Much hotter than we expected, despite the wind and the chilly morning, a long walk in Thorndon Park left us wishing we’d left our coats at home. A lively late summer treat, eating blackberries from the hedgerow as we went and dodging the cows (and bulls) sharing the fields.
It’s the best part of a year since we last walked in the park which you realise, on a beautiful day like this, is far too long.
Emilie, Kathryn and Luke came down to Essex for the day. It seems they weren’t put off by last year’s roller disco. So we took them to Southend for a walk along the world’s longest pleasure pier (a mike and a third and frequently burned down or crashed into by tankers), proper seaside fish and chips and, of course, bingo.
The bingo was a bit embarrassing on account of the fact that I won the first two games after we sat down, Kathryn won the fifth and I won the sixth. We claimed our prize – Jumping Monkeys – and made a swift exit before the regulars came for us with pitchforks.
Southend was pretty manic, as always and we just missed getting drenched by a huge shower, but we had loads of fun, and stopped off in Old Leigh for a quiet walk in the setting sun before we all headed home. In all, utterly lovely.
So, Clacton to Frinton by foot. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I cycled it too many years ago with Trevor and Jon and really didn’t remember that Clacton to Frinton was any longer than the very manageable stretch from Frinton on to Walton.
Well it is. We paid for four hours parking and were late getting back, despite only walking one way. Fortunately the parking attendant was nowhere to be seen, perhaps on account of the fact that today was an official scorcher.
You really have no idea how far between the two resorts you are when you’re walking along by the water’s edge, one side of your neck slowly cooking in the sun reflected off the sea. More than once I was sure we were almost there, and on neither occasion were we even half way.
No matter; the sun was full out, the tide was high and the sea was blue and crashing on the defences beside the path. We couldn’t have hoped for any better.
It took over two hours to make it to Frinton, passing beach huts by the hundred on the way, and when we got there we fell into a greasy cafe for eggs and chips and mugs of tea. Never had so humble a lunch tasted so good.
There was no way we were going to get back to the car on foot before it found itself clamped, so we walked up to the station and bought tickets back to Clacton, only to find we’d not get there for another hour and a half on account of a limp timetable and an inconvenient change. So we headed for the bus, and a bit of a shock.
When it eventually arrived (we’d just missed one) it was £7 each for a journey of not more than five miles as the crow flies.
Hmmm. Still, cheaper than a clamp, and it was such a lovely day it was well worth the money.
What a fantastic sunny weekend. The cat has spent his time sniffing around the borders and the chickens have been sun-bathing. We took the tarpaulin off the top of their compound and they’ve been enjoying the warmth, laying down in the chippings and spreading out the wings and legs to soak up the sun.
We’ve been out on our bikes. We rode up to Springfield and into town through Chelmer Village. The sun was so warm, and it’s lovely to be cycling under empty skies with not even an airline trail to spoil them. With all air traffic over the UK and much of the rest of Europe grounded by the volcanic eruptions in Iceland I’m enjoying our silent, deserted skies.
I know it inconveniences those who want to travel, but as far as I’m concerned, the longer it continues the better.
Our exploration of the Essex Way continued this weekend as we strode out in Great Leighs.
Now it’s years since I’ve been through Great Leighs. Through, rather than to, you note. Before the fast road opened it was the best way from Chelmsford to Braintree, and in all honesty I’d probably been spending more time looking at the traffic ahead than I had the surroundings.
What a shame. Turns out Great Leighs is very nice. We parked up at the village hall and struck out across the fields, through some woods and a wood yard, along the backs of some cute smallholdings populated by chickens, bantams and guinea pigs and down to the river, which we followed for three or four miles.
We should have followed it further, unfortunately, but got ourselves mixed up (we were eating Creme Eggs at the time and it’s easy to be distracted) and turned right one road too soon, putting ourselves on a long loop up through the centre of our route.
In fairness that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing as we were starting to flag, and it means we can do the other half another time. We did find this dinky spring by the side of the road close to Great Leighs church, on Cole Lane. You can see where it is on Google Maps by following this link.
A bit of a sinking feeling, fortunately averted.
Rich’s mum came over for mothers’ day weekend, with Ean and Vikki and we’d booked ourselves into the Saracen’s Head for lunch.
A bit of a spur of the moment booking after the other places we tried were either full or had gone ‘family friendly’ and installed ball pools. Still, it looked nice and the menu was good.
Then we had to change our booking, and that’s when I found the reviews. Terrible, terrible reviews. And even worse, an episode of Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares in the kitchen there when it was called D-Place. Lots of Ramsay swearing and then, apparently, it went bust.
