Photo’s are here or you can just click on the photograph above.
Our 2-part, 3 week trip around England (sandwiched either side of our vacation in Croatia) flew by in a haze of tea-shop delights; way too many slices of Victoria Sandwich; fish and chips; veggie curries, mango chutney and onion bhajis; and the more upmarket offerings of various countryside gastro pubs. Miraculously, the sun appeared to follow us pretty faithfully for the length and breadth of our traverses across the country culminating in a simply spectacular finale on the fabulous Cornish coast.
As the plane touched down at London Heathrow airport there were puffy white clouds and warm sunny breezes welcoming the ex-pats back to their motherland. Due east, an hour and a half later crossing into the county of Suffolk in East Anglia large drops of rain started to splatter on the windshield. Wearing my very brightest and most blindingly rose-tinted sunglasses I fobbed it off with a smile as “merely a little condensation”.
Geoff sighed, resigned to the knowledge even at that early point, that “glorious England” would do no wrong (whatever it may throw at us) for yet another trip home for this particular homesick wanderer 🙂
Our first flying stop was to have our annual tour of the extensive and time-consuming renovations of the home of my brother and his extraordinarily patient wife in the Suffolk countryside. We admired the rolls of wallpaper which will eventually adorn the walls of the house and were treated to the drool of one of our various furry nephews. Whilst Asher (a huge bull mastiff) looks and sounds like a Hound from Hell with jaws strong enough to crush rocks, he is putty in his mothers adoring hands which is a relief for us (so long as we keep on Katie’s good side) but definitely not for any miscreant who might contemplate wandering onto the property uninvited.
Owing to the very limited quantity of hand luggage I was allowed to take for almost 5 weeks away (of which a full quarter of our joint allowance comprised presents for our nephew and nieces and a half hundred weight of cigars for Uncle Har) we arrived totally unprepared for a typically cold and windy summers day in coastal Suffolk where we were to meet Geoff’s nan for lunch. Having arranged a meeting time with her in the attractive seaside town of Southwold, Geoff was under instructions to race post haste through the countryside to get there with enough time to spare for me to acquire a new wardrobe in whatever boutique country casual store I could find in the town centre before I developed frostbite in my naked knees.
I loathe clothes shopping at the best of times because it’s a miracle if I ever find anything a) which fits; b) which I actually like and c) which Geoff also likes. On this occasion, one shop and 5 minutes later my previously mottled blue knees were warming up nicely. I don’t think I’ve ever managed to blow a hundred quid on a pair of jeans with such casual disregard at such breakneck speed before – but needs must etc… Perhaps next time Geoff will concede that I should be allowed at least a single pair of jeans (and maybe even the luxury of a hoodie) in my severely rationed carry-on luggage allowance when next hopping across the pond during the summer months 😉
Lunch with Geoff’s nan, nearly 90, was a delight as usual and what would have been a bitterly bracing stroll with her along the seafront snapping photos of the multicolored painted beach huts (where sturdier folk than I were lounging, feet up, reading papers and sunbathing in their beach chairs overlooking the frigid waters of the North Sea), was at least bearable wrapped up, as I was, in my new outfit 🙂
Barely had we digested lunch and we were hurtling down the motorway, catching every possible bottleneck of traffic towards Kent, in the southeast of England, to visit one of my oldest friends and her new husband whom we last saw at their wedding on the Greek island of Kefalonia in July 2016. We would have enjoyed the wedding more if Geoff hadn’t been incapacitated by a grilled octopus and after this, our first visit to their home, I am beginning to wonder if Geoff’s incapacitation isn’t to be the norm in our sporadic meetings. I won’t go into great detail but I will say that Kate and Damion cooked a magnificent curry for us which I enjoyed enormously with my sparkling water. Geoff and Damion, however, enjoyed it with a bottle of Bolly, goodness knows how many bottles of pricey vino and countless shots of (clearly lethal) homemade vodka in various flavours. They then staggered down to Damion’s cinema room at the end of the immaculately landscaped garden reminiscent of an asian retreat where they continued to sample every bottle in Damion’s vast bar collection until Geoff fell off his bar stool. Kate and I decided it was time we all went to bed. Things got far worse before the night was over but I am forbidden to speak of them in a public forum. I remain hopeful that we can rebuild our friendship with Kate and Damion given time 😉
Leaving Geoff to his own devices – working and nursing a small hangover the following morning, Kate took me on a guided tour of select locations in Kent culminating in my very first tea-shop cake of the vacation in the pretty town of Tenterden and lunch at the stylish Rocksalt in Folkestone.
