Easter in two pictures
Apr. 8th, 2015 10:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shewhomustStill busy, catching up with work, caught up with local campaigning Stuff; and it's not as if Bank Holidays are a big deal when you set your own working hours anyway. Nonetheless, the short version, with pictures.
Worked Saturday, and Sunday morning. On Sunday afternoon we went out, as we often do on my father's birthday, to Finchale Abbey by the Wear, where he spent holidays as a child. It was a place of legend in my own childhood: my mother told us wild invented stories, but my father responded to the demand "Tell us about when you were a little boy!" with tales of camping at Finchale, taking a jug to the farm to buy milk, building a raft with his brothers... I think of him often, but Finchale's a good place to do it. Sunday was the first really sunny day we've had, and we wandered around the abbey ruind, feeling overdressed:
On Monday we joined S., who has been training for a holiday in the summer by walking the Northumberland Coastal Path. It was a fine day when we set out, but as we drove up through Northumberland, the mist closed in on us:
We parked at the Druridge Bay visitor centre, and walked along the beach, the dunes hazy to our left, the sea noisy but invisible to our right, other walkers appearing from nowhere as grey silhouettes. S. found the effect spooky, and perhaps it was, but I liked it. We passed the site of the rescue excavations at Low Hauxley, where the peat beds are emergenging from the dunes and being lost to the sea. At the very outskirt of Amble we came to The Old Storehouse, a large and slightly chichi pub which served us fish and chips for lunch (served on a plank, garnished with pea shoots, but with small plastic tubs of tartare sauce and mushy peas - see what I mean by 'chichi'?). We could probably have done better if we'd carried on into town, but we'd have had ro walk further, and we'd have had to walk it twice (once in each direction), so by the end of the day I was very glad we hadn't - I'm quite unfit.
By the afternoon, the mist had thinned a little, and the tide had come in too, so the sea was visible, though the foghorn was still sounding, and the wind had grown colder. On the beach, a man stopped to tell us "It's twenty degrees in Newcastle, y'knaa!"
Worked Saturday, and Sunday morning. On Sunday afternoon we went out, as we often do on my father's birthday, to Finchale Abbey by the Wear, where he spent holidays as a child. It was a place of legend in my own childhood: my mother told us wild invented stories, but my father responded to the demand "Tell us about when you were a little boy!" with tales of camping at Finchale, taking a jug to the farm to buy milk, building a raft with his brothers... I think of him often, but Finchale's a good place to do it. Sunday was the first really sunny day we've had, and we wandered around the abbey ruind, feeling overdressed:
On Monday we joined S., who has been training for a holiday in the summer by walking the Northumberland Coastal Path. It was a fine day when we set out, but as we drove up through Northumberland, the mist closed in on us:
We parked at the Druridge Bay visitor centre, and walked along the beach, the dunes hazy to our left, the sea noisy but invisible to our right, other walkers appearing from nowhere as grey silhouettes. S. found the effect spooky, and perhaps it was, but I liked it. We passed the site of the rescue excavations at Low Hauxley, where the peat beds are emergenging from the dunes and being lost to the sea. At the very outskirt of Amble we came to The Old Storehouse, a large and slightly chichi pub which served us fish and chips for lunch (served on a plank, garnished with pea shoots, but with small plastic tubs of tartare sauce and mushy peas - see what I mean by 'chichi'?). We could probably have done better if we'd carried on into town, but we'd have had ro walk further, and we'd have had to walk it twice (once in each direction), so by the end of the day I was very glad we hadn't - I'm quite unfit.
By the afternoon, the mist had thinned a little, and the tide had come in too, so the sea was visible, though the foghorn was still sounding, and the wind had grown colder. On the beach, a man stopped to tell us "It's twenty degrees in Newcastle, y'knaa!"
