Where's Bertie? Still at the Aire at Le Tréport.
Weather: Grey but mainly dry.
One of the passenger pods on the funicular, of which I failed to give a comprehensible description yesterday.
From the upper station of the funicular railway, at the top of the white cliffs, there is a walking route that is particularly popular on a Sunday morning, and clockwise seemed to be the direction of choice ... for just about everyone except for us. Two enormous groups of ramblers were met and 'bonjoured' (the second group must have been more than 50 strong). I'm not sure what makes it so popular as, except for the few hundred metres along the top of the cliffs, it didn't score highly on my 'interesting walk' scale.
I took myself off for another wander this afternoon, which turned out to be a little longer than expected (mainly because, on a whim, I deviated from where I intended to go, so as to recce a potential running route). It also involved an incident of trying to return a football to a nearby Sunday-league-esque match and proving, in front of an audience, that I don't even have the ability to make contact between foot and ball. I ended up leaving the ball on the path in the hope that someone with better skills would do the job.
Arriving back at Bertie, it was to the news that the police had just been around to check parking tickets. Of course, we didn't have a ticket, believing the whole payment system to be out of order. Having been put right on that front, off Mick toddled to the machine, in the company of another chap who had made the same mistake (being Sunday afternoon, a number of other vans had got away with it, having left earlier).
The first chap succeeded in getting a ticket, but having selected the relevant option and put his card into the slot, the machine failed to give Mick his slip of paper. He stood wondering what to do for a few moments, not knowing whether the payment had gone through or whether he should start over, when the first chap returned, said they were leaving and kindly handed over the ticket he had just bought - valid until tomorrow afternoon. It'll take a few days of waiting for the transaction to turn up (or not) on the credit card bill before we find out whether we did in fact pay for our ticket, or if we've just effectively stolen another night here.
Weather: Grey but mainly dry.
One of the passenger pods on the funicular, of which I failed to give a comprehensible description yesterday.
From the upper station of the funicular railway, at the top of the white cliffs, there is a walking route that is particularly popular on a Sunday morning, and clockwise seemed to be the direction of choice ... for just about everyone except for us. Two enormous groups of ramblers were met and 'bonjoured' (the second group must have been more than 50 strong). I'm not sure what makes it so popular as, except for the few hundred metres along the top of the cliffs, it didn't score highly on my 'interesting walk' scale.
I took myself off for another wander this afternoon, which turned out to be a little longer than expected (mainly because, on a whim, I deviated from where I intended to go, so as to recce a potential running route). It also involved an incident of trying to return a football to a nearby Sunday-league-esque match and proving, in front of an audience, that I don't even have the ability to make contact between foot and ball. I ended up leaving the ball on the path in the hope that someone with better skills would do the job.
Arriving back at Bertie, it was to the news that the police had just been around to check parking tickets. Of course, we didn't have a ticket, believing the whole payment system to be out of order. Having been put right on that front, off Mick toddled to the machine, in the company of another chap who had made the same mistake (being Sunday afternoon, a number of other vans had got away with it, having left earlier).
The first chap succeeded in getting a ticket, but having selected the relevant option and put his card into the slot, the machine failed to give Mick his slip of paper. He stood wondering what to do for a few moments, not knowing whether the payment had gone through or whether he should start over, when the first chap returned, said they were leaving and kindly handed over the ticket he had just bought - valid until tomorrow afternoon. It'll take a few days of waiting for the transaction to turn up (or not) on the credit card bill before we find out whether we did in fact pay for our ticket, or if we've just effectively stolen another night here.
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