I had my reservations when Kate suggested we should go to Folkestone for lunch. I had in mind a country pub… something built in 1350 or thereabouts, set in rolling countryside with a thatched roof and roses over the door but I reluctantly deferred to her better judgement. I had long written off Folkestone as a slightly grungy, somewhat unappealing ferry port shunting pasty-white sun-starved Brits back and forwards to Calais for a summer vacation in the French sun. I was either always wrong or there seems to have been some sort of rehabilitation since the opening of the Channel Tunnel has diverted some of the ferry traffic. The town was quite quaint with the odd boutique store and Saltrock was excellent. Sitting chatting with my forever beautiful old friend at a table overlooking the harbor, the sun glinting on the waters of the English Channel lapping around us (apologizing yet again for the appalling alcohol-fuelled improprieties of my husband 😉 ) I knew that it would be very hard to break through my current periodic cycle of yearning for the old country and our friends and family…
Leaving the oasis of peace and tranquility of their home, we headed west to Hampshire to settle in for a few days with my sister-in-law Lyndsay, brother-in-law Jason, our niece Lucy and nephew Alister. I’m not sure quite what happens to time when there are small children involved in devouring every minute of it but it seemed that 4 days flew by in about 4 minutes but that we had simultaneously aged 4 years through mental and physical exhaustion 😉 Having said that Lyndsay, Jason and I did manage to escape the nippers for some more adult oriented time as we headed out to the New Forest for a day of cute tea shops and lunch in the sun while Geoff unfortunately stayed at home working. Tea Total in beautiful Lyndhurst was a top choice, though I say so myself 😉 Whilst we had actually left the kids behind at school I suspect that Lyndsay and Jason were beginning to wonder if they might have brought a slightly older and larger kid out with them for the day as I hopped about excitedly photographing all of the paraphernalia of a typical English day at the seaside – children’s multi-colored Windmills whizzing round in the wind, sticks of rock, buckets and spades… you name it the famous New Forest yachting town of Lymington has it all 🙂
There were of course other suitably more refined english moments passed in country pub gardens; lunch at the gorgeous Pig on the Beach Restaurant overlooking Studland Bay; strolling the clifftop at Old Harry Rocks on the Isle of Purbeck in Dorset – the wind in our hair and Alister leaping about exhausting us all with his enormous enthusiasm for life until Uncle Geoff challenged him to 2 minutes of silence in exchange for later dragging him up a tree and dangling him 6 feet in the air. Funny the things with which you can buy 2 minutes of peace and tranquility from a 6 year old 😉
I, on the other hand, can be bought with far less effort – a cup of tea and just one slice of Victoria Sandwich at the most utterly divine Love Cake Etc in the pretty coastal town of Swanage (oh… and a Millionaire’s Shortbread… and I suppose I should also mention the packet of homemade caramel fudge which Alister gave me 🙂 ) . For these delicacies I will also keep quiet for at least 2 minutes 😉
Another memorable experience of our fleeting days in Hampshire was meeting our new furry niece, Shirley the Bassett Hound. To give her her due, she is supremely friendly and I will concede that when she looks at you with those huge bloodshot, tragically sad, eyes typical of her breed that the heart of the average person would melt. However, it appears that another more disturbing characteristic of her breed is the overwhelming whiff of dog. Not her fault… it’s just the way it is… Unfortunately for Shirley, Auntie Jenni (a mad old cat lady encumbered with various obsessive compulsive disorders – one of which is extreme sensitivity to unpleasant odours) didn’t really want to be Shirley’s new best friend despite her efforts. She tried relentlessly to clamber upon me, she smeared me with her various bodily odours, dangled her head and large drippy jaws over my lap and turned to look me imploringly in the eye. Sorry Shirley… Auntie Jenni’s heart is made of the kind of stone which can only be melted by your feline counterpart 😉
Our final day was a chaotic one with the arrival of sister-in-law Helen and our other small niece, Eda. 2 children = chaos but 3 children = bedlam so a walk on the beach was in order. The boys and the kids went hunting for sharks teeth and seashells and the girls recovered quietly sitting on the beach wall before all heading off for a big family lunch in another excellent gastro pub Ye Olde George Inn in East Meon, Hampshire. Here we finally met up with Auntie Val and got to offload the cigars we had been carting around with us on a suitably grateful Uncle Har. Poor Alister was sick all over the pub garden – too much over-excitement – and we were reminded again why it is so much easier to have nieces and nephews (bless them) and a couple of kitties back home to call you mom and dad! 😉
Onwards and upwards to Geoff’s dad and stepmother in Melton Mowbray, Leicestershire, a farming area renowned for Stilton cheese and pork pies. Chris and I were thoroughly in tune as to how our couple of days visit with them should go (and thankfully it didn’t involve either of the above 😉 ). Roughly the plan was – coffee and cake in a(ny) tea-shop – a fairly unstrenuous walk somewhere scenic – a pub lunch and/or more tea-shop and cake plus sunbathing whilst watching the bees busily gathering pollen in their beautiful flower-filled garden. And repeat… We threw in some unexpected close encounters with Bambi and his mum at Bradgate Park and all was well with the world!
