An Annual Ritual
So, onto the 2025 edition of our annual “lads” trip away with Jimmy, Stevie and Kipper. For this year, planning had been both spartan and distant, partly because I’m not living in the proverbial zone anyway. So it was all done a bit late, and as a result the options were a little limited. It worked out OK though.
Planning for these sessions gets a bit tricky because of the very particular constraints on the accommodation. We prefer small, independently owned pubs and hotels. The kind that has no more than 20 rooms, a restaurant and a bar. Ideally the bar should be naturally rowdy, or should be in a place where there’s nobody else around. Why? I guess we can get a little loud after a few drinks. Not offensive, but standards differ across the country, and in a lot of small, quiet hotels, a group of four gentlemen let loose on an unsuspecting clientele might not go down too well.
We’ve never been chucked out of anywhere, but there’ve been a couple of nights where the small number of other guests in the hotel restaurant might have not got the quiet, romantic evening they were expecting.
Is there a plot?
Back at the plot, we also prefer that the place we stay has a good, private car park. Ideally this should have lots of spaces and a tarmac surface, and not be shared with people who aren’t staying at the hotel. This means it’s OK for those of us with very nice cars to be able to park them safely. That’s not me, by the way.
And finally, one of our number is vegan. So we need to find a hotel that has a reasonable selection of vegan meals, or one that’s in a town big enough to have a selection of eateries.
I always think beforehand that the vegan menu will be the hardest to find, but typically the most challenging is to find somewhere with a private car park. Smaller inns tend only to have car parks at the front that are shared with evening visitors. Or they don’t have a car park at all.
So with that, this year’s selection was The Warkworth House Hotel, in, unsurprisingly, Warkworth. They have 15 rooms. They have a car park, but one of our number didn’t fancy it, so we all went in my car again. The surprising and refreshing thing about it was that they have a separate vegan / vegetarian menu with a good selection of items and daily specials. So Stevie was sorted.
Driving Up
Clearly with me being in Leicestershire now the logistics were a bit more complex. However, once Jimmy decided not to take the flash motor, then it became more straightforward. Steve picked everyone up in MK and then drove up to mine. The plan was to leave his car on the drive and for us to take mine up. I guess that meant Steve did a shift of driving. It left me with the job of getting us from Leicestershire to Warkworth – a relatively straightforward burn up the M1 and A1 with a stop at Wetherby Services.
It was dark by the time we reached Newcastle and the weather was challenging for the whole journey, so I was quite glad to arrive. The hotel’s car park was, shall we say, “interesting” to access, involving squeezing down a fairly narrow alleyway with plant pots and steps sticking out. By the time we parked I was glad it was over.
But there was a space in the car park, and the hotel was expecting us. Four rooms then – two on the ground floor and two above the bar. The bar seemed quite busy when we arrived, but once we’d had dinner everyone else had gone.
Shhh! Don’t tell Jimmy
Saturday morning. That usually means a parkrun. There was very conveniently one about 5 miles down the road. Kipper and Jimmy don’t do them. Steve does, but hadn’t bought any kit. He decided to come anyway though. He’d “run/walk” round in long trousers and boots.
Druridge Bay parkrun takes place around a lake (maybe a lagoon) close to the sea. On this particular morning there was what you might describe as a stiff breeze. Or maybe blowing a hoolie. One of those. I’m going to blame my average performance at parkrun on the wind. Clearly the quantity of alcohol consumed the previous night was nothing to do with it.
Anyway, as it happened, Stevie was barely breaking sweat keeping with me, despite the long trousers and boots. I have some speed work to do, clearly. But at least we got out and did one.
Hotel breakfast finished at 10am. So we didn’t stop at parkrun, we just headed back and made it into the breakfast room for 9:50. Surprisingly they were still happy to do a cooked breakfast. Jimmy and Kipper were already there of course, having gone down at a sensible time.
Windy, innit?
After a quick shower and change, we headed off for a visit to Dunstanburgh Castle. We chose here for Saturday partly to allow for parkrun, but also partly because Kipper wanted to go to Lindisfarne but the tide times were quite poor for Saturday. I’ve been to Dunstanburgh a couple of times before (but before starting these blogs). The easiest access is to park in Craster and walk along the coast. It’s also accessible across Embleton Bay if you like a slightly longer walk.
The walk along the coast from Craster to Dunstanburgh Castle is one of those routes that sounds gentle until Northumberland reminds you who’s in charge. The path hugs the shoreline, skirting fields while the North Sea keeps pace beside you, loud, restless, and clearly not in the mood for small talk. Ahead, Dunstanburgh Castle never seems to get any closer until the last 200 yards. Its dark, broken outline sits on a rocky headland like a dramatic flourish at the end of a sentence. Built in the 14th century by Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, it was never a subtle structure, and even in ruins it knows how to make an entrance. In fact, the entrance is the most complete remaining part.
Dunstanburgh is famous in my mind for being a shooting location that’s been used more than once in Vera. It was certainly used in the first ever episode, which was filmed mainly around Embleton Bay. We had a good wander around, peering in and out of the buildings and walking around the perimeter.
