Bishop's Castle '24
The Foxholes Campsite at Bishop’s Castle is a destination in itself that my friends and I go to every year. We usually go for the a weekend around the first week of July, as that is when we always went for the town’s real ale festival. In years around and since Covid though the festival no longer happens. We like the area—and the campsite is brilliant—so we continue to go there when we can around the same time. It has become our tradition.
The only time I haven’t gone over the last decade is the one bloody time I caught Covid (I was lucky enough to only catch it once and for it to do nothing to me at the time: but I was unlucky that it coincided with a Bishop’s Castle camping trip AND a gig I really wanted to go to (the Felice Brothers at Leaf, Liverpool). A double whammy).
The drive down from Liverpool was in sunshine all the way, with only some heavy-ish traffic for a few miles intermittently north of Oswestry (on the A5). Once you are on the A5 there really aren’t any alternative roads to avoid traffic issues, you just have to go with the flow (or lack of it). To be fair we got down to the campsite in a couple of hours or so and that was mighty fine. Got the tent up just as our second car arrived. It was sunshiny, there as a bit of a breeze but nothing to adversely affect a few experience tent putter-uppers and the second tent was up in no time.
Time for a beer. It’s a tradition that the beer doesn’t get open until the tent is up. First up was a Neptune & Crosby Coffee IPA. I ended up only drinking three cans at the campsite, which has never happened before; and each would be one of the Crosby Coffee/Neptune ales. I didn’t have any of the usual pales as options.
The tent's up, so the beer is poured.
A very familiar view from Foxholes campsite.
The four of us headed down to Bishop’s Castle along the very familiar path (which is part of the Shropshire Way) through the fields. With it being a bit later in the field all the crop had been cut. It was a bit unusual walking through the field which is usually well over a metre high. We were then in the deeply shaded wooded area by the allotments. It does look like someone cuts the growth back as otherwise progress would probably be less easy through there (maybe a bit more nettle orientated).
View along the Shropshire Way towards Foxholes campsite.
In Bishop’s Castle we headed to our usual starting point, which was the Three Tuns. The options for Three Tuns ales was down to just two as I think the onsite brewery has been subject to some changes (maybe I’ll look that up)—I think it would normally have been four in the past. Most of the inside tables were ready for people due to come in to eat, and we headed outside to the garden/yard area (after a Shropshire version of Kettling I think). It was nicely shaded but still sunny in there. We just had the one in there whilst reminiscing about so many trips to the ‘Castle.
The Castle pub was next, where again we sat outside. The sun was beginning to come down and most the areas were in shade. It took a while (and some people leaving) before we found a place in at least some sunshine. We ended up having a couple of nice beers there whilst Ste and Tony tried to befriend anyone with a dog (there were a few). Then lastly we headed to the Vault, which always used to be our favourite pub at the end of the night during the festival when they would have plenty of beers on and a few good bands. There were not many options for beer this time (it wasn’t a festival after all) and there was no live music on. We had just one drink there before heading back up the hill to our tents—and a damn excellent curry (with homemade naan) courtesy of Jeanette. Top stuff.
Sleep proved a bit of an enigma that night, due to noise predominantly and the next day some people (ie the other three) were up ridiculously early. In some ways it didn’t matter, as I was just not going to get to sleep. And the noise from the Wood Pigeons was driving me to distraction (by then I was wondering if anybody had packed an air rifle).
So Saturday began in a tired way whilst the weather was grey and drizzly. Still, it felt damn better after a sausage sandwich (Steve Stonko would approve; even without any Stella). We spent some time flitting between apps looking at how the Olympics were going and the weather forecasts. Okay, mainly looking at the weather. There was no consensus between the weather apps (which I never get, as surely they use the same data—please don’t blame the algorithms), but generally the sun was due to come out some time after 11am or maybe after 2pm. If it was 2 then that was fine anyway, so on this occasionlet the apps argue amongst themselves.