According to the News of the World:
In Chelmsford, Essex, D-Place went bust just two weeks after the cameras left. Owner Israel Pons said: “The menu Ramsay came up with was extremely poor. We dropped 50 per cent in sales. He wasn’t the saviour everyone seemed to think he would be.”
This, I kept quiet about. It was far too late for us to go anywhere else.
I’m so glad I did. The service may have been a little slow, but food was excellent, and Ean even declared the pate the best he had ever tasted.
If I could remember where I’d read the reviews I’d head back and add my own, refuting them.
Out of five? A good four.
It’s a long, long time since I’ve been to Cressing. I went years ago, when I was a student and had no money on a day off college and turned around when I got to the barns and saw that you had to pay to get in.
Anyhow, today we headed back there. The sun was out for pretty much the first time since October and it felt like the first weekend of spring, so we dug out the walks book and opened on a random page. This is where it took us.
The walk, which started in White Notley, followed a short stretch of the Essex Way, an 80-odd mile footpath that stretches from Epping to Harwich through surprisingly unspoiled countryside.
White Notley itself is little more than a small town, with the dinkiest train station (one platform, one track, no car park) sat at the start of the walk. We quickly broke away from the road, past old farm buildings and across ploughed fields.
Eventually we found ourselves at the famed Templar barns, now coming up for 900 years old and in remarkable condition. If you’d told me they were replicas, build five years ago I could quite have believed you.
We didn’t go in. We got diverted by the tea shop and sat reading about what was inside them, but as soon as we discovered it was waxwork people and ‘display boards’ (yawn) we skipped the cultural bit and headed off across the fields again.
All in all, though, an excellent walk of four and a bit miles out in the middle of nowhere. Let’s hope this heralds the start of a good summer of walking. We could do with it after the winter we’ve just had.
A lucky escape. A bit of a grotty weekend and then an unexpected break in the clouds. Too good an opportunity to pass up, we jumped in the car and drove out to Ingatestone to walk.
There is a loop you can take, out past the end of the village, along the lanes towards Stock and then back on yourself past Ingatestone Hall, the setting for the BBC’s most recent adaptation of Bleak House, across the railway line and into the village to head back to your start point.
While we were walking it, keeping an eye on the fast-approaching rain clouds, I had the rather shocking realisation that it’s probably 18 years (or more) since I last walked it. That’s literally half a lifetime away, yet it feels so recent.
We did – just – make it back to the car as the first spots of rain began to fall, and as we slammed the doors and buckled up the heavens opened. That was our lucky escape. Despite the inclement weather, though, it’s reminded me how nice it is walking around there, and as soon as it’s held off long enough for the fields to dry out properly, I’d like to head back and rediscover some of the other walking routes of my youth.
This will be of precisely no interest to anyone who doesn’t live in Chelmsford.
However…
I always regretted not taking a picture of the bus station before they knocked it down. And I always regretted not taking a picture of the half-finished Kings Tower as they built it up.
So, not to repeat the mistake, here’s the pile of rubble that now constitutes what was once the town-centre Anglia Ruskin University, soon to become a 20-odd story block of flats.
Such a shame. The campus wasn’t pretty, and the university does now have smart new buildings in the north of town.
Anyhoo, the picture below shows the state of the site right now, as the knocking down is well under way and the building has yet to begin.
The shonky angle is down to stitching together two images to make a single picture.
Amanita muscaria toadstool in the woods at Walberswick
Is it wrong to think that one of the benefits of living in Essex is that you can easily escape to the next county (or two) up?
We went to Lowestoft to visit Rich’s mum, and spent much of Saturday in Norwich. I’ve always liked Norwich – particularly the market – but we don’t get to go often from Chelmsford. Perhaps that’s why it’s still special.
Anyhow, we did the usual – wandered around the shops, looked at the river, went to see Rich’s old college and watched the puppet man from a table outside Starbucks. It was quite nice to see him there as we both thought we’d seen something on the BBC about him retiring on the news a couple of years ago. Turns out we were right. I guess he had second thoughts.
Like that? Check out his YouTube channel.
Anyhow, that was Saturday. On Sunday, after a lazy morning of breakfast and cards, we headed out to Blythburgh, and a walk in the woods at Walberswick. They’ve just kidnapped a herd/flock/pod of 26 ponies from Dartmoor and released them in the woods, and over the course of two hours we spotted 17 of them. Not a bad rate considering the density of the trees when you get away from the paths.
They were so friendly they were happy to be tickled and stroked and have their picture taken at very close quarters.
Despite it being a pine forest, which keeps its greens throughout the year, the air felt distinctly autumnal. The sun went down quickly, the air cooled, and the damp, shady parts were home to a generous crop of brilliant red toadstools. The seasons are changing.
Dartmoor pony at Walberswick