Geoff hasn’t been back to the town of his teenage years in a good while and decided that it was high time he should arrange to meet up with some old school friends (some who he hasn’t seen in 36 years!). Hit with a wave of nostalgia (which I will never understand as the happiest day of my school life was the day I walked away from it forever) he took a run past his old school only to discover that it was abandoned, presumably waiting for demolition. As he poked about outside reminiscing (studiously ignoring the Do Not Enter signs and video cameras) he spotted the Sixth Form Centre and went in to wander around. We wondered why he’d been gone for so long when he arrived back huffing and puffing hauling something large and heavy behind him. The Sixth Form Centre sign – all 6 feet of it had apparently dropped off into his hands as he was passing underneath so he thought he’d bring it back to his dad’s house and hide it until the reunion. I understand that one of the comments from his old school buddies, upon discovering the true provenance of the sign (someone far more innocent thought that he’d actually had a copy made) was that he hasn’t changed at all 😉 There are obviously many things that it is best I don’t know from his teenage years…
Before he could do any more damage in his old town we were whisked further north by Caroline, another of my very best old friends, to Harrogate, North Yorkshire (of Betty’s Tea Shop fame) and to the ever wonderful (except perhaps in winter) Yorkshire Dales National Park. If we ever bit the bullet on a holiday home somewhere in England, we would love it to be in the Dales. This will never happen, however, because the sun only shines in the Dales for one week every year – and even then you still need a raincoat, a flat cap, a woolly scarf and a pair of rubber Wellington Boots in the trunk of the car (just in case). Even so, we love this part of England with all of our hearts – rolling hills, moors, farmhouses dotted across the landscape, picturesque villages, miles of hiking trails, rushing streams and rivers, and, of course, its plethora of excellent english tea shops brimming with calorific items. Any trip to the Dales would be utterly pointless, however, without a) Caroline and Stephen b) lunch (and cake) at The Old School Tea Room in Hebden followed by a stroll in the countryside and c) a saunter through the Square and the winding side streets of Grassington, one of the most gorgeous and popular villages of the Dales region.
