Our previous cross-border wildlife expeditions were relatively short hops into Cumbria and Northumberland. The latest trip was far more ambitious, involving a six-hour drive to Norfolk, where we would stay for a week. We had booked a cottage near the historic port and market town of King's Lynn and planned to visit several nature reserves. The Wash is England's largest sea inlet and it makes an obvious indentation on the east coast between Norfolk and Lincolnshire. The conservation area is known worldwide for its birdlife and a major part of our itinerary centred on this natural bay and multiple estuary system.
The long drive down the A1 was awkward as Dolly Duster was buffeted by high winds while the rain came and went. We made a couple of stops and eventually branched on to the A17 at Newark to traverse the flat fens - a naturally marshy region now largely drained for agricultural purposes. Deep channels could often be seen between the road and field. We covered a swathe of Lincolnshire before passing into Norfolk. Our accommodation was located in the tiny village of Tottenhill, about 5 miles south of King's Lynn. Dusk was falling as we arrived and we were greeted by a gaggle of domestic geese waddling by the roadside. Parking was available on the common green and we entered our living quarters for the week. The property was a stone-built mid-terrace with two bedrooms and I was happy with the furnishings. The lounge had comfortable seating and the kitchen was generously equipped. Wi-fi and a smart TV were available. I knew straight away I would enjoy my stay here. After a good night's sleep, we set off the following morning for RSPB Frampton Marsh on the Lincolnshire side of The Wash. This meant driving back along the A17 in the opposite direction, which simplified the navigation. Long straight sections of road are the norm in this part of the country, something encountered far less often in Scotland. We joined the A16 at a roundabout and Nicole pointed out a brick building that looked like an old railway station. Her instincts were spot on, as later research revealed it to be just that. Algarkirk & Sutterton was a stop on the line between Boston and Spalding, closed in 1963. The site now contains a showroom for conservatories and windows. It transpired the road I was now driving upon (straight as a die, naturally) was built over the disused trackbed in the early 90s. Lincolnshire was hit hard by the Beeching cuts and the county today is considered to be poorly connected by rail. A minor road took us out to the reserve and we passed a beautiful thatched house on