We've an autumn break away booked for late October, but one evening Herself suggested a long weekend away this month. We both put in leave requests and I started the search.
I'd managed to narrow the choice down to 3 or 4 sites in new areas we'd like to visit when Herself drops in the "I feel guilty about going away without Grumbles."
*Edit - Since we came back from Exebridge, Grumbles has been away on a wine tasting weekend to Windsor with his Golden Girls.*
The search recommenced, now with 'adjacent B&B' added to the shopping list of somewhere new to us and within walking distance to pub. At such short notice the task was proving impossible and one on that list had to be dropped!
Friday 20 September
I've got the wheel locks off and am clanking them together at 10am in an effort to get the Captain out of the shower to move his passion wagon out of the way. The van is filthy and in dire need of a wash before it goes anywhere. With no time to hand wash it at home I drag it down to Morrisons to give it the good news with a hot foam brush.
Herself and Grumbles are ready and waiting, and by 11.15am we're accelerating up the slip road at J48 and heading east. The traffic around Clartville is a nightmare, and we take a lot longer than usual to break free after the Celtic Manor.
Mixing it up a bit I fork left before the 2nd Severn Crossing, and cross the muddy water on the original bridge. The memories come flooding back as we feel the deck bouncing underneath us. Herself isn't impressed.
Pulling in through the gates of Tudor Caravan Park the skies look ominous and threatening. Setting up is a race against time, and I've not stowed the lump hammer away after banging in pegs when the heavens opened.
Boy did it come down, and it was accompanied by many flashes of lightening and claps of thunder.
We'd dropped Grumbles off at the lodge earlier and Herself's phone rings. He's hungry, very hungry. Thankfully it's stopped raining for now, so we head over to the Tudor Inn to embark on an evening of food and drink.
The trio of faggots were superb, and if you're down this way I can highly recommend them.
I'm not really a fan of the man, but I do like his beer. Clarkson's Hawkstone is a good slurping lager, and come 8pm I'm about 7 pints deep into my evening.
We're now being entertained though. Just the other side of the glass doors is a skittle alley. I didn't appreciate that skittles can be so serious. We watch on as chests get puffed out and middle aged men walk round like Johnny Bravo in an effort to intimidate the coffin dodgers on the other team.
Saturday 21 August
It's struggling to get light this morning and you don't need to open the blinds to work out what the weather's doing outside.
Post breakfast and it's cleared up enough to take the dogs for a stretch along the ship canal while the rest of the world also struggles to get enthusiastic enough to venture outside.
Trude's nose gets pointed in the direction of Cheltenham, where the internet tells me they've had a week long food and drink festival, with today being the climax at The Brewery Quarter, where there is to be a Chilli Fiesta. The web pages promise an unforgettable day filled with fiery fun, live music, delicious food and thrilling competitions. Something for everyone with local vendors selling their wares on street stalls.
We parked up at High St car park, clipped the dogs on and cut through onto High St and round the corner into Brewery Quarter. It would appear the promise of bad weather has curtailed plans somewhat, just two lonely stalls. One selling Gin and the other coffee. No sign either of a stage for live street entertainment, so we stop off at Brewdog for refreshments while waiting for things to liven up.
It didn't and we give up, setting off for a wander down to Imperial Circus and onto Promenade where a large craft market is taking place.
It takes us a while to get around, as rather surprisingly, it is quite interesting, even if the prices they're asking is miles outside my comfort zone. A lighter made from shot gun cartridge takes my fancy however, and at just £3 each I get myself 2.
Herself suggests making our way back to the Brewery Quarter to see if things are improving, and whilst there are a lot more people about, it's still just the two stalls and no sign of the live entertainment that should have kicked off quarter of an hour ago!
We take a table outside Brewdog once more where Herself had been a little taken by the menu earlier. Grumbles says he isn't hungry, but Herself knows him better than that. He doesn't really understand the menu as it doesn't feature things like Bangers and Mash, so herself suggests he may like Chicken wings, so despite not being hungry he asks for the biggest portion they do.
We're settled down waiting for our food, sipping on another "Cold Beer" when I fire up the Fiesta's web page. It appears the threat of bad weather has put a dampner on things, with the entertainment and competitions moving indoors to nearby Botanist Bar. I look up at the now cleared sky and think the organisers may have been a little hasty in making their decision.
The food arrives and I instantly break one of my teeth on my Loaded Fries (which are a little crispy). It didn't hurt, but the bit that worries me is that I retrieved just a small fragment from my mouth, but I'm missing a whole molar - Maybe it wasn't a crunchy fry that I was trying to chomp down on with the other side of my mouth!
Grumbles gets stuck into his wings, and he's getting into a right mess and has Sriracha sauce all over his chops. Passers by are slowing down to look and Herself is looking for a hole in the pavement to swallow her up. She offers a wet wipe but it's refused...
"There's no point until I've finished!"
and he carried on without a care in the world. Locals are now phoning their friends telling them to come along to watch an old man covering himself in Sriracha sauce outside Brewdog, maybe this being one of the eating competitions billed for the afternoon.
On completion the clean up operation necessitated all three of the "messy dog" wipes provided before he was respectable enough to be allowed to walk through the pub to the toilets to complete the operation!
We do have a picture, but I'll spare him the embarrassment of posting it here. Well, Herself's really as Grumbles couldn't give a shit. Herself asks me "At what age do you get to the stage that you really don't care?"
Back in Trude we head towards Gloucester, and in the unexpected sunshine we pull into Robinswood Hill Country Park to give Gwawr and Gwen some off lead time.
