Mull it Over

May 2012


After the Airstream weekend in Dorset, I had a few weeks off. Where to go? Somewhere close by like Pembrokeshire or North Devon? You know, the kind of places where normal people would head to from Dorset?

Nope. I needed my Hebrides. So off we went on our long, long journey north.

In the meantime, one of my esteemed editors had decided that I'd be the best person to write a 'seaside special' about Tobermory in Mull, as I was THE Hebridean caravanner.

Slight problem with that. I'd never been to Mull, let alone Tobermory.

But now, I had an excuse.

I'm proud of the fact that I have never, ever written about somewhere I haven't been myself, so it was my pleasure to swing by Mull on the way to somewhere more remote.

Given my experience in Cornwall, I wasn't expecting great things from Tobermory. I imagined a rip-off joint epitomising everything I dislike about the UK Tourist Trap.

How utterly, utterly wrong I was. Tobermory, indeed the entire Isle of Mull, was an absolute delight. It was oodles better than I had dared to hope. Not as remote, quiet, or treeless as the Outer Hebrides, but a wonderful place all the same.

The trip started off in Craignure, Mull's principle ferry port, where I had my first ever veggie Haggis, neaps, and tatties courtesy of the friendly Craignure Inn. Yum!

As is often the case in the Hebrides, you end up seeing the same people over and over again. A lovely Scottish lady I'd met on the ferry in the doggy area crossed my path a couple more times during my stay in Craignure. Commenting on the wet and pretty miserable weather using local dialect she said: 'Aye, it's a bit dree!' Or maybe it's spelt draigh? But it's pronounced 'dree'. And it can only be dree in Scotland.

Sniffing about the Tourist Info centre in Craignure, I realised that my four days in Mull was never going to be enough, and I rebooked my ferry crossing so that I could stay a week. And I was straight on the phone to the Esteemed Editor: 'Never mind two pages! This place deserves a mega-spread!' Fortunately he trusted me enough to commission a larger feature on Mull there and then, and I'm pretty sure that nobody was disappointed with the results.

Tobermory is a delight. An absolute delight. I really, really, really liked it.

It was there I saw that the mobile cinema (in a lorry!) was visiting, and on the Friday would be showing a film I'd always wanted to see - Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. So I decided to go.

Beforehand I took a tour of the Tobermory distillery - it was OK, but nothing really to shout about. On it, I met a lovely German couple, Frank and Ciara. Frank was a fellow photographer with the latest version of my camera, so we enjoyed a nice chat.

The cinema experience in the truck was amazing. No trailers before the film but as everybody knew everybody else the auditorium was alive with the sound of animated chatter. I loved the film, and all through it the lady next to me whom I had never before met kept offering me wine gums. Have I mentioned how much I love the Hebrides?

As I left the mobile cinema on a high, I noticed what a beautiful evening it was. I grabbed my camera and tripod from the car, went to the corner of the harbour wall to do some night shots, and guess who was there? Yup, Frank, my new friend.

Anyone who has done night photography will know just how much hanging around is involved waiting for super-long exposures, so it was nice to chat and bounce ideas off each other as we waited for our shutters to close. A total coincidence, and the perfect end to a wonderful evening.

Composting Loos and Collective Aluminium

Part of my decision to go full-timing was to do with spending an increased amount of time with my family. Rather inconveniently, they live in East Kent. That's fine if you're heading to the continent, otherwise it's on the road to nowhere. Rather than lug the Airstream all the way over to Kent from Cornwall then all the way back to Dorset for my next bash, I docked at Crossways Caravan Club Site in Moreton, between Weymouth and Bournemouth.

Crossways is memorable for three reasons:

First off, it's not like any other Caravan Club Site I've been on. It's more like a Forest Holidays site with its intimate pitching areas dotted around pretty woodland. Trees definitely come first here, and tourers second.