All 3 achieved – we were whisked away (yet again in our whirlwind tour!) by another of our oldest friends, Gary, to spend a long weekend in Cheshire with him and his wife Tracey and our “adopted” furry nephew kitty, Ollie. Ollie is a large, very fluffy, white Ragdoll who likes to trip you up on the stairs by grabbing at your heels with his paws and then rolling over for you to give him tummy tickles whilst fluttering his adorable eyelashes. Ollie has piercing blue eyes which have melted my heart many times as he has dug his claws into my bare feet. Ollie can do no wrong 🙂
Whilst we love Yorkshire, it is also fair to say that we also adore Cheshire. However, it’s even more damp in Cheshire than it is in Yorkshire so the occasional wistful contemplation of estate agents windows was, in reality, futile. The longest, darkest, coldest, wettest summer I have ever spent was in Cheshire many years ago. I am just eternally grateful when the few days we choose for a visit to see our friends coincides with their few days of summer 😉 We chose well this trip which is fortuitous because we needed some exercise as an alternative to simply eating our way around the tea and coffee shops of Chester, Tarporley and Nantwich. We managed a hike on the Sandstone Trail up on Bulkeley Hill for the view over the Cheshire Plains. We strolled the banks of the Shropshire Union Canal admiring the unusual decorations and floral displays on the barges and managed to make it home before the heavens opened in time for us to head to another old favorite – the Basmati curry house – and to meet up with more friends, Rob and Rainzley. It was a brilliant night – made better only by a surprise gift from Rainzley – who – in addition to jointly running their business with husband Rob – also manages to find time to do some professional baking. As the rain torrented down upon her, she rushed back to the car to retrieve me a homemade Victoria Sandwich all of my very own! 🙂 I don’t know how much Victoria Sandwich we managed to consume in our trip but it seems there is always room for yet another slice 😉
Gary and Tracey live in Nantwich, a lovely market town with many wonderful Georgian and timber-framed black-and-white Elizabethan and Tudor buildings not far from the city of Chester. Chester was once the Roman settlement of Deva Victrix (79 AD) – but now it throngs with tourists from far-flung parts of the globe taking selfies, Roman Centurions flexing their biceps at various historical attractions and, on this visit at least, coach loads of bizarrely attired individuals frenziedly running through the streets taking part in the Pokémon GO Chester Event…
There were people of all ages in motley groups of families and friends dressed in matching outfits ranging from the somewhat space-age to bright yellow furry all-in-ones with tails (I wish I could say that it was just the kids dressed up in giant babygrows – but no – a family unit means mum, dad, the 2 kids, grandma and the family dog).
I’m pretty sure that if the Emperor Vespasian took a stroll through the streets of Chester on 22nd July 2017 he and his imperial entourage would have been equally as baffled as we were.
I’ll admit not having kids probably means that we are often a little out of touch with current trends. Having witnessed the Pokémon GO event without even a glimmer of comprehension I can honestly say there are some things in popular culture that we just don’t need to know. Out of mild curiosity we stopped to ask a teenager (who was clutching a chart in one sweaty paw and a smartphone in the other) if he could kindly explain what they were all doing running excitedly about the streets periodically screaming “I’ve got one!”. To give him his due he politely attempted to explain but after a good 2 or 3 minutes of in-depth jargon and waffle he gave up as he saw the expression on my face glaze over.
Obviously, we had completely failed to get the point so I thought it might help to google it. This is what I found printed in the local newspaper by a very excited journalist:
“Chester will come alive with virtual monsters that players of global craze Pokémon GO will be able to capture during a world exclusive event… Historic sites have been turned into 120 PokéStops that players can interact with on their smartphones…”
Nope – still none the wiser…
Our final evening with Gary and Tracey was excellent – a perfectly idyllic country gastro pub out in the sticks – The Pheasant Inn, Burwardsley. Stupendous food with an even more stupendous sunset over the Cheshire Plains.
Perhaps living in green and pleasant Cheshire wouldn’t be too bad after all 😉
Before England Part-1 came to an end we made a final flying trip down to Windsor to celebrate my father’s 90th birthday. With hindsight, the flying part should have been avoided at all cost. Next time we’ll forgo the absolutely filthy, sticky, revolting and decrepit facilities of Terminal 3 Manchester Airport and swap the 1 hour flight south for the 180 mile 3 1/2 hour drive in the comfort of a clean rental car.
As my father’s now ancient memory understandably tends to fade fast, I fully expected to receive an email as soon as we had left asking if we were planning on seeing him for his 90th birthday 😉 Still, (even if he can’t remember it now) at the time he was quite happy with the birthday candle in his Eton Mess dessert at the Black Horse, Fulmer gastro pub and mum was suitably rosy-cheeked after one of Geoff’s recommendations from the cocktail list 😉
So, England Part-1 was over as we flew out for a vacation in the far warmer and sunnier destination of Croatia with my brother and sister-in-law. Ironically, ten days later, leaving the unrelenting heatwave (which had swept across Split and the islands) behind us we were actually quite looking forward to some more moderate temperatures for England Part-2.
