Haslemere, West Sussex

A far cry from previous summer holidays, Paul and my summer 'travels' took us to Haslemere, West Sussex. Given Haslemere is a London commuter town, Paul was happy to go from door to door in roughly 1.5 hours. Our four-day stay saw us shack up in an outbuilding of a very rich family's mansion which happened to be miles away from any proper amenities like shops or a bus stop. But they had a pool so it was all good. 

And because it transpires that it's not where you go but who you're with, the trip turned into a hilarious series of misadventures. From not realising our outbuilding didn't include a kitchenette, only a microwave and kettle, to having to cross an A-road at a blind corner to get anywhere, we actually had a very memorable time. 

Most importantly, cooking pasta in a kettle works. It may take awhile and you will need to boil the water repeatedly but our first hot meal of the trip was a success. 

We spent one day in the room, hiding from the bucket down rain, and then proceeded to discover walking trails, polo grounds and farm shops of the surrounding environs. Cowdray Farm Shop and Cafe gets my vote for best place to people watch with cake. The villages of Midhurst and Easeborne also became easily walkable, though the gps dot on my All Trails map occasionally thought otherwise. 

A fifteen-minute walk down the very darkened private road and around the corner, the perfect countryside pub awaited. The Duke of Cumberland Arms is the pub of your stereotypical British dreams. There's a perfectly cozy garden, a charming dining room and an open patio out back. It's so lovely that, in fact, if you don't have a reservation for dinner at least a week in advance, good luck to you. 

The surrounding sub-village (is that a thing?) of Henly, Haslemere, also looked as if it were plucked out of a film like The Holiday. Between thatched cottages and old red phone boxes, we understood the appeal. As did a range of wealthy Londoners who now call this village home. 

So our trip might not have had the verve of summers gone past but we laughed a lot. And given the continued madness of Covid, it felt like enough of an adventure for a man with a kidney issue.

North Devon: Mortehoe to Clovelly

Our next resting stop took us to an old converted heritage property in the village of Mortehoe, just up the hill from Woolacombe Beach, somewhere the summer hordes HAD found. We stayed away from the crowds and opted for more walks and wanders slightly to the north. 

Mortehoe and Woolacombe

Between meals at the pub, literally 20 metres from our accommodation, and leisurely picnics on our little patch of grass, Mortehoe was a fabulous haven of calm. 

We had scones the Devon way, cream first and jam second, and appreciated being away from that big London after so long locked up in our flats. 

Clovelly
Since my days of dating Dave, I'd always meant to go to the village of Clovelly. It happened to be close to where we were staying and so we made our way one foggy morning, white knuckling the whole drive there. Without us realising, it won the 'Britain's Most Instagrammable Village 2020.' Go figure. 

Tucked into the cliff and down to the sea, you must pay to enter this National Trust Heritage village. A day pass will set you back £8.75 and is well worth the visit. Clovelly was once an estate owned by William the Conquerer and slipped into another family's hands before being 'officially' discovered in the middle of the 19th century.

There's a few pubs, sweet shops and bougie tat shops that lead the way down to the harbour. It's a steep journey but a beautiful one. We spent an hour or so wandering the village before launching ourselves back up the hill and onto the significantly less foggy way back. 

Coastal Walk: Croyde to Georgeham

On our final day, we took one more big walk winding our way past Woolacombe to Croyde and beyond. The views speak for themself. 

On the trails, we largely had the surroundings to ourselves. But the village of Croyde was markably busier and if Summer 2020 is a barometer, I can only imagine what a non-covid summer might be like. Comparing this second half of the summer journey to its first half counterpart, I must admit Northumberland still has my heart. But Devon gets a stunning honourable mention.

Covid Wanderings in North Devon

I write this from the vantage point of well past post-2020. And what a weird, difficult year(s) it was. But silver linings did abound including a summer jaunt from London to Devon with two of my former Hornsey colleagues turned friends. In a sentiment that best encapsulates the madness of 2020, Lindsay also contemplated bringing her sourdough starter on the trip. In the end, her brother promised to feed it at home. And so, we travelled without ready-to-bake bread. 

Lindsay arrived one early Monday morning to pick me up in her mum's rather decrepit car. Despite it passing its MOT, the speedometer started shaking and then stopped working when she exceeded 50mph on the motorway. We eventually made the four-hour journey down to Braunton, Devon via Somerset, where we dropped Lindsay's mum off at her friend's house. 

Our uneventful journey took us past Stonehenge (really just a stack of rocks in a field off the motorway)

and to our rented cottage and resting place for three nights. In a world of Covid restrictions, we met our hosts outdoors, were promised strict cleaning guidelines had been followed and then were given lots of recommendations for outdoor eateries to enjoy what turned into the most glorious British summer in my memory.

Every day turned into a different coastal path beach walk. From Saunton Sands to Westward Ho! (the exclamation, I assure you, is part of the place's name) and Woolacombe we were greeted with many quiet places to walk, gaze and pause. 

Without a car, this would have been nigh on impossible, which is why I really must take steps to get my UK driving license. Then again, hedgerows really are a thing...

Dartmoor National Park
On our one rainy day, we took the car down to Dartmoor, one of England's ten national parks. The wild and vastness of the park is impressive and although a road bisects the park, animals rule the roost. Wild horses roam the moor as do the odd sheep, some that seem to have strayed from their last few years of haircuts.

Towards the Northwest corner of the park, the village of Widecombe in the Moor, does a good job at being quaint and feeding people. We stopped for a pub lunch (they even let us inside, but at a distance!) and browse, deciding not to join the British proclivity to collect Toby Jugs. Google it, they're creepy. 

From there, we moved on to our next destination, the village of Mortehoe, where we moved into another quaint cottage and picked up Clara along the way. More to come!