The great Bob Dylan is 80, which is how I felt in the morning after the quadruple burger the night before.
I’d finally left the dinner table, possibly without the requisite written permission, when No Socks Fitness Woman (a BRAPA character if ever I saw one) started singing along to “Yes” by McAlmont & Butler. NO ! NO ! NO !
And then, at 7:30 in the morning, I was woken by the strains of “White Flag” wafting up from a deserted pizza garden.
Enough is enough. After a lengthy breakfast of 20 questions about toast, cereal, room numbers and eggs, we hit the trail. I wanted to show Mrs RM the glories of Steel Rigg.
And the splendour of “tree on a hilltop“, which I somehow convinced her was the sycamore that won “Tree of the Year” when immortalised by Kevin Costner.
But she just wanted to get to Hexham un-soaked. So, so shallow.
The hour or so down to Bardon Mill Railway Station was an understated highlight of the trip.
Below the A69 you have the little known Allen Banks on the approach in Weardale, which contains some Proper Pubs to compare and contrast Twice Brewed with.
Barely a car or horse or jogger till we reached Bardon (pop 452), home to a busy parish council,
a leek club show, and a beleaguered station with cover (but no seats) or seats (with no cover).
Despite the drizzle, I explored, just for you.
I barely notice the hotel. But I DID notice the current GBG sticker.
I had NO recollection of ever coming here; had I pinked it in error ? Luckily, standing in the rain, I was able to load my mobile spreadsheet and confirm a visit resulting in an NBSS 3 score so I didn’t have to ask Mrs RM to stand in the drizzle another hour till the Bowes opened at noon.
She’s not have been pleased.