Everyone’s different, thankfully. And every camper, whether by tent, caravan, campervan or motorhome, has their own very different approach and take on what a camping break consists of.
UKers, on a whole, tend not to go too far from home. Not to be away for too long. This is the general theme we gleen from fellow washer-uppers. Many a retired MOHO couple have arrived on site in two vehicles. MOHO plus car, driven separately, not towed. Often eyebrows raise, when they discover we’re six weeks on the road.
With only a handful of days left, today’s intentions get washed away. No fun for the tenters, we imagine. We don’t go bananas cooped up inside. Play Bananagrams, unscramble our minds.
With Cliveden House & Gardens a little out of Scoot’s range, we unleash Beastie today. Let him stretch his legs off site. The decision almost backfires. The entrance gates look as if they’ve been in situ, since the Duke of Buckinghamshire first built the place in the 1660s, for his mistress. Very tall, black, ornate. Look as if the local blacksmith would have needed a year or two to construct. Not very wide. Wide enough for a horse and carriage. Marble Beastie ball-bangers hover either side. Ready to inflict maximum damage on any stray overwidth entrant. A series of deep gouges convincing evidence of previous conflicts. Beastie’s whiskers start to fidget. He pulls up short. Hesitates. I decide to give him a nudge forward. Supreme confidence in his ability to suck it up and suck himself in. At the last second Mrs S notices a sign. “Large vehicles – next gate” . . .
The “place”, or should that read palace. Is monstrously massive. He could have housed one hundred mistresses, and still had space over. A monstrously massive water feature, makes a monstrously massive statement upon entry. Poses the question “You sure you can afford this?” The house is now leased out as a hotel, so we give the interior a miss. Save our pennies. Head off into the 376 acres of gardens.
The Aston family, owners when WWI broke out, allowed hospital facilities to the Canadian Red Cross. Subsequently converted and consecrated the Italian garden. The unusual cemetery the last resting place for those who died in the hospital.
Back at base, on this fabulous Swiss Farm camp site we’re treated. Bunnies feed and frolic close by. Closely watched by gangs of birds of prey. Several couples of Red Kite on constant duty. They glide and screech feedback to one another from on high.