We landed at London Gatwick (nowhere near London) and embarked upon a very slow, frustrating and arduous drive across country to the very farthest point south of mainland Great Britain. The 330 mile drive should have taken 5 1/2 hours on a straight run. Of course, there really is no such thing as a straight run to Cornwall on a Friday afternoon in the height of holiday season on the congested roads of England. After numerous diversions, traffic jams and roadworks, speeding through villages guided by Geoff and his GPS in an attempt to avoid even more traffic jams, accidents and general traffic chaos on the main roads we finally made it thoroughly stressed out and feeling 10 years older after 7 1/2 hours on the road in time for dinner with our friends Dave and Ali in the Cornish coastal village of Marazion. Marazion is one of Cornwalls oldest settlements and lies on Mount’s Bay dominated by the imposing St Michael’s Mount half a mile offshore. At low tide you can walk to the island. At high tide you are marooned without a boat. It looks quite spooky as the morning mist rises over the bay…
Cornwall is the most southerly county of England and Great Britain. It is a rugged, dramatic and stunning peninsula dotted with picturesque fishing villages, harbors and the most beautiful coastline on the mainland. Frankly, if there is a place anywhere in England which is more beautiful on a sunny summers day I’m hard pushed to imagine where it might be. We haven’t been in decades – mainly fearful of the unpredictable weather – but this time it was fait accompli. We had been invited to stay at a holiday cottage with our friends because every 3 years the acting company with which Dave is involved puts on a performance at the world famous Minack Theatre. We’ve seen a fair few private performances whilst Dave has been rehearsing lines but we’ve never seen him in full action on stage. Obviously, the allure of making the trek out to southwest Cornwall was now too great to ignore.
Before the big day, we had a long weekend to explore the coastline and various villages at the top of my “must do” list. At the very top of my “top list” was Kynance Cove. Too hot to wear jeans but too cold to wear shorts – I didn’t care – this bay and the headland coastal trail towards The Lizard peninsula (England’s actual most southerly point) was breathtakingly beautiful. I marveled at the resilience of the typical English family at the seaside – children able to run headlong into the sea splashing with excitement with no apparent awareness that much colder and you could actually chip ice blocks out of the Atlantic waters for their parents coolers. Having dipped my feet into the waters for the full Cornish holiday experience (Geoff wisely decided against it) we did most of our admiring of the great British holiday maker from the garden of the coffee shop overlooking the bay where we warmed up with a coffee and a slice of sticky caramel cake 🙂
As if there hadn’t been enough reunions already, it transpired (from various Facebook posts) that an old pal of Geoff’s from his Royal Air Force days was also staying in Cornwall at the same time we were there. They haven’t seen each other in 30 odd years. We tracked each others paths around Cornwall and finally managed to meet him and his family in the Cutty Sark, Marazion for a few drinks which was great fun. If we leave it another 30 years before we meet up again we’ll all be in bath chairs and their teenage children will be as old as we are now!
It was utterly wonderful hiking the coastal paths around Porthcurno, Pednvounder Beach (this has been Geoff’s favourite for many years!), the Cliffs of Treen and those around Faraway Cottage which was perched on a remote hilltop close to Nanjisal Cove. No trip to this part of the Cornish coast would be complete without dinner at the renowned Ben’s Kitchen in Marazion, of course, so we felt duty bound to oblige. Good job I booked a table 9 months earlier as otherwise we wouldn’t have been able to sample Ben’s various seafood specialities. We visited Mousehole – one of the most popular quintessentially Cornish fishing villages which was surprisingly peaceful until we got to the harbor’s edge. It was carnival day and about 3000 tourists and locals were crowded onto the tiny beach accompanied by coolers, beach umbrellas and every conceivable type of blow-up kids beach toy. Anyone who couldn’t find a spare square inch of sand was jumping into the water from the harbor walls – admittedly clad in wetsuits. Geoff idly asked someone who had made the jump and was preparing to do it again, the temperature of the water. “Not too bad!” he said “… about 8C” (that’s 46F for our American friends!). We rarely get nights that cold in the depths of winter in Florida.
The final unexpected reunion with another of Geoff’s old friends from his days in Bristol (before we met) was entirely fortuitous. Christian and Paula, having also globe-trotted around the world with Christian’s work, now live briefly in Houston, Texas. They also own a holiday home in Treen close to our (for now!) favorite beach in the world, Pednvounder Beach. Just by chance they were back for their annual family vacation visiting relatives. The world can seem quite small if you are in the right place at the right time!