Rather pleased with ourselves at salvaging a decent day out we're back at the van just long enough to shower before heading back over to the Tudor Arms for the evening. As we're approaching I'm thinking to myself ....wait for it .... that I don't really fancy a beer tonight, but don't want to be sitting in a pub drinking Coke Zero all night. Approaching the bar I see they also have Hawkstone cider on tap, so order myself a pint to sample.
What a lovely slurping cider, not too fizzy and is almost a scrumpy in taste. The evening got messy, and by the time I've finished my Sea Bass and Noodles I've a bot of a buzz on as I get into a decent rhythm with my right arm.
We get talking to a couple from Cwmbran and the time flies. At one point though I had to do a double take, as I was convinced the ghost of Australia's favorite Nonce, Rolf Harris, rocked up and ordered himself a pint!
Herself and I leave Grumbles chomping down on a packet or three of Ready Salted as we pick our way through the puddles on the way back to the van.
Sunday 22 September
The forecast is proper mun for today and wet stuff is bouncing off the gravel road when we move up front for breakfast and a coffee and fire up the laptop looking for inspiration to fill the day. I'm pretty sure I can hear Noah going at it with a hammer in the field behind us and am fully expecting Morgan Freeman to float past in his Avon RIB any second!
A break in the torrent is my signal to take the dogs out for a walk along the canal while Herself goes to get Grumbles.
A swan with Roid Rage guards the entrance to the path as Gwawr and Gwen saunter past unperturbed, with more important things like have a pee on their minds.
I take a few seconds to admire a few of the Gin Palaces tied up before turning around loaded with a few bags of pleasantries to put in the bin before meeting up with Herself and Grumbles in the pub car park.
Herself hadn't told Grumbles where we were heading, and for a while he thought we were going home, but couldn't work out why we didn't have the caravan. Grumbles is a steam buff and Herself wanted to keep our destination as a surprise. He clocks the sign as we pull in off the B4234 and is all smiles.
Pulling into the deserted car park of the Dean Forest Railway Station at Norchard we've our doubts. Is this going to be another let down like Lynton? Hoping it's not going to be we take a quick look at a vintage bus and a "Moggie Thou".
We make our way round the corner into the yard where the ticket office is and wait for someone to show up.
Eventually a lovely little man rocks up and takes our money, explaining we've just missed the 11am and the next train is on platform 3 at 11.44am, but there's a shop and museum on platform 1 and the cafe is on platform 2.
We look around the shop and museum before heading up to Platform 2 and the cafe. What the lovely little man had neglected to tell us, and I don't know how, is that there are two other shops on Platform 2 selling books and miniature rolling stock. Perhaps he doesn't like the bloke running those shops?
With coffee and cake thrown down our necks we join a world of anoraks up on Platform 3 awaiting the arrival of the 11.44.
It comes and we jump on heading north, hoping the experience will be better that the last train ride in Devon. Grumbles upsets an anorak who's doing his very best to guard two windows for himself for photo opportunities. Grumbles doesn't do etiquette and barges the anorak out of the way to have a look.
We get to the end of the line at Parkend where the locomotive gets turned around and takes on water. I double take as I look up and the male occupying space on the footplate looks like he's not long stopped shitting yellow!
It seemed to take an eternity, but anoraks outside rushed around taking pictures of everything before we set off southwards to travel the length of the line to Lydney Junction where the locomotive was turned around once more to travel back up the line where we alight at Norchard having completed the round trip.
The cafe on Platform 2 gets some of our business before we walk back through 3 bus fulls of Saga's finest who have turned up unannounced and sent all the station staff into panic mode!
With the wipers swishing full pelt I take what's advertised as the scenic route back to site, up through the Forest of Dean. Why I bothered though is beyond me. Herself took the opportunity to embark on some personal contemplation time and Grumbles sat in the back grumbling that he doesn't know why it's called the scenic route as all he can see is trees and stuff!
A few hours relaxation in the van is called for before we head over to The Tudor for dinner. I've been looking forward to another helping of their faggots all day, so am dismayed when we're handed a thinned down Sunday menu because they're doing roasts.
Whilst the lamb was tidy enough the roasted whole "huge" carrot was interesting and the roasties had a skin in them that threatened to break another tooth. The Hawkstone cider was however on point.
I'm towing tomorrow, so no skinfull for me tonight, and we call it a day at 8pm, Grumbles going up to his room and we head back to the van with the dogs.
Monday 23 September
I didn't have a great night last night. Fast asleep by 10pm but wide awake again by 1am. Looking out of the window at 5.30am I note that while it's foggy, we've had no rain overnight so hopes were high of not getting a soaking while breaking camp.
Those hopes were shattered when Herself woke me at 8.10 and I look outside at the wet stuff bouncing off the gravel road once more. No point sitting it out as it looks like it's in for at least a few hours.
Breaking camp was not pleasant, and I am in need of a change of clothing when we pull up outside the Conservatory to pick up Grumbles, who's got the nerve to moan about his jacket getting a little wet crossing the car park after filling his belly on a Full English. I bite my tongue.
The tow back down into and through South Wales was not pleasant, not pleasant at all.
Crossing the bridge I fire up the Ring Doorbell and am heartened by two things. 1 - The Captain has gone to work so the drive is clear, and 2 - It's not raining at home.
We've cleared Port Talbot before the rain eases off and are close to J48 before we're rolling on dry tarmac after an horrendous 1 3/4 hour tow.
A nice surprise weekend away, and despite the crap weather we managed to stay dry until this morning, even having some sunshine on Saturday afternoon.
Not long to wait until the next time out.