Secondly, it's the only Caravan Club site to feature composting loos. Brilliant. Crapper's water closets make sense in dense, urban surroundings, but out in the countryside the composting loo makes so much sense, it makes you wonder why most people and places persist with the WC. And no, there is no odour whatsoever.

Finally, Crossways is slap-bang next to Moreton railway station. Therefore it was handy to jump on a train and head back to Kent for a night. Far easier to reach are Weymouth, Bournemouth, and Southampton. Certainly a boon for motor caravanners and anyone else who prefers not to drive once set up.

Parental and fraternal obligations met, it was time to unwind for a weekend with the UK Airstreamers at a site in Dorset. I say UK Airstreamers, but it was delightful to welcome a couple from Belgium, too.

Rain has cancelled many events in 2012, and it even threatened to cancel this one. We couldn't get onto the field that was earmarked for us, but luckily the site had enough pitches to squeeze us all in. We weren't all together, but at least it meant that the weekend could go ahead. And what a splendid, chilled, aluminiumy weekend it was.

Undulating Cornwall

Mid-April saw the Airstream packed up and on the road for our first proper assignment of 2012… a trip to Cornwall. Lucky or what?

Except, do you remember the weather in April? It was shortly after drought was declared in the South and that's when it started raining. And so it rained incessantly. For about six months.

Just off the M5 in Somerset, Cadeside Caravan Club site made the ideal stopover en route after doing some filming for Milenco with the lovely people at Reading Caravans. Cadeside is a facility-free site with just 16 pitches, and makes a lovely place to unhitch and unwind on a long journey.

Dougal was impressed with the dog walk too:


Dougal's Dog Blog - Cadeside






Next day we drove past flooded fields and rivers bursting their banks to Looe Caravan Club Site. Off peak it was very, very quiet, but judging by the swimming pool and the plethora of grass pitches that are no doubt heaving in the summer, this is clearly a superb 'summer-holiday' site.

Looe itself is a sweet little town. I liked it. But I'm glad that we were there off-peak when we could just walk into cafes and restaurants and be served without having to book or brave crowds. It's worth noting that Looe boasts plenty of dog-friendly establishments, my two favourites being Daisy's Cafe (SUPERB ginger scones) and the chilled out and a little bit trendy Courtyard. I wouldn't hesitate to return to both.

Such dog-friendliness makes it even more puzzling that Looe beach carries a year-round dog ban. Hey-ho.

Next port of call, on the Roseland peninsula, was Merrose Farm Caravan Club Site. Another great full-feature site, with a great doggy field. I met some lovely people there.

Merrose Farm is a great base for walking and for dog-friendly beaches, both of which we enjoyed. The nearby church at St Just is well worth a visit.

But it was here that the rot set in.

OK, first off I need to explain that when you've found somewhere that stirs your soul and creates an intense feeling of belonging, in my case the Outer Hebrides, it's hard for other places to ignite that fire and stir the same kind of magic. But for me personally, it's not just the scenery and facilities that stir 'that certain something', it's the people. I think it's to do with two things: Being sensitive, and being a solo traveller. I'm VERY sensitive to being made to feel welcome, as I so heartily feel in Scotland. And I'm also very sensitive to being made to feel unwelcome, as I'm afraid to say I was in parts of Cornwall. St Mawes, just to the south of Merrose Farm, was the first place this happened.

First off was a bumper sticker on the back of a local's van:
'If it's called the Tourist Season, why can't we shoot them?'

Yes, very funny, ha bloody ha. Maybe the driver of this van is too stupid to realise that Cornwall can no longer survive on pasties and tin mining.

Second off was something quite trivial. But it irked me. It was the price of a jacket potato with beans and cheese, my favourite cafe dish. At the dog-friendly pub in St Mawes it wasn't the £3.60 I pay in the Greasy Spoon cafe at St Pancras in central London. It wasn't the £5.40 I'd expect to pay in nice surroundings in a touristy place.

It was £7.60.

