Adventure Overland show 2017

 

 

The end of September again means only one thing for me. My annual visit to the Adventure Overland Show held on Stratford upon Avon racecourse. This year I visited on my own some. The Extreme Knitter had other commitments.

The show gets better each year with many varied trade stands, displays and so many interesting vehicle in the camping and parking area.

As always, I will just leave a few of the photos for you to digest.

Landrover 1963 Series 2A forward control camper

This beauty was a work in progress. It just oozes classic Landy.

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Just a little electrical work that needs tiding up. One of those five minute jobs

wiring

Nice Arse end

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Xplora Overland were showing their new Ford Transit conversion. If only I had the money.

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I’m trying to convince the Extreme Knitter that we need to tow one of these buggies behind our campervan.

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VW  T5s LTs T4s

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Ex Military Trucks were well represented

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Series One Landrovers

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Our Old Series One Landrover

I do regret selling our Series one Landrover. The beauty of hindsight.

Landrover series one

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Is that a Rat ?

I’ve mentioned many times on this blog about the annoying problem of complete strangers (mainly Men) making comments about our Yorkshire Terrier, Ruby.

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I admit that we probably look odd, a large man with a very small dog,

It’s usually when I’m stood outside a shop with Ruby on her lead and they walk by making comments like “Is that a rat” or “my dog would eat that for breakfast” It’s irritating that they are dumb enough to think they are the first ones to have ever said that and expect you to find it funny.

I would love to be able to come back with a quick of the cuff reply, but I seem unable to think of anything suitable.

I’m making an appeal to my follower and any random visitors that accidently land on this site.

I want a short sharp retort that would put these Neanderthals  swiftly in their place.

Sarcasm and humour are required, but remember that it has to meet the intelligence level of the perpetrator.

If you can help, please put your retort in the comments box.

No Swearing though.

45 years and we still don’t know each other

Our kitchen sink has a draining board and on that draining board sits one of those draining trays that you can stack the cups, cutlery and dishes to dry off. We’ve had several replacements over our married life.

Today I plucked up the courage to ask the extreme knitter why we had one.

She said “because you wanted one”.

I said “I never wanted one, I hate the dam thing”

She said “I hate it as well”.

45 years of married bliss and all this time I thought the E/knitter wanted it and she thought I wanted it. Lack of communication I think, but we are still getting to know each other.

The dish tray is now in the dustbin and all is well in the household.

 

Ham Burger

Following on from the last post about Faggots, I remembered that it used to be rumoured that the Ham burger was originally invented in the Black Country. The story went like this.

The History of the Ham Burger

In 1925 on a cobblestone street in Dudley, butchers boy “Billy King” rode his delivery bike. His cargo of freshly made Black Country faggots sat proudly in the bicycles wicker basket.

His bicycle ran over a discarded horseshoe. Hiss!! His front tyre sprung a leak.

He placed the faggots on a nearby wall, removed the tyre and repaired the puncture in double quick time. Unfortunately a gang of grubby urchins from the Priory came along and set about him.

They called him a Wimp. in fact he was such a weakling that his nickname at school was “Wimpy King”. They pushed him backwards against the wall and he landed on the faggots and squashed them flat.

Disaster! What should he do, he decided to ride on to his destination or he would have been in great trouble back at the Butchers shop.

He finally arrived at Mrs McDonalds house and presented her with the tray of squashed faggots.

She stared at the tray in disbelief.

The faggots were for a special evening supper party she was holding in her garden for the orphans of Dudley.

“What shall I do” she exclaimed.

“I know I’ll put them in a bread roll and call them? O bugger what can I call them” she said.

“That’s it, I’ll call them buggers, Ham buggers,” she cried in her strong Scottish accent

She clipped the butcher’s boy around the ear and sent him packing, then proceeded to cook the squashed faggots on an open fire in the garden.

The Orphans enjoyed the Buggers so much that it became a regular trip to Mrs McDonalds every Saturday to saviour the tasty delights.

She felt a sense of pride as she watched the skinny orphans start to put a bit of meat on their bones.

Mrs McDonald would sometimes give away a toy with her Ham buggers, perhaps a spinning top or a hoop & a stick.