We’d developed a consensus that we would go to Ludlow for the day. Jeanette kindly offered to drive the four of us there rather than take two cars. And, other than having to circle the car park for a frustrating age waiting for a space to appear, the drive both there and away was fine. It was still grey and wet until not long after we parked up. Then the sun came out (before 2) just as one or two of the apps had suggested could happen. On the way round we went past a wonderful sandwich shop selling baps and baguettes of beef or pork—with apple sauce, stuffing and crackling—it smelled wonderful and whilst it was too early to join the extensive queue we agreed that it would be a good shout to go back. We all crossed our fingers that there would be some left. Anyway, this is getting too wordy isn’t it? Suffice to say that we got pork rolls and sat in the sun by the castle walls enjoying every bite. I’d bought a couple of books from Oxfam whilst Jeanette had manned the queue for the pork. Dare say I didn’t really need any more books, but hey. The sun soon got very warm and the rain became a memory. We visited three pubs in Ludlow. Not a mighty crawl, but we weren’t there for that.
Back in Bishop’s Castle I lay down in the sun listened to some of the Olympics on iPlayer. My forehead got pretty burned from that twenty minutes or so and I’d feel it for a while. We eventually walked into Bishop’s Castle and went straight down to the Six Bells at the bottom of the village with the sun still out. They had a BBQ on, but we didn’t fancy it. We actually ended up going back to the campsite without eating anything. The pork baps had been enough.
I sat outside under the clear skies and saw two shooting stars in relatively short order. I was disappointed not to see anymore having seen two early doors, but I did watch a satellite make it’s way across the sky too. Didn’t have the app to check whether it was the ISS or not.
It was possibly the best thing about the night, but maybe it was a score draw with the other thing that was to come…: Earplugs. I’d been given a couple of wax plugs and boy did they make a big difference? Yes, they did. Slept really well and even though I would hear the wood pigeons I no longer hated them. Maybe that’s the easiest route to world peace: earplugs. I’ll defo be ordering some before the next camping trip.
A relaxed Andy with a mug of coffee.
The weather forecast on the Sunday was sun all day and quite hot too. It was actually okay to begin with and the intermittent clouds were enough to keep the morning pretty damn fine for breakfast (bacon baps) and the taking down of the tents. Later on it was to get a wee bit (very) warm. We ended up with a double-header and first we headed down to Much Wenlock (another Shropshire market town). It had been a rich town back in the day and was the site of the Wenlock Olympian Games, which was established in 1850 by William Penny Brookes. Pierre Courbetin who was to establish the IOC was an enthusiast of the event. With the Olympics in Paris closing on the same day it was nice to see the museum celebrating that we’d already had the Olympics in Shropshire before they stole the idea. In the middle of the town was a nice little museum—defo worth the visit (it had some nice archeology and geology in addition to the Olympic stuff). After a bit of a wander around the museum and the Guildhall we ended up having a Sunday lunch sat outside in the courtyard beneath the sun at the Talbot pub. Roast beef and Yorkshire pud was a fine choice.
We carried on the few miles after that to Ironbridge. It’s one of those place I’ve always wanted to see. It was actually hot work walking around in the sun by then and after walking over the eponymous bridge we ended up quickly getting ourselves an ice cream cone and finding some shade. The bridge looked fab and the place was busy; it was Sunday and weather was fab after all. After a bit of a mooch there was time for one beer in the White Hart. It was nice to sit inside, and out of the heat really. Then it was time to head home. The trip back went smoothly like the weekend itself.
The museum and the Guildhall, Much Wenlock.
Sunday lunch at the Talbot in Much Wedlock.
An old and iron bridge, in Ironbridge.
There really was a small amount of beer (and gin) consumed over the three days—based on our historical exploits in Bishop’s Castle at any rate. No one even lit any fires to burn their shorts: always a risk. We all enjoyed the weekend away. Camping can be really fine, especially when the weather blesses us. It was a fab weekend. Maybe we’ll try and fit in one more camping trip this year. Hope so.