Take a look at the Airstream that I enjoy and the £600 leather jacket that I wear on the motorbike, and you'll appreciate that I don't mind in the slightest paying top dollar for top quality. Like most people, what I object to is being ripped off. And when I feel I'm being ripped off, I stop enjoying myself. And so it was, I headed off on a downer about Cornwall.

Saving the day, or at least this section of the trip, was the wonderful city of Falmouth. I wasn't expecting great things, but what I discovered was a chilled-out, laid-back, but most importantly unpretentious little city. And we found a lovely dog-friendly pub called Five Degrees West which offered good-value and imaginative veggie food (and plenty of good stuff for non-veggies), lovely smooth surroundings, and terrific, friendly service. Well worth sniffing out. My visit to Falmouth coincided with the Farmer's market so I had to buy some gorgeous things including some local Cornish Yarg cheese… yum!

Falmouth lifted me from the temporary downer that St Mawes inflicted, but my journey to St Agnes on the North Coast sent me straight back down again.

Granted, the Caravan Club Site at St Agnes Beacon is a lovely one. Right up my boulevard with no facilities and stupendous views. Like this one:

But on the drive there I was run off the road by an aggressive old dear driving down the middle of the road and gave two fingers… not to me, but to the Airstream. Stationary and in a state of shock (I wasn't exaggerating when I say 'run off the road') it seemed clear to me that this crotchety old bag had something against caravans.

Half a mile later, after the road had become single-track, I came nose-to-nose with a car coming in the opposite direction. Who wouldn't reverse. Then a second car drew up behind him. Then a third. Then a fourth. Then a fifth. By now, there were too many cars to even fit into a passing bay. There was only one thing for it.

I had to reverse the Airstream about 400 yards down a single track road on my own with no assistance.

If you can't reverse your caravan because you think you'll never need to, think again. Best book yourself on a Club towing course asap. You never know when this will happen to you.

I know that I really need to shut up and get a life, but in about 5 miles of driving on Cornish single-track roads, this rubbish happened. I must have done well over 1000 miles on Scottish single-track roads and have never needed reverse once, not even solo.

As much as I tried very hard to enjoy St Agnes, I didn't. Oh, I enjoyed the walks along the South West Coastal Path and meeting some lovely Club members on the site. But from my bitter and twisted perspective, the village seemed to be overrun with second-home owning, unfriendly, pretentious luvvies who brought their patronising London ways with them to this beautiful little village. Service in the surf bar was nothing better than perfunctory which may have suited the loaded city-types glugging expensive wine and boasting loudly on the terrace, but it didn't suit this quiet little caravanner and his dog.

Final port of call for me was Valley Truckle Caravan Club Site. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse… they didn't! Phew!

OK, we'll ignore Bodmin Jail which purports to be Dog Friendly, yet we were greeted by a huge 'No Dogs' sign at the entrance to the bar. We left.

No, we'll concentrate on Boscastle.

WE LOVE BOSCASTLE!!!

Boscastle seems to have escaped the blight of evil second-homies and retains an air of genuine Cornish friendliness. The lovely, lovely and friendly wardens at Valley Truckle recommended the Cobweb pub in Boscastle, and we gave it a go. Dogs welcome.

But a live band was playing that evening, so a lot of tables had been cleared. We had nowhere to sit. So I wouldn't be able to eat.

At this point, most places we'd visited would have said 'Hey ho, see ya later.'

But not the Cobweb in lovely lovely Boscastle, with a friendly, Cornish landlord with a no-nonsense 'can-do' attitude. He blooming well made sure that I had somewhere to sit and was made to feel welcome. Top marks.

Or maybe top marks should be reserved for Sails Cafe in the village where Dougal wasn't just made to feel welcome, the waitress offered him a treat after serving me my meal.

A pretty and unspoilt port, a lovely walk up the valley, and 'non rip-off' parking fees, Boscastle is a place that finely deserves success and prosperity. It's a place I will gladly return to and scatter a little more of my tourist pound.

