When Is A Horse Not A Horse?

We departed "Meow Mews" in Whitley Bay, where we had rested in perfect comfort, and enjoyed the freedom of the kitchen for breakfast "at any time of day, and as many times a day as desired."  Our host, it turns out, was from Thurso on the north coast of Scotland, which we had visited only the day before!

Minutes later, we were at Trinity Terrace, a row of only four or five houses.  My father was born at #2 Trinity Terrace.  That was 103 years ago, and the houses are nothing like they were then, I expect.  They would have been "gentrified" several times over.

I went from there to the nearby water, where my dad told me they used to walk on the beach, searching for lumps of coal, washed ashore from ships entering the Tyne.  A lump of coal scrounged off the beach meant a warmer house.

But the area is all developed now, of course. 

Next, I thought it would be nice to see the White Horse of Kilburn.  That was a mistake!

As we approached, we found a police notice closing the road.  We plotted around the blockage, to find... a police notice closing the road.  We again, plotted around the blockage...   Well, we were blocked four times by the cops, by which time I was thinking aliens had landed or there was some rural human sacrifice ritual scheduled, like in The Wicker Man.

We finally got to the site, and you couldn't see the blasted horse!

I was pretty pissed off by this time, and I needed to pee as well, so we set off looking for somewhere to have breakfast.  As we departed, close to where we had been over an hour before, Derek glanced into the rear view mirror and slammed on the brakes.  We jumped out, and at the side of the road, we were able to look across the valley and see the horse.

But that photo was taken with the 55-300 lens at max zoom.  So as you get an idea of the distance, here is the same shot at minimum zoom:

If you go looking for the White Horse of Kilburn, I recommend you go no further than this corner of a country road.

We were now well late, but I urgently needed to pee, and we were both hungry, as it was nearly lunchtime.  We stopped at a caff at the side of the road, and I had a proper English.  There was bacon, eggs, sausages, fried tomatoes and mushrooms, and fried potatoes.  I also had buttered toast with English marmalade, and a pot of tea.  It was so good I regretted not taking a photo.  To the point I thought about ordering it again and taking a photo the second time! But good as it was, there was no way I could eat that twice!

So, where next?

That is Old Trafford.  Derek is a MU supporter, so we had to go there and let him throw away money in the gift shoppe.

There were about a million fans around the place, making it difficult to get a decent photo, but we enjoyed being and seeing.

It was about tea-time that I texted our mate Tony, who had previously invited me to pop around for a cuppa and a bikky.  It was a pleasure to see him, as usual, and my only regret is that we couldn't stay longer.

But we had to get to our BnB which is located in mid-Wales.

Amusing thing:  As we crossed the Welsh border, the road signs switched from English (SLOW) to Welsh (ARAF).  Then, the road crossed the border again, back into England for about 100 yards, and the road signs switched back to English for that 100 yards, then back to Welsh as we crossed over the line once more.

We arrived later than at any BnB before, but we were welcomed by our host and shown in to a beautiful, converted barn.  There are all manner of livestock right outside our window, from sheep (which you can hear farting) to peacocks, which have a most unusual cry!

Perhaps tomorrow, I can take a couple photos of the interior, and the flatulent sheep.  But for now, it's a shower and bed!