Well hello there.
Self-explanatory title this time, you'll note. We've only gone and booked the ruddy honeymoon.
Somewhere in the distance, a crowd roars in celebration. *raaaaaaaaawrrrrrrrrr*
Am considering a minor celebration as I sit here in the English office, otherwise known as The Bunker (there's no natural sunlight, you see. And low ceilings. Debs referred to it as being "like the bloody Cabinet War Rooms in here" yesterday and I nearly choked on my tea).
A little conga, perhaps. A solitary Mexican wave. A shimmy around the table.
It's taken what seems like forever to make our choice. We thought about going to Northumberland and doing some serious walking. But then we decided that would involve camping and after last summer's debacle in France (err, do you like sand in your sleeping bag? No? Shame, 'cos it's BLOODY EVERYWHERE!) we came to the conclusion that wouldn't be un bon idee.
Then we thought about Italy. I fancied Croatia or somewhere else a bit Eastern-European. But then the ex-factor reared its head (can you really go on honeymoon to a place where you/your beloved has been with an ex? I don't think I'd be overly delighted with that prospect).
Then it became less of an issue and we started to toy with the idea again. Ooo, Italy. Ooo, pizza. Ooo, vino. Ooo, Mr and Mrs Smith. Pretty website. Pretty boutique hotels with exposed stone walls and roll-top baths and oh Lordy, Adam, look! They offer breadmaking classes and -
- ERR, YOU WHAT? £340 a night?
We've decided we're not Mr and Mrs Smith. We're Mr and Mrs Bedford. Or will be, anyway. And we need a more budget-friendly option.
Sardinia? Argentina! New Zealand? Bit of Australia? Combination?
This is our honeymoon, yeah?
This needs to be the best holiday of our LIVES. The pressure is ON, man.
What's the best holiday you've ever had? Where's the best place you've ever been?
Blank faces.
Umm, Northumberland?
Do you remember that weekend in August when we stayed in a fairly average B&B and the Polish owner shouted at us for not wanting the full English in the morning?
Ha, yeah, that was funny. We got some serious mileage out of doing impressions of her.
And when we went on the boat trip to the Farne Islands to see The Amazing Varieties of Bird and Wildlife.
Cue Geordie accent over the ship tannoy: "As yer can see, MOAST of the bords have migrated to Africa...."
And all we could see were views of totally deserted bird-shit-covered rocks.
Yeah, and then we got engaged there. In Rothbury.
Where Raoul Moat shot himself.
Yeah. And the man in the B&B was the campest creature ever.
'Bellini? Bellini?' Aye, gan on then, I'll have a Bellini. Ta. Oh, whats this? A hot flannel? Err....OK.
I love Northumberland. I love the wild skies and the deserted beaches. It's as beautiful as Cornwall (FACT), but not as trendy. The coastline is amazing. The air is so clean and tuckers you right out. The pubs are ace. It's friendly. It's Northern. It's just the BEST.
And, as a decision, it just seems RIGHT.
And LOOK AT WHERE WE'RE STAYING:
I am so excited I can barely BREATHE.
That is all for now.
Self-explanatory title this time, you'll note. We've only gone and booked the ruddy honeymoon.
Somewhere in the distance, a crowd roars in celebration. *raaaaaaaaawrrrrrrrrr*
Am considering a minor celebration as I sit here in the English office, otherwise known as The Bunker (there's no natural sunlight, you see. And low ceilings. Debs referred to it as being "like the bloody Cabinet War Rooms in here" yesterday and I nearly choked on my tea).
A little conga, perhaps. A solitary Mexican wave. A shimmy around the table.
It's taken what seems like forever to make our choice. We thought about going to Northumberland and doing some serious walking. But then we decided that would involve camping and after last summer's debacle in France (err, do you like sand in your sleeping bag? No? Shame, 'cos it's BLOODY EVERYWHERE!) we came to the conclusion that wouldn't be un bon idee.