Her Ham buggers became famous through out the Black Country and indeed all the land.

Her nephew Ronald was travelling on a World tour with the circus as a clown and so it was that her Ham buggers reached the shores of America in his packed lunch.

The Ham buggers became an overnight success with the Americans and Ronald set up restaurants through out the USA selling McDonalds Ham Buggers, although he was a successful businessman, Ronald couldn’t forget his true vocation and still dressed every day as a clown.

Because the Americans couldn’t speak proper English or Scottish for that matter they pronounced Bugger as Burger.

Back in the Black Country “Billy King” the butcher’s boy who sat on the faggots was now a Butchery tycoon owning a chain of butchers shop through out Great Britain.

Being the entrepreneur, he set up a chain of Ham Bugger restaurants in England and called them Wimpy’s.

Alas the Wimpy restaurant chain hit hard times and he had to sack all his employees and close it down.

The disgruntled employees decided to set up a new restaurant chain and because they hated Billy King so much they called it “Bugger King”.

And what became of the orphans? They grew into extremely large pillars of Black Country society, know as “The Buggers of Dudley”

V Southall ©

Pie or Parcel

As I have a follower from America I need to explain from the onset that here in the UK a Faggot is basically a large meat ball made from Pork and offal. Their origins date back through the ages and was a poor mans meal. Fast forward to 2017 and a Faggot is now a foodie’s delicacy.

However, back in the sixties with the advent of frozen food, Mr Brains started producing frozen faggots. These became part of a staple diet for us kids.

http://mrbrains.co.uk/home/

I’ve sampled faggots from various butchers around the country all adding their own twist on the recipe, but just like Beanz Meanz Heinz  there is always going to be Mr Brains faggots. Although as kids we were teased that they actually contained brains (I don’t think they do), hey when you’re hungry you will eat anything.

Mr Herbert Hill Brain

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Pubs in the Black Country used to have Faggots and peas nights, now it seems to be Curry nights.

(Again for my American reader). The Black Country is an area in the West Midlands where the industrial revolution started. It was called the Black Country because of the soot, smog and grime from the steel and coal industries. Black country dwellers speak a totally different language to the rest of the UK. Queen Victoria hated the area.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Country

This language difference can be awkward. I’m not even going to mention that the word Trump in the UK is another word for Fart.

When we were away in Scotland I had a couple of light bulb inspiration moments, one of them was a Faggot pie. Not just any old faggot pie, but a Mr Brains Faggot pie.

After a lot of pleading and cajoling, I convinced the E/Knitter that this was the ultimate pie and she needed to make one or perhaps two.

I present you with Faggot pie or parcel

Obviously you start with a pack of Mr Brains frozen faggots that are packed precooked in a foil tray ready to reheat. These were allowed to defrost at room temperature.

The pastry of choice was puff.

Now you could prep your puff pastry using up valuable eating time or like us buy frozen prepared puff pastry.

After a lot of debate, the E /knitter convinced me that it would be easier to place the faggot in a pastry parcel and tie the top like a sack. Ok it’s technically not a pie because it doesn’t have a lid on top, but it’s going to taste the same.

A large circle was cut from the pastry.

The faggot was placed in the centre and the pastry was gathered at the top.

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An off cut of pastry was rolled into a long worm and used to tie the top.

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On to a baking tray and placed in the centre of the oven for 25 minutes at gas mark 7 or until the pastry is golden brown.

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Ideally they should be served hot straight from the oven with any of the excess sauce that was left over.

I thinking sauteed potatoes, marrow fat peas and faggot parcels.

The results exceeded even my expectations. The faggots have a rich taste thanks to the West Country sauce and combine that with puff pastry it becomes food for the gods.

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If Mr Brains wants to contact me with a royalty payment offer, I’ll gladly let him use my idea.

There was some puff pastry left over from the pie making event, so I suggested to the E/knitter that she might like to make some sausage rolls with added sage and apple stuffing. The results didn’t last long enough to be photographed. mmmmm!!!

Oh and the second light bulb inspiration moment is being worked on as we speak.

