Dunstanburgh Castle (3rd April)
Our exploration of the Northumbrian coast continued with a short drive to Craster where we parked the car and set out for a bracing walk along the shoreline to . This was not as easy as it looked because we soon found ourselves negotiating pools of mud and sheep-droppings. There were also real-live sheep and the Zedettes began to panic. That's a city upbringing for you! I tried to distract them (the children, not the sheep) by asking them where they thought wool comes from. Blank looks. Clearly "wool" is not part of their vocabulary.
The mud degenerated into actual marsh and, no longer sure of our route, we followed two elderly ladies clockwise around a hillock until they stopped, turned and started signalling frantically for us to go back.
"We've come the wrong way," they yelled, "there's no way through."
Sure enough every other walker had taken the anti-clockwise path but we felt committed and so squelched our way through the bog until we reached a gate leading up to the castle.
I say castle but, in fact, Dunstanburgh is one of those collections of ruined stonework that makes you wish you'd invited Tony Robinson and his Time Team along to explain what you're looking at. Of course, having stumped up ten quid to gaze at the rubble we were too mean to cough up more cash to pay for a guide book. We wandered around aimlessly for a while until the youngest Zedette noticed a stairway leading to the top of a tower. At last! A purpose.
We trudged up the spiral staircase and were rewarded by a stunning view of the countryside and the waves tumbling in off the North Sea. I took in huge gulps of the fresh air and let my senses flood with the feel of the cold air, the smell of seawater and the sound of ...my mobile phone.
It was Tommy Weir in the Ö÷²¥´óÐã Scotland marketing office in Glasgow. He needed some urgent information about an outside broadcast we're planning in Edinburgh next month. I dealt with it as quickly as possible and looked at Mrs Z with a face more sheepish than the nearby sheep. On the way back to the car she began plotting revenge.
"Let's get his number and phone him when he's on holiday, " she ranted. I nodded agreement. Best to keep my head down, I thought, especially with all those sheep droppings on the path.