Then we thought about Italy. I fancied Croatia or somewhere else a bit Eastern-European. But then the ex-factor reared its head (can you really go on honeymoon to a place where you/your beloved has been with an ex? I don't think I'd be overly delighted with that prospect).
Then it became less of an issue and we started to toy with the idea again. Ooo, Italy. Ooo, pizza. Ooo, vino. Ooo, Mr and Mrs Smith. Pretty website. Pretty boutique hotels with exposed stone walls and roll-top baths and oh Lordy, Adam, look! They offer breadmaking classes and -
- ERR, YOU WHAT? £340 a night?
We've decided we're not Mr and Mrs Smith. We're Mr and Mrs Bedford. Or will be, anyway. And we need a more budget-friendly option.
Sardinia? Argentina! New Zealand? Bit of Australia? Combination?
This is our honeymoon, yeah?
This needs to be the best holiday of our LIVES. The pressure is ON, man.
What's the best holiday you've ever had? Where's the best place you've ever been?
Blank faces.
Umm, Northumberland?
Do you remember that weekend in August when we stayed in a fairly average B&B and the Polish owner shouted at us for not wanting the full English in the morning?
Ha, yeah, that was funny. We got some serious mileage out of doing impressions of her.
And when we went on the boat trip to the Farne Islands to see The Amazing Varieties of Bird and Wildlife.
Cue Geordie accent over the ship tannoy: "As yer can see, MOAST of the bords have migrated to Africa...."
And all we could see were views of totally deserted bird-shit-covered rocks.
Yeah, and then we got engaged there. In Rothbury.
Where Raoul Moat shot himself.
Yeah. And the man in the B&B was the campest creature ever.
'Bellini? Bellini?' Aye, gan on then, I'll have a Bellini. Ta. Oh, whats this? A hot flannel? Err....OK.
I love Northumberland. I love the wild skies and the deserted beaches. It's as beautiful as Cornwall (FACT), but not as trendy. The coastline is amazing. The air is so clean and tuckers you right out. The pubs are ace. It's friendly. It's Northern. It's just the BEST.
And, as a decision, it just seems RIGHT.
And LOOK AT WHERE WE'RE STAYING:
I am so excited I can barely BREATHE.
That is all for now.
Where is THAT beauty? I love Northumberland. My godmother lives in Rothbury which is just so beautiful. I miss the NE in general...smelly London is eating my soul!
ReplyDeleteI think a romantic trip is needed!
It's 14 miles North or Alnwick. Ch-ch-ch-check it out at http://www.cheviotholidaycottages.co.uk/. There are some stunning places!
ReplyDeleteIt's stunning. I just got a little squeaky scrolling through the cottages. My little brother just got in to Durham (follow in the big sister's footsteps & all!) so I'm thinking a trip up to sample the sticky floors of Chad's bar tied in to a romantic and grown up style break is in order. The parents once took me here - not very close to Alnwick but I can recommend for a posh weekend if you ever have the need:
ReplyDeletehttp://www.rose-and-crown.co.uk/
Made me cackle. I too love the great wilds of the North East. It makes me want to alternately write poetry about the great expanse of sea and the bleak shorelines, and hovel up in a pub with a pin boards that looks like something from Twin Peaks. What an amazing honeymoon you will have. And what an amazing way to pick it.
ReplyDeleteTHANK YOU ANNA K for sending me this link. I just nearly died laughing... then I tried a solitary mexican wave to see what it would be like. Was alright.
ReplyDeleteIt sounds like you'll have the most sensational time and lets face it, Mr and Mrs Bedford sounds far more awesome than Mr and Mrs Smith!
This post made me cry with laughter.
ReplyDeleteI love staying at b&bs too, especially the really odd ones...and you never know what you're going to get do you? We walked the Cleveland way a couple of summers ago and as we never stayed anywhere more than one night we found some corkers. In fact we might go back to them for another stay, to indulge in more weirdness but I'm pretty sure there are thousands of others out there begging to be discovered x
PS. Amazing honeymoon plans, go UK honeymoons go!