For a while we wondered if we’d get a camping trip in this year. We had a booking a few weeks ago but it turned out to be a weekend of storms across the country so we thought better of it. We pencilled in this weekend in its stead. The weather forecast was dry so we went for it. Really glad we did, it was a great few days.







We only had the one evening in Bishop’s Castle itself. Unfortunately the Three Tuns is closed at the moment. Not sure it that’s a temporary thing or not. The brewery is separate from the pub and is still going though. In the end we started in The Castle at the top of the village then made our way down via a short stop in The Vaults—which isn’t as good as it used to be—then we headed to the bottom of the village to the always reliable Six Bells.

We had a good evening out. The walk back to the tents was a different story completely, but suffice to say, that whilst we may not have returned as quickly as we should have, we all got back in one piece. And only one tree was harmed in the activity. I’ll say no more at this point, but maybe I’ll use some of the interesting evening as a basis to a story or two.



Next morning we got up—all pretty tired—and had a bacon butty to start the day of with. It was overcast and pretty grey; and surprisingly cold. We’d decided we go to Ludlow for the day (which we also did last time we camped here). The drive was straightforward and we were very lucky with a car park space opening up, in the overflowing car park, just as we arrived.

We headed into the town which we knew pretty well really. And Tony went straight to the Ludlow Pottery stall at the market to source a few porcelain mugs to replace the ones he’d lost with his pastime of coffee juggling. It was apparent that everyone who pays Council Tax in Ludlow gets a free dog or two. We were virtually the only people not walking through the place with our own portable trip hazard. It was like a dog festival in the centre. Rather too many small ones for my liking. The sun was coming out properly by now. A blue sky and warm too, very welcome after the nippy start to the morning.

By now it was pub time and we had a relaxing hour or so outside—in the courtyard—of the Rose & Crown (a Joules pub: cue a Slumbering Monk and a Pale). Kept my eye on my Football App to see the Man City score. They lost. Excellent. We went on to grab some sausages for Sunday’s breakfast and pulled pork baps for our lunch. We only just got the dregs of the pork, and there were many behind left disappointed; meanwhile they gave us a discount for not having the best of it. First the car park space, then the cheap port (and crackling), we were on a roll (not of the bap variety), maybe we should have bought a Lottery ticket at this point. Some ice-cream was called for by some of the group.







And that was about it really. We went back towards the car and ended up not popping into another pub (shocking behaviour). We decided to pop to Clun rather than straight to the campsite. The others headed to see the castle. I’d been there before and so opted to save my weary legs and go to the White Horse Inn for a pint and to read some. Nice pub, with plenty of Clun Brewery options too (I had a Solar and a Citadel). The others came back for one and then we pootled back the 5 or so miles to Foxholes.






Everyone was a little tired (some more so) and the call was made to stay in the campsite that evening rather than head down to the village. When it was discovered that the chippy was open (it had been closed the night before) the decision was set in stone and Jeanette drove down to pick up some (very) chip heavy dinners. It was the right call. The evening was relaxed and no more trees were harmed at this point of the weekend.

Drinking was quite minimal compared with our history here. There were no rum, brandy, or whisky bottles opened over the weekend. Just a few cans and bottles of beer; and gin for Jeanette (when she wasn’t driving of course). The evening across the campsite sounded lively on Saturday night, but not excessively so. We’re usually here at the start of July before the school holidays so we aren’t used to seeing children here. This time there were plenty of young kids about (all seemingly enjoying kite flying) and there were loads of camper vans. I really quite fancy having one; if I ever get a decent windfall I’d defo consider getting one. It would seem very freeing.



Sunday began with a sausage and bacon bap, showers, and taking down our tents. It was much sunnier and warmer than the start of the day on Saturday. There was some debate about where to go to before going home and we opted for having a few hours in Bridgnorth. Three of us had been there before but the memories of the place varied between ‘pretty good’ to ‘have I!?’. Last time we camped at Foxholes we went to Ironbridge on the Sunday and Bridgnorth is really just the next town down the river (the Severn). It was warm and sunny and the town looked lovely. Thankfully it wasn’t as hot as it had been when we’d been at Ironbridge; but hey, sunshine, calm, and dry is always a bonus when you’re out and about. And a breeze in a beer garden or AC inside the pub is a damn fine bonus. The others opted for a walk around the upper town up the steep roads, whilst I opted for sitting out the steep climb to relax in the Black Boy Inn. I ended up with a pint of Hobson’s ‘Town Crier’ and an ‘Enville Ale’ before they returned from their steep stroll.













Lastly we had a drink and some chips in the Boatyard. Nice to sit out again and eat something. A shame they had no real ale on, but beggars can't be choosers. Then it was the trip back to Liverpool—it's only two hours away. The journey back went smoothly. It was good to get back but it had been a really good trip though. Other than the slight tree issue the only other issue had been two broken air beds which headed to the Purple Bin on my return. Must get another one for myself before camping again next year. Assuming I do. Fingers crossed I do.