All I can say is forget fidget spinners, this one is destined to become the next world wide craze, but the E/ knitter isn’t so convinced and I need her expertise to create it.

Watch this space.

 

A new proposal

gretna shops

The Extreme knitter wanted to visit the Gretna Gateway Outlet Village as we started out for our last night in Scotland. After the knitting problems the previous day I wasn’t going to argue with her.

The complex was a small designer type setup with some well known shops. Totally out of the blue I was treated to a Craghopper fleece gillet and I splashed out on a Subway meal.

While the E/knitter wandered around the shops I nipped into one of those “Olde worlde” sweet shops and made a special purchase that would be revealed later.

Suitable over shopped and over fed we returned to the campervan and I phoned what would be our next and last campsite.

I managed to bag the last pitch available.

Next stop was the Blacksmiths shop in Gretna Green famous for performing wedding ceremonies for eloping couples from England.

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It was here that I produced a pair of wedding rings crafted by Haribo confectionary that I had bought in the sweet shop earlier and we renewed our wedding vows to each other as we exchanged the rings. 45 years in July, we are starting to get the hang of this marriage thing. I’m going for the endurance award.

Haribo Rings

new rings

With our marriage now extended, we headed north on the A74 towards Moffat.

The Camping and Caravan Club 181 pitch site at Moffat is a really a staging post for visitors travelling to and from Scotland to break the long trek. It is always busy.

The welcome was very pleasant and efficient. The site wardens obviously had the site running like clockwork and considering they had spent the day showing hundreds of campers to their pitches, still had time for a bit of good humoured banter.

Moffat Camping and Caravan Club Site

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Once we were settled I sent the feral daughter a text message to say I had just married her mother, which came as a bit of a shock to her.

Then she was upset because she missed out on the wedding do. Our evening wedding supper started with a fine beef soup produced especially for us by Mr Heinz and that was it, nothing else. What did you expect? The two Haribo wedding rings used up my budget.

A short walk from the campsite led us to Moffat High Street. At that time in the evening the shops were closed, O dear, what a shame.

Moffats claim to fame is Sheep, lots of them.

The Ram Statue in Moffat

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We had only just returned to the campervan when the heavens opened up and gave us the first rain we had experienced during our trip.

We woke the next day to find the pitch slightly waterlogged, but at least the rain had stopped.

The trip home is always the same, driving back down the motorway feeling slightly melancholy after an enjoyable trip.

Until the next one.

 

Expedition Base Camp

We rolled up at Glentrool camping site about 5pm and settled in. I felt immediately comfortable here. By 5,55pm I had popped into the reception and booked another night. This site was taken over in 2014 and totally revamped with a lot of thought and planning put into the design and layout.

The hard standing pitches are massive, able to take the largest motor homes. The tent pitches don’t have vehicular access which makes for a safe camping area

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The toilet facilities are first class

Fran and Jen the enthusiastic owners have invested a lot of work and effort into the site. It makes for an extremely pleasant stop over.

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It gained the nickname Expedition Base Camp due to it location in the Forest area, being ideal for trips out to explore.

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We were by standing water and the forest, so it wasn’t long before the Scottish midge made an appearance as dusk fell. Luckily it was early in the season, so the numbers weren’t great, but enough to cut short Rubies evening sniff around the dog walking area.

Next morning we set off towards Newton Stewart again as the E/knitter needed another ball of wool for my hat (I must have a big head).

I believe there had been a technical problem with the project the day before and there had been a lot of muttering under the breath as it had to be unravelled for the second time. I have learnt over the years not to ask and keep very quiet during these times of knitters stress.

With sufficient supplies of wool to last the trip we continued down through Creetown where I was forced to stop at a Tesco store, much to my disgust, as we needed food supplies.

Back on to the A75 were we turned off towards Brighouse Bay. We stopped at a small car park with access to the beach, had lunch and ambled along the sand with Ruby making friends with every dog in sight.

brigport

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Later back on the road, the sign for Castle Douglas came into view, so we made a detour to drive through the small town, then onwards to our campsite at Glentrool for our last night there.

The morning starts were getting lazy and slow. Having lost track of the days we realised that it was Friday and we needed to start travelling in a homeward direction.