Oh, come on, sometimes I have to make these blog titles easy for you.
Having dropped Dad back after his day is Sheffield I eyed up a GBG tick on the way home. If you can guess it (announced later) on the map you win, er, nothing.
By the time Mum had made me a packed tea, packed breakfast and packed lunch I realised I was going to struggle to be in time to find a place for my campervan that was near an open pub and more importantly, FREE. Sure enough, the pub at Maidwell was closing at 8.30 as I approached.
Search for Sites came up with an intriguing option, that would leave me with an easy trip north the next morning;
This little patch of West Northants is little explored by the tourist or the Pub Man, and I arrived about half an hour too late for half of Phipps in the rain in Arthingthorpe.
But, parked up in the car park at Kelmarsh Tunnels (the highest orange motorhome sign on the map) I had a quiet night listening to LBC and nibbling those cookies foisted on me by Mum earlier.
At 04:37 a car parked up about 3 inches from me in an empty car park and went for a walk in the woods (euphemism), while I slept through another 3 hours before the dog walkers arrived.
Spookily, the car park is next to a disused Government fuel depot. It looked the sort of place Quosh would like to, er explore, but I’ve only got this report from 28 Days Later to go on.
The “tourist map” for the walk along the disused Northampton to Market Harborough line was scarcely less spooky.
This little known line was used by Northampton Town players to get from Sixfields to Market Harborough in the 1930s to enjoy the town’s craft beer bars. Ask Life After Football if you don’t believe me.
Today the Brampton Valley Way gets joggers,
doggers, dog walkers and a few nature lovers by myself.
And the Kelmarsh Tunnel is a tourist attraction for the adventurous.
Fortify yourself before attempting the walk with a drink from the flask of coffee or bottle of Kopparberg.
Then head into the tunnel, a haven for this rare moth (Triphosa dubitata).
Reader, I chickened out. If Mrs RM had been with me, I might have been OK.
Speaking of dark places, I had a peep at tiny Arthingworth, where a cheery Midlander (yes, they do exist) was delivering baps, or Wi-Fi, or the Harborough Gazette on Sunday morning and we conspiratorially wished ill on Heacham (it’s a long story).
On my sole previous visit to Arthingworth in c.2003 the cosy Bulls Head, in its debut GBG year, had a power shortage which meant a candelit pub and pint of Adnams.
On judgement day, when St Roger assesses our claims to have completed the Guide, it is POSSIBLE ticks by candlelight will be discounted, just as half pints and Guinness will also be disqualified. But since the Bull’s Head is out of the GBG this year, I can live without fear.