Incidentally I’d asked Jeanette what Ironbidge was called before they had the bridge. She asked Doctor Google the next day and it said the gorge—at least—was known as Coalbrookdale before the first ever iron bridge was constructed. It is amazing that they actually aren’t completely sure where the bridge segments were forged. Time hey, it kills everything. Maybe the French will claim it.
The only time I haven’t gone over the last decade is the one bloody time I caught Covid (I was lucky enough to only catch it once and for it to do nothing to me at the time: but I was unlucky that it coincided with a Bishop’s Castle camping trip AND a gig I really wanted to go to (the Felice Brothers at Leaf, Liverpool). A double whammy).
The drive down from Liverpool was in sunshine all the way, with only some heavy-ish traffic for a few miles intermittently north of Oswestry (on the A5). Once you are on the A5 there really aren’t any alternative roads to avoid traffic issues, you just have to go with the flow (or lack of it). To be fair we got down to the campsite in a couple of hours or so and that was mighty fine. Got the tent up just as our second car arrived. It was sunshiny, there as a bit of a breeze but nothing to adversely affect a few experience tent putter-uppers and the second tent was up in no time.
Time for a beer. It’s a tradition that the beer doesn’t get open until the tent is up. First up was a Neptune & Crosby Coffee IPA. I ended up only drinking three cans at the campsite, which has never happened before; and each would be one of the Crosby Coffee/Neptune ales. I didn’t have any of the usual pales as options.
The tent's up, so the beer is poured.
A very familiar view from Foxholes campsite.
The four of us headed down to Bishop’s Castle along the very familiar path (which is part of the Shropshire Way) through the fields. With it being a bit later in the field all the crop had been cut. It was a bit unusual walking through the field which is usually well over a metre high. We were then in the deeply shaded wooded area by the allotments. It does look like someone cuts the growth back as otherwise progress would probably be less easy through there (maybe a bit more nettle orientated).
View along the Shropshire Way towards Foxholes campsite.
In Bishop’s Castle we headed to our usual starting point, which was the Three Tuns. The options for Three Tuns ales was down to just two as I think the onsite brewery has been subject to some changes (maybe I’ll look that up)—I think it would normally have been four in the past. Most of the inside tables were ready for people due to come in to eat, and we headed outside to the garden/yard area (after a Shropshire version of Kettling I think). It was nicely shaded but still sunny in there. We just had the one in there whilst reminiscing about so many trips to the ‘Castle.
The Castle pub was next, where again we sat outside. The sun was beginning to come down and most the areas were in shade. It took a while (and some people leaving) before we found a place in at least some sunshine. We ended up having a couple of nice beers there whilst Ste and Tony tried to befriend anyone with a dog (there were a few). Then lastly we headed to the Vault, which always used to be our favourite pub at the end of the night during the festival when they would have plenty of beers on and a few good bands. There were not many options for beer this time (it wasn’t a festival after all) and there was no live music on. We had just one drink there before heading back up the hill to our tents—and a damn excellent curry (with homemade naan) courtesy of Jeanette. Top stuff.
Sleep proved a bit of an enigma that night, due to noise predominantly and the next day some people (ie the other three) were up ridiculously early. In some ways it didn’t matter, as I was just not going to get to sleep. And the noise from the Wood Pigeons was driving me to distraction (by then I was wondering if anybody had packed an air rifle).
So Saturday began in a tired way whilst the weather was grey and drizzly. Still, it felt damn better after a sausage sandwich (Steve Stonko would approve; even without any Stella). We spent some time flitting between apps looking at how the Olympics were going and the weather forecasts. Okay, mainly looking at the weather. There was no consensus between the weather apps (which I never get, as surely they use the same data—please don’t blame the algorithms), but generally the sun was due to come out some time after 11am or maybe after 2pm. If it was 2 then that was fine anyway, so on this occasionlet the apps argue amongst themselves.
