunshine and today’s plan was to wear the kids out completely with a trip to Hunstanton www.hunstanton-on-line.co.uk Once again a typical seaside town; much busier than Sheringham but less gaudy than many of its UK counterparts. In fact I’d say it’s pretty spot-on really. There are the usual funfair and chip shops, but at the same time it has beautiful gardens, excellent views, some lovely old buildings and a general old-world neatness and order to it. Plus it’s got ponies! Luckily as it happens because what the girls had been looking forward to most on this trip was a ride on the ponies at Hunstanton Beach. Had they not been there….well….let’s just say it would have been pretty unpleasant. We started the day further along the coast though, playing on the totally un-commercialised end of Hunstanton beach where we also enjoyed our picnic lunch.

A post-picnic Power Nap ~ an essential aid to coping with the demands of any holiday

From there we took the very scenic cliff-top walk into the town to the commercial end and quickly spotted those ponies. The girls loved their rides, despite Carla’s mount stopping mid-way to let loose a fairly hefty seaside package.

Our next stop was the funfair, and a huge amount of fun it was too. The kids ran from one ride to the next, the noisiest and most excited kid of all though was Lynda who threw herself into all the rides with equal if not more spirit and energy of the rest of them.

Back home that evening Pablo treated us to an after-dinner performance of close-up magic. It was excellent and he held our attention totally for the half an hour that he went through his recently acquired repertoire. He was brilliant, possessing all the banter and showmanship of a seasoned performer. Whatever else he does in life – music, film, whatever – he can certainly add magic as a string to his bow.

The next day was our last full day and we’d saved a very special trip till then. We were off to see the seals off Blakeney Point. We pitched up at Morestaine Quay in the morning and climbed aboard our Bean’s Boat www.beansboattrips.co.uk and were soon putt-putting out to the open water and the seals.

The short trip out is lovely enough but the seals stretched out on the sand in the sun were lovely to watch. Hardly elegant and not particularly beautiful – bit like me really – they’re none the less captivating and have an awesome ‘ah’ factor – again, a bit like me. We all loved our time with them and hopped from one side of the boat to the other to catch a glimpse of those seals brave and inquisitive enough to swim out to say hello to us.

From the quay we then drove to Wells, another of the splendid Norfolk coastal towns, with the main aim of a spot of crab fishing. We parked up and walked to the shops by the quay to our first stop to buy the crab lines and bait. To be honest the bacon bait looked so nice I was tempted to eat it myself. Anyway, bait nibbling resisted we unfurled the lines and were soon wearing the same faces of excited optimism as the scores of other people – mainly kids – hanging over the railings. That look lasted about five minutes. Carla had a bite within thirty seconds of dangling her line but lost the side-shuffling git when she tried to haul it in. That was it. Not a sniff of a crab on any of our lines for the next hour and a half. There was only one thing for it – picnic time. The nearby playground provided an excellent venue not only for lunch but for attempting to launch the kids’ new kite. I don’t know why they buy them to be honest because their track record isn’t exactly on a par with the Wright brothers, and so after a very frustrating half an hour of tweaking, throwing, running and swearing we gave up on the kite. Lynda and I thought a walk was in order and we spent a bit of time exploring some of the lovely and quaint Wells back streets. We loved it – no surprise as we feel the same about the whole area – and have pledged a return visit for some more exploration, especially of the very appealing pubs and restaurants. We all went back to the crab lines but knew it was time to pack up when ‘casting’ his, Pablo forgot he needed to hang on to one end and threw the whole lot into the water.

Our holiday home ~ courtesy of Scotty

Friday evening was a special one as it was the eve of the Carla and Andi’s ninth birthdays and we’d planned a bit of a party for them. As soon as we got back we draped banners around the dining room and filled it with balloons, then all enjoyed one of Ana’s excellent signature rice dishes as we partied and the girls blew out their birthday candles. The night was rounded off with a special ‘Birthday in Sheringham’ game of Question Chair, which as always had us falling about laughing before falling wearily but contentedly into bed.

Happy Birthday girls

How long before they're too big ~ or I'm too feeble ~ to play Question Chair?

Saturday morning was not the usual departure day mad scramble. We were organised and each of us had fallen un-bidden into a useful role in the house’s evacuation. By noon we were packed, the house cleaned top to bottom, the cars loaded and pulling away from our lovely holiday home.

Approaching our real home some time later, nine stomachs rumbled as one and the walkie-talkies were soon in use to plan lunch. We settled on an all you can eat Chinese buffet, which was superb and really hit the spot, especially for the birthday girls. It was a perfect end to a perfect trip.

We all agreed it had been a brilliant holiday and that we’d been really surprised that even by taking things at an easy, leisurely pace we’d still done and seen so much. Undoubtedly North Norfolk is a brilliant place. There’s so much to enjoy and we only scratched the surface. But it was a lovely scratch and can’t wait to do it again. As always there are people to thank; Scotty, Em and Alex for the house. Thanks so much, it’s a lovely house and absolutely perfect for us. Your generosity is so much appreciated. Mum, Frank, Ana and the kids – you gave us so many laughs (and excellent meals) and your warmth and generosity again are as always much appreciated. Lynda – it’s nothing without you.