So Cornwall returned a mixed bag. Some bits were great, others not so great. St Mawes and St Agnes are written off in my book, but Looe and Boscastle demand repeat visits. And, given the sharp undulations of my experiential ups and downs, it's a county that demands further exploration. Sometime.

'Lots Happened' - the summer of 2012

Yet another of those 'catching up' entries. I'm hoping very soon to get this blog up to date so it can be a little more constructive and reflective rather than just a diary with the odd recommendation here and there.

The plan was, as ever, to ease back on the work a bit and breathe a little bit more. But there's always a problem with that strategy. I love my jobs. I love my day job, and I love my caravanning 'job'. I can never seriously call the touring thing a 'job' for two reasons. First off, it's a lifestyle choice not a career move. Nobody will ever get rich in the pecuniary sense of the word being a caravan journalist. But my goodness me, it's a very rich life indeed in so many other ways. The Camping & Caravanning Club have really hit the nail on the head with their 'Real Richness' campaign. So true. And it's this enjoyment, this richness, that is the second reason that I cannot call writing and making videos a 'job'. As I often say, it's not a holiday as there is always the element of obligation. But goodness me, it does beat working for a living. I'd rather be tapping away at my laptop in the Airstream until the wee hours than doing the 9 to 5 commute.

A lot of time, and I mean A LOT of time and energy, was expended on a second series of videos for the accessory manufacturer Milenco. Despite the hard work involved, I'm always happy to work with Milenco because their products are, simply, jolly good! And it's great to be able to try them all out and see just how good they are.

Hopefully… when I get some time (yeah, right) I'll put a comedy compilation together of all the out-takes. And there are plenty of those. But for now there are plenty of new product videos to check out. Visit my channel on YouTube and have a gander:

Link to my YouTube channel 

Hebrides 2012 - Take One (March)

Hebrides 2012 - Take One

Last year, while visiting the Outer Hebrides with the Airstream in the autumn, I went three nights without sleep during a particularly rough spell of weather. By the fourth day I was practically crying, desperate and delusional thanks to a severe lack of sleep.

It was at that point that I decided that any trip to the islands outwith May to September would involve bricks and mortar.

Therefore, for my winter trip in March, hotels and cottages were the order of the day. The dog-friendly Accor Hotel Group once again proved a good choice for night stops on the way up, both at the Ibis in Rotherham and the Etap in Glasgow. Mind you, it took well over one long frustrating hour in Glasgow's notoriously awful road system to get from the motorway to the hotel car park - a distance of about 50 yards as the crow flies.

In Glasgow, I met up with friends Carys and Craig, and we all enjoyed a wonderful evening.

The plan was to sail from Oban the next day. But as we left Glasgow, Carys and I received a text from CalMac to tell us that bad weather had caused cancellation of our ferry. The next one 'might' sail a couple of days later. But Carys only had four days. So we decided that it would be best to take a long drive to Uig in the Isle of Skye and take the substantially shorter and more sheltered crossing to Lochmaddy instead.

It was a long drive that involved a night stop on the Isle of Skye. But as a result we discovered Lochbay B&B. Our host, Johnny, was a lovely guy. Carys, myself, and Dougal spent a wonderful, quite, relaxed evening sprawled out on the carpet reading in front of the open fire. Well, Dougal wasn't reading. He is a dog after all.

The crossing to Lochmaddy passed without event, and the cottage on South Uist was lovely. We enjoyed a wonderful four days walking in the wild weather during the day, and chilling out in front of a roaring fire during the evenings. Absolutely wonderful. And Dougal met his new Best Friend Paddy, the dog that belonged to the groundsman at Askernish Golf Course. They loved playing together.

All too soon Carys had to fly home to get back to work, leaving just me and Dougal to cross over to the Island of Harris and spend a week in the most wonderful, wonderful little cottage you could ever imagine:

The whole week was spent doing more of same… deserted, white, sandy beaches during the day, and roaring fires during the evening. More details about Harris in a later blog entry.