We’d developed a consensus that we would go to Ludlow for the day. Jeanette kindly offered to drive the four of us there rather than take two cars. And, other than having to circle the car park for a frustrating age waiting for a space to appear, the drive both there and away was fine. It was still grey and wet until not long after we parked up. Then the sun came out (before 2) just as one or two of the apps had suggested could happen. On the way round we went past a wonderful sandwich shop selling baps and baguettes of beef or pork—with apple sauce, stuffing and crackling—it smelled wonderful and whilst it was too early to join the extensive queue we agreed that it would be a good shout to go back. We all crossed our fingers that there would be some left. Anyway, this is getting too wordy isn’t it? Suffice to say that we got pork rolls and sat in the sun by the castle walls enjoying every bite. I’d bought a couple of books from Oxfam whilst Jeanette had manned the queue for the pork. Dare say I didn’t really need any more books, but hey. The sun soon got very warm and the rain became a memory. We visited three pubs in Ludlow. Not a mighty crawl, but we weren’t there for that.
Back in Bishop’s Castle I lay down in the sun listened to some of the Olympics on iPlayer. My forehead got pretty burned from that twenty minutes or so and I’d feel it for a while. We eventually walked into Bishop’s Castle and went straight down to the Six Bells at the bottom of the village with the sun still out. They had a BBQ on, but we didn’t fancy it. We actually ended up going back to the campsite without eating anything. The pork baps had been enough.
I sat outside under the clear skies and saw two shooting stars in relatively short order. I was disappointed not to see anymore having seen two early doors, but I did watch a satellite make it’s way across the sky too. Didn’t have the app to check whether it was the ISS or not.
It was possibly the best thing about the night, but maybe it was a score draw with the other thing that was to come…: Earplugs. I’d been given a couple of wax plugs and boy did they make a big difference? Yes, they did. Slept really well and even though I would hear the wood pigeons I no longer hated them. Maybe that’s the easiest route to world peace: earplugs. I’ll defo be ordering some before the next camping trip.
A relaxed Andy with a mug of coffee.
The weather forecast on the Sunday was sun all day and quite hot too. It was actually okay to begin with and the intermittent clouds were enough to keep the morning pretty damn fine for breakfast (bacon baps) and the taking down of the tents. Later on it was to get a wee bit (very) warm. We ended up with a double-header and first we headed down to Much Wenlock (another Shropshire market town). It had been a rich town back in the day and was the site of the Wenlock Olympian Games, which was established in 1850 by William Penny Brookes. Pierre Courbetin who was to establish the IOC was an enthusiast of the event. With the Olympics in Paris closing on the same day it was nice to see the museum celebrating that we’d already had the Olympics in Shropshire before they stole the idea. In the middle of the town was a nice little museum—defo worth the visit (it had some nice archeology and geology in addition to the Olympic stuff). After a bit of a wander around the museum and the Guildhall we ended up having a Sunday lunch sat outside in the courtyard beneath the sun at the Talbot pub. Roast beef and Yorkshire pud was a fine choice.
We carried on the few miles after that to Ironbridge. It’s one of those place I’ve always wanted to see. It was actually hot work walking around in the sun by then and after walking over the eponymous bridge we ended up quickly getting ourselves an ice cream cone and finding some shade. The bridge looked fab and the place was busy; it was Sunday and weather was fab after all. After a bit of a mooch there was time for one beer in the White Hart. It was nice to sit inside, and out of the heat really. Then it was time to head home. The trip back went smoothly like the weekend itself.
The museum and the Guildhall, Much Wenlock.
Sunday lunch at the Talbot in Much Wedlock.
An old and iron bridge, in Ironbridge.
There really was a small amount of beer (and gin) consumed over the three days—based on our historical exploits in Bishop’s Castle at any rate. No one even lit any fires to burn their shorts: always a risk. We all enjoyed the weekend away. Camping can be really fine, especially when the weather blesses us. It was a fab weekend. Maybe we’ll try and fit in one more camping trip this year. Hope so.
Incidentally I’d asked Jeanette what Ironbidge was called before they had the bridge. She asked Doctor Google the next day and it said the gorge—at least—was known as Coalbrookdale before the first ever iron bridge was constructed. It is amazing that they actually aren’t completely sure where the bridge segments were forged. Time hey, it kills everything. Maybe the French will claim it.
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