A year ago I wondered how hard it would be to find a suitable place to park up each night. Wild camping sounded romantic, if rather impractical. In fact, it’s easy. I can’t recall many days in the last year when I’ve really had to look for a place to stay. Something just turns up. No-one, it seems, takes any notice of a tiny motorhome or its occupant, as long as I desist from parking on someone’s lawn, or in a market place on market day, or in a big car-park in Kendal on the day that the fair comes to town…
I kipped at Glasson Dock last night, where the Lancaster Canal meets the sea. Driving up the M6 now, to Penrith, then cutting across to Cockermouth. Got to do some reconnaisance (and pix) for an article. But slowly… since today is probably going to be the hottest of the year…
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