Castling
Circling the castle was an exercise in leaning at improbable angles while being pelted with salty air. The ruins are vast and open, with towers and curtain walls exposed to the elements, and the weather seemed determined to explore every gap and corner at once. It was gloriously chaotic: waves crashing below, wind roaring through the stonework, and the castle standing there taking it all without complaint. Dunstanburgh doesn’t ask for calm appreciation. It much prefers drama, noise, and visitors who leave with cold ears and a deep respect for medieval builders and Northumberland weather alike.
The castle is managed by English Heritage, but much of the surrounding land is owned by the National Trust. As a result, membership of either organisation gets you in for nothing. We managed to blag a couple of those then. To my shame, I thought I was no longer a member of the NT. I discovered a few weeks later though that I am. I was sure we’d cancelled the membership, but they sent me a new card, so fair enough. If only I’d known a few weeks back in the Lake District. I could have parked for free in a couple of places.
Bamburgh
Bamburgh Castle appears ahead of you in that unmistakable way that large castles do, suddenly filling the horizon and making you feel slightly underdressed. Perched high on its rocky outcrop above the North Sea, it looked solid, windswept, and entirely unconcerned with our timing. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived it was only open for another hour, which felt unrealistic and not at all worth the £20 entry fee, so we admired it from the gatehouse only. The castle has stood on this site for over a thousand years in one form or another, and it seemed perfectly content to wait for a better-planned visit. It’ll probably still be there.
Even from down on the roadside, Bamburgh manages to be magnificent. We walked through the village and to the cafe at the walled garden. It’s owned/managed by the same people as the castle. There may have been a nice English garden there at some point, but right now it’s mainly occupied by a large cafe (busy) and a kids’ play area (not busy). So we had warming food and hot drinks and then decided to jack it in and go back to Warkworth to watch the end of an England rugby match. Against the All Blacks, and England won.
Run for Home
Another decent breakfast was had by all. Today’s objective was to make it up to Lindisfarne before the tide came in (at about 11am). We made it in plenty of time. We were then stranded on Lindisfarne until about 3pm, when the tide went down again.
First up we decided to take a walk around the priory. In fact, we maybe spent an hour there. It was cloudy in the morning, so spending time here was good, because it’s mainly out of the wind. From here we made our way up to the watchtower thingy before plodding down to the harbour and onwards to the castle. The castle was shut, which was a bit of a disappointment.
Anyway, time was passing quite slowly, so we headed off northwards to a distant pyramid structure and then eastwards to a sandy beach where Stevie recycled some bits of wood and seaweed to create a bit of beach artwork, like you do. Walking back to the village from here involved going across dunes and then agricultural fields. By this time the sun was out and it was really kind of pleasant.
Late Lunch
Back at the village, not very many places were open. Eventually we found a decent looking cafe and retired for multiple coffees, savoury and sweet foodstuffs and the like. Even when we’d finished here we still had a while left before we’d be able to get off the island, so we took a walk to the shore on the west side of the priory.
Standing on Lindisfarne in the low winter sunlight feels a bit like being inside a very atmospheric postcard that’s taking itself extremely seriously. The Island is flat and exposed, so there’s nothing to interrupt the long views across the sands to the mainland from where we were standing. In the distance, the Cheviot Hills sit on the horizon, solid and unbothered, looking exactly like hills that have seen everything and aren’t impressed.
The winter light, that we were looking straight into, added to the drama of the scene. It turned the sand pale and the sky yellow, giving a clean, almost polished look. It’s the kind of view that encourages reflective silence – partly from awe, and partly because the cold air makes conversation feel like unnecessary effort. So I wandered off on my own for a bit, finding a geocache and contemplating my lot, before climbing the steep side up to the watchtower.
And so the clock had eeked its way around to about 2:45, and we could see cars heading out towards the causeway, so we figured we’d give it a go. We timed it well.
Warkworth
Back in Warkworth there was a little daylight and time left before the scheduled England football game in the evening. We spent it by walking over to the river bridge and then up the hill to the castle.
Warkworth Castle rises above the River Coquet with the confidence of something that has been impressing people since the 12th century and sees no reason to stop now. Standing over the village of Warkworth in Northumberland, it was long associated with the powerful Percy family, Earls (and later Dukes) of Northumberland, who clearly enjoyed a dramatic skyline. The castle’s most distinctive feature is its Great Tower, commissioned in the late 14th century by Henry Percy, the first Earl of Northumberland, and designed more as a grand residence than a purely defensive stronghold.
The light was already fading when we arrived, so it was too late to go inside. We circled the castle instead, peering up at its walls and battlements. It turns out Warkworth Castle doesn’t need open doors to be impressive; even from the outside, especially in late-afternoon gloom, it manages to feel theatrical, historic, and faintly dismissive of mere mortals who think it’s an easy stroll up the hill.
Coming Home
Unlike the trip up, the drive back was conducted in bright sunlight. The motorways were quiet enough and we stopped at Wetherby again, albeit quite briefly.
So the end of another lads weekend away. I love the Northumberland coast. I’d only been there before in summer. It’s kind of windswept in winter but still beautiful.
