It’s late September and the Bongo is in yet another field, this time the other side of the United Kingdom in rural Devon – well four miles from the centre of Plymouth - the weather continues to be glorious.
After clear nights the days start chilly, with a heavy dew on the grass but soon warming up by mid morning ; the day starts with the fleece and T-shirt by mid morning it’s just the T-shirt.
Yes it’s the countryside and quiet but not that deep, somber, soul searching quiet of Unst: I can hear the hum of the distant A38, the rustle of the leaves of trees & hedges in the breeze, the constant hum of harvesting tractors the size of buses dragging trailers the size of houses full of green stuff across the field.
Britain by Bongo, when I left Abbey Wood in early July, was meant to be a travel log instead it’s turned out to be reflections on and contrasts of the places visited and the people seen and met.
Set aside the Orwellian organisation of Caravan Club sites: securely gated & completely fenced communities, exact rules on positioning in the pitch, strict enforcement 5mph speed limit, signs on everything, instructions everywhere & on everything, strict arrival and departure times&procedures, FIFO. However after a few days of wild camping: no electricity, no running water, no toilet, no shower a CC site was often very welcome in spite of its conventions.
The people I’ve met on this journey have been universally brilliant without exception I know that’s a big statement but it’s a fact.
Had some great nights× eating, drinking and talking long in to the night as we share experiences of and sort out children, parents, partners, wives, husbands, caravans, campervans, banks, pensions, work, art , culture life the universe and everything.
As for the places set aside Unst and Dentadale aside as they left such a deep, lasting impression – hugely deeper and longer lasting than any of the other places visited – all the rest have been good to great.
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