It was bliss. Absolute Bliss.

Tesco v the UK Caravanner

Before getting you up to date on the happier events of the summer, let's clear up this horrid, messy business with the hard-faced emporium that is Tesco. The debacle in the store was bad enough. What has followed is alost as bad. It's a text book example of how multinational conglomerates loose the plot. And how the hard-nosed profit-driven upper echalons of the corporate hierarchy hides behind an impenetrable veneer of poorly-paid, mechanical agents who are unable and unwilling to deviate from standard procedure.

I'm sure you don't want to read the email tennis that I played with their customer services department.

In every email I asked the question 'Does Tesco embrace the business of the UK's caravanners, or are caravanners and motor caravanners not welcome in their stores?' In every email, this question was ignored.

I received an apology from the agent with whom I was playing ping-pong, along with the offer of a £20 voucher. Let's just reiterate that I had spent £70 and lost at least £250 worth of productivity.

£20? And no official response to the UK's bona fide touring community? And that's supposed to make it all better?

This is where one silver lining appeared around the cloud. As tempted as I was to tell Tesco to keep their gesture (or words to that effect), I wanted to make sure that someone else would benefit from it. Researching food charities I discovered Foodcycle, a UK charity that ticks all the right boxes. Basically, they take food that would otherwise go to waste, cook it up into nutritious meals, and offer said meals to those who really need them. Preventing waste and feeding those in need. And training/employing those who need a skill. What's not to like? So happily the £20 went directly to Foodcycle. And I feel that this is by no means the end of my dealings with them. 

In my penultimate, exasperated email to Tesco, I asked why I was not getting an answer from the management about the needs of the UK's caravanners.

The answer I received just about sums it all up. It sums up why Tesco is sliding down the supermarket ratings. It also sums up the desperately broken culture of Tesco management that was clear from the very beginning when the store manager was 'too busy' on a conference call with head office to face me there and then and nip the whole thing in the bud.

'Our head office is not customer-facing' explained the hapless agent.

Think about that for a minute.

'…Not customer-facing'

I think, Tesco, as I happily contribute to your slow demise by withholding all future custom, that that is abundantly clear.

We interrupt this blog....

OK folks, I know that I am still dreadfully behind with my blog. Four months to be precise. This is what happens when work gets in the way.

There are some magical experiences to tell you about yet (yes, they of course involve the Outer Hebrides) but I interrupt the timeline to recount a distressing tale that happened to me yesterday.

In fact, what I will do is simply copy for you the letter that I emailed to Tesco this morning. I have wasted so much energy and lost so much productivity over this... but hopefully things will improve soon. Happy reading, and I'll leave it to you to decide where you are going to spend your grocery money after this:

I am writing to you having been humiliated and evicted from your Eastbourne Store.

As a busy journalist, and in order to cut unnecessary CO2 emissions, I combine journeys wherever I can in order to maximise my time, and to maximise use of the car.

Currently I am working on a commission to produce an inspirational feature about Brighton, which involves me staying at nearby places in order to competently review the campsite options for readers.

On Tuesday 17^th July, my route took me through Eastbourne. I decided to pay a visit to your store en route in order to stock up on many items. As I had my Airstream travel trailer in tow, I naturally took the quietest, most remote area of the car park in order not to inconvenience anybody. I also chose my time wisely – it was midday on a Tuesday, not a busy period.

In addition to not wishing to waste any productive time, I was also making haste as road closures in Eastbourne were imminent for the Olympic Torch, and I wanted to be sure of being away from the town before these took effect.

As I was paying for my £70 worth of groceries at 12.55pm, a call was put out over the store’s PA system paging me as the owner of my vehicle.

After wasting a few minutes queuing at Customer Services, the lady behind the desk said that she knew not why I had been called, and I should go and see the gentleman at the security podium.