Our final evening in Cornwall was planned many months ago when Dave booked our tickets for the evening performance of Treasure Island in which he was playing a pirate and the shipwrecked, slightly crazy Ben Gunn. He was anxiously watching the weather forecast all day which looked fine to us. He, however, thought otherwise – muttering under his breath about the unpredictabilities of the Cornish weather and that every performance Ali had ever watched she had been drenched to the bone etc etc…
In addition, the night before poor Dave had pulled a hamstring during one of his more energetic leaps across the stage so that now he was hobbling on one leg and, to cap it all, he was beginning to lose his voice! Obviously, as all bad things happen in threes we were to expect to sit in freezing rain and howling winds for 2 hours… I think the character of the role he was playing was beginning to take it’s toll 😉
Still muttering, the actor disappeared off a while before us and the 3 of us packed a picnic and a huge tote bag filled with duvet covers, blankets and 2 of Ali’s raincoats (another item I wasn’t allowed to pack into our hand luggage when we left the US). Still, we firmly believed it couldn’t possibly rain and if it did one of us would get considerably wetter than the other two. We dragged our enormous bag down to our seats and I pottered about taking photos of the stage and the glorious view of the sun setting on the headland to the side of the open-air theatre. As an aside, any performance at the Minack Theatre with the backdrop of the crashing waves behind the stage which juts out over the sea and the Cliffs of Treen in the distance would be worth seeing – rain or shine! Still, we remained optimistic as Ali headed off to say good luck to Dave. Barely had she left us in charge of the raincoats and we felt small spatters of rain landing on our cheeks. It was still sunny in the distance. Seconds later we were scrambling for cover under the raincoats and the blanket as it poured down drenching us, our clothes and our shoes. By the time she had returned it was all over but we were sitting in a soggy pile of clothing under a blanket which now smelt of damp dog.
The performance started and, conjuring all his strength from the depths of his acting reserves, Dave leapt about the stage as if he wasn’t crippled with pain (which we knew he was). It was quite brilliant although I confess I have absolutely no idea what the play was about – transfixed instead by the beauty of the location and the visual imagery of the performance. It rained once more – another solid downpour where the 2 of us girls undid the side poppers on our raincoats, wedged Geoff in the middle and poppered them up again with his head sticking out of an armhole. We might have felt ridiculous if it were not for the fact that everyone else was also sitting in a pool of tepid rainwater, raindrops dangling from their noses clutching a glass of wine in one hand and a very soggy Cornish pasty in the other. The English are quite unique in many ways which is why we miss them so much 😦
We waved a sad goodbye to Dave and Ali but the day was still young. As the sun was out once more Geoff decided to take us on a surprise magical mystery tour of northern Cornwall before we made the long drive back to Windsor to see my parents for the final night. First stop St Ives, suitably quaint but large enough to be added to the list of future possible long vacation destinations – and a mere 18 miles away from Pednvounder Beach – the new standard by which all potential holiday homes in Cornwall must now be measured 🙂
When I am feeling particularly homesick I insist that we watch the odd episode or two of Midsomer Murders (which is why the Cotswolds and its surrounding counties is the only other real competition for any potential holiday home) or Doc Martin which is, coincidentally, filmed in north Cornwall – neither are exactly cheery series but both are absolutely and undeniably English in their own quirky and ridiculous ways 😉 I have never been to Port Isaac, location of the fictional Portwenn where Doc Martin is filmed but as we approached, my sad old ex-pat eyes filled with tears – I knew exactly where we were going 🙂
It was jammed full of tourists, the schoolhouse is actually a hotel, the town is much larger than the 4 or 5 buildings we are led to believe is the extent of fictional Portwenn; the pharmacy of Mrs Tishell is anything but and there are “Keep Out” signs at the entrance to the Doc’s house. I didn’t care – it was the perfect end to yet another brilliant trip to visit our friends and family and our beloved England.
A final curry with mum and dad and another tearful goodbye. Watching the rain pour down in leaden grey skies in mid-August from our seats in the business class lounge at Heathrow airport made it very slightly easier for us to leave again, but only just…
Categories: Brockenhurst, Burwardsley, Capel St Mary, Cheshire, Chester, Corfe Castle, Cornwall, Curdridge, Dorset, East Meon, England, Eton, Folkestone, Grassington, Harrogate, Hebden, Hiking, Kent, Kent, Leicestershire, Lizard, Lymington, Lyndhurst, Marazion, Melton Mowbray, Mousehole, Nantwich, Newton Linford, Oakham, Port Isaac, Rutland, Southwold, St Ives, St Michael’s Mount, Studland, Suffolk, Swanage, Tarporley, Tenterden, The New Forest, Travel, Treen, Whiteley, Wickham, Yorkshire, Yorkshire Dales