Just got back from Stonehenge Campsite after a short and sweet weekend to suss it out for our New Year camp.
The run up to the actual camp was a bit interesting in that due to rather evasive communications (phone, email, smoke signal and pigeon all failed miserably to get a response) with the campsite owner, a Mr William Badger Ferret (or some similar feral small animal hyphenated name), we finally got to the actual event date without a clue as to whether we had pitches, electric hook-up or a patch of grass.
The fields we couldn't use were great though...
Arriving in pitch black on Friday evening I drove through a picnic bench assault course and got the 3m pitched. Evidently Mr William Weasel Wormhead also sidelines in selling property, and the camping pitches we had could definitely be described as ‘bijoux, in a popular area (packed), glorious views (back of another canvas tent) with plenty of scope for improvement in a thriving part of the country.
Vacated and not looking quite so busy...
Actually ignore all my comments above, this campsite is the BEST! Bloody Marvellous! Mr William Gerbil Otterfeet is the most amazing person I have ever met.
(That has taken care of my £5 reduction per night for the New Year, for posting a positive review)
I must admit that first impressions of the area the next day were mind-blowing. The sheep actually live in YURTS! Now that is posh. I couldn’t actually get close enough to park up and look around their glamped up set ups, as it would have meant the berlingo would have got rear ended on the A303. Not sure if they would take the sheepskin mat route with their carpeting, so perhaps have a few humans splashed on the floor that they stomp on to clean their messy little hooves.
As it was Halloween all the kids were bedecked in their evil costumes. I’m not sure if the adults were dressed up, as most have warts on their noses, grey lank camping hair, gaps in their teeth even in the height of the summer.
Annie appeared to have brought the whole costume set from the local theatrical company
Howard (Jerry) decided he didn't need a costume as his dad dancing was more than enough entertainment
Bert also joined in the festivities and accumulated some strawberry lances and fudge bars for his grateful owner (me)
Tents were all bedecked in their Halloween best.
Smoky's lovely Lizzy
Annies little 3m
No stopping Margo with the decorations (if you look closely there is a small pumpkin by the door
Intents looked like it got caught in a fight in the fancy dress shop
My ickle 3m bell
3 of us bought some strange bin bag spiders, which you fill will dead leaves then just pin to the floor. They took bloody ages and needed about 3 small children to fill them. I did scrape up every leaf in the area, but still ran out, so resorted to robbing all the bark from around the shrubs of nice Mr William Rabbit Beaverskins campsite
As I only had Saturday to look round the area we took a drive to Old Sarum (no I’ve never heard of it either, but the choice was this or the co-op).
Having a washed up Historian amongst us (Mwaaahhaaaahhhaaaaa she will complain bitterly now, although in fairness, part of her left boob did have a bit part in Time Team) we all traipsed round this fortress. The usual kind with 6 inch walls of grey stone sticking out of ground and a lot of signs with pictures saying ‘If it existed today it would probably look like blah blah….’ Where someone has made a random guess and got paid loads to do it.
Here is what they think it looked like
And this is what it actually looks like...bloody good imagination if you ask me
Jayne and Intents (famous washed up Historian) stopping to take advantage of ‘A Place to Gossip’
A picture for Nutgone who couldn’t join us, but does like this kind of thing – This was, as the sign stated, ‘The Castles Back Entrance’
Tina in full druid wear (no she doesn’t normally wear this outfit, but it might have proved useful to try and get a sneaky look at Stonehenge if we could convince them she wanted to marry a rock). The Tesco bag didn’t look too authentic though.
I’m sure if they had her standing on the bridge in 10AD (or whenever these history things happen) they could have eliminated the need for armed guards and weapons though
Tina actually has more kids than the Pied Piper, however her parenting skills don’t seem to improve however many attempts she has. Here is Asa, her youngest, rolling down the hill after she forgot his pushchair was perched on top….
As is usual at these educational landmarks there was a storytelling re-enactment duo. In honesty I wouldn’t have let the headless horseman anywhere near a child (who incidentally I didn’t know was supposed to be headless, so asked in a loud voice when I arrived ‘Why has he tucked his head under his cloak?’). He was the stuff of schoolyard wanted posters. The only kid at school that enjoyed drama. His long grey haired side kick wasn’t much better, not sure where they dreg these ‘entertainers’ (used very loosely) from, as they all give the impression that they hate bloody kids anyway. Perhaps it was government ‘back to work’ scheme and jobs are few and far between in Old Sarum
The headless pervert and his grandad
One last complaint, I can see of no reason why someone of 48 years old should not be allowed a kids passport to play the find a pumpkin game in the ruins. It’s ageist. I feel a letter of complaint to the National Trust is required and in recompense at least a voucher for some chocolate, which I was robbed of
Salisbury Cathedral somewhere in the distance (I never went any nearer the roads were busy, so went to the co-op instead), but evidently it is “very impressive…and gothic…and marvellous”….(quote from the washed up historian)
One provision of the trip was ‘DO NOT VISIT STONEHENGE!’, as we were ‘saving’ this for New Year. I felt we should all go together and see this as a group.
So on the way back from Sarum I totally disregarded my suggestion and pulled over and took some cheapo pics over the fence
Margo & Jerry finding pennies were a bit short, decided to cash in and opened a fast food oulet onsite selling burgers to the needy
Homer was his usual well behaved and endearing self. He has actually advanced in his palate and decided to wander the campsite and chose his own dinner. He stared off raiding Annies cool box with a nice bag of semi frozen chilli con carne, then onto Smokys tent, where he found quite conveniently a full Victoria Sponge still in its packaging (in fairness he never ate the cardboard). And did try and finish off his set meal with a lump of stilton and crackers off the picnic bench, but ended up with me punching him on his nose
Revenge is sweet though, so he trashed the kid’s football instead
Although I was in agreement with his fondness for the chickens (loads of them on our meets are bloody chicken obsessive, I fail to see the attraction unless it’s in a good curry). He is the fuzzy bit here, chasing the fussy brown thing in front of him
And just so I don’t get sued, here’s the hairy little bastard still in one piece (before we tandoori’ed him)
Roll on New Year, I’m sure there’s another mound of rock somewhere waiting for us to visit, at least 2 chickens left (originally there were 5, one got eaten by a fox and Mr William Chickenhater CrapDriver ran over the other) and can’t wait to see Mr William Hamster Foxhole in the future (that’s another £5 off the campsite fee)
PS: I will try and get a picture of the co-op at New Year
Had to rob and post this pic off the camping forum - think it looks brilliant!
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