I approached the gentleman with my trolley full of paid-for shopping in its bags, and asked if he had called me. His reply, in a most abrupt manner, was:

‘Yes. I must ask you to leave. You are parked on private property.’

I was taken aback as you can imagine. I asked why I was being asked to leave and why no other shopper was being asked to leave.

 ‘You are taking up too many parking spaces. And you are blocking the recycling area’ he replied in a most surly tone.

I pointed out that I was certainly not blocking the recycling area, and that I had deliberately chosen a quiet area in the car park so as to not inconvenience other customers.

Rather incredulously, the security guard then asked why I was parked there.

I gesticulated at the trolley full of purchases and said, trying desperately not to sound ironic, that I was visiting Tesco to do my shopping.

‘Well, we’ve had problems with caravans before. They say that they are here to do their shopping but they just stay all day causing us problems.’

By now I realised that I was getting nowhere in this ridiculous conversation and asked to see the store manager. The security guard wandered off, and came back about a minute later to tell me that the store manager was on a conference call for the next 30 minutes, and I would have to wait if I wished to see him. There was no offer of seeing any deputy or supervisor.  I was not prepared to waste a further thirty minutes of my time waiting to see the store manager who was obviously too busy running his store to speak with the customers for whom it actually operates. I also needed to be away before the road closures mentioned previously came into place.

As you may well imagine, by now I was absolutely seething with anger and frustration. I informed the security guard that I am a journalist who is (in the main) highly thought of by the majority of the UK’s one million plus caravanners, and that I would be taking this matter further.

‘Yeah, do that,’ he taunted in a mocking tone as I left the store. Throughout the exchange, a silent colleague of his stood looking on, smirking with his arms folded.

I completely understand that a modern supermarket needs to ensure that parking rules are respected in order to make spaces available for its customers. This is why I chose a quiet time to visit. I did not want to make a 25 mile round trip to do my shopping after having sited the Airstream when plenty of parking space was available.

I also understand that itinerant travellers (as opposed to the millions of leisure caravanners) may have caused problems in the past and as such you would like to be sure that any visitors are there for genuine reasons. If your staff did have cause for concern, then surely the fact that I had a trolley full of purchases a mere 55 minutes after arriving should have been reassuring enough. I don’t have a problem with being called in order to allay any concerns of the staff. Were I dealt with in a friendly and respectful manner, I would have very quickly assured your staff that I understood their concerns, I was indeed a genuine customer, and I would be away within the following ten minutes.

As for ‘Having had trouble with caravans’ in the past, the security guard was referring to overstaying the permitted time. As I have already mentioned, I had only been there for 55 minutes. Yet I was treated with contempt as if I had already committed some kind of breach of regulations or decency.

If the profile of the average shoplifter is a white 23 year old male, would Tesco then treat all white 23 year old male shoppers as criminals?

This incident has left me incensed. In order to write and therefore make a living, I need a clear and creative mind. So far I have lost over a day’s productivity at a personal cost of £250 as I am so upset and angry about what has happened, not to mention the utter humiliation at the way I was treated. Now I am spending my time writing you this missive while I should be writing revenue-earning copy.

Naturally, I will no longer patronise your stores of any brand. I have deleted the Clubcard and Tesco Finder apps from my iPhone and I am making steps to change network provider away from Tesco Mobile.

What disappoints me even more is that I have on more than one occasion in touring media extolled the virtues of stopping off at supermarkets during quiet periods as an alternative to overpriced service areas, in order to take advantage of the café and fuel stations offered.

If Tesco does not want the business of the UK’s caravanners and motor caravanners, do please let me know. I will then communicate this to the one million members of the Caravan Club for whom I write and blog so that they may direct their portion of the £6bn per year that caravanners contribute to the UK economy accordingly.

 Here is an image of the ‘offending’ rig in the car park. I am sure that your own CCTV footage will satisfy you that the rig has not been moved for the photograph, and that this image has not been manipulated in any way.