Last week Amber’s Magic iPhone predicted that yesterday (Sunday) would be the only dry day we’d be getting for a long, long time: possibly the last one ever, for all I know. We knew we should probably try and make the most of this by doing something other than mowing the lawn and messing around on Twitter, so when my parents said they were planning a trip to Lindisfarne, in the north of England, Terry, Rubin and I decided we’d go along for the ride. We’re annoying like that.
First, though, we went to North Berwick, for a quick, Famous Five-style adventure, with old castles and rocky coves and smugglers and stuff:
Tantallon Castle, represent!
(You can totally imagine the smugglers, and the adventures, and the lashings and lashings of ginger beer this place must’ve seen over the years, no?)
This beach isn’t actually in North Berwick itself, but very close to it. It was on the way down to the sand that my family realised I was trying to kill them:
How we laughed.
After that, we went to Cove, but didn’t didn’t take any pictures, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. Then we headed across the border and down through Berwick-Upon-Tweed to Lindisfarne, a.k.a. The Holy Island. Lindisfarne is only an island when the tide’s in: when it’s out, the island can be accessed by car, via a causeway which was really quite spectacular to drive across: Terry described it as “otherworldly”, which pretty much sums it up. Makes you wonder why we didn’t bother to take any photos of that, either, eh?
We did, however, take some photos on the island itself. It’s called The Holy Island because there’s a lot of, um, holy stuff on it. Like this ruined priory, which is the burial place of St Cuthbert, apparently:
No, the land isn’t ACTUALLY at that angle. Just tilt your head and imagine it.
And this pretty church:
Best of all, though:
Ruined castle FTW!
Then we came home, stopping into North Berwick again to buy fish and chips, which we ate looking out over the sea. Fabulous. Since we got back, I’ve spent more or less all of my time searching for coastal properties in East Lothian which are within our price range. Conclusion: there are none. Which is a shame, because I really think if I could just buy a house by the sea, I’d be inspired to finish my novel, and would maybe even stop whining about the loss of the green dress for a few minutes. (Yes, it’s still lost. No, I’m not over it.) I’ll keep looking.
And that was how we spent what the MET office tells us may well be The Last Dry Day of the Summer. It was a good way to spend it, I think.
Rubin thought so too. And he didn’t suffer any ill-effects from his attempt to drink the ocean, either, so a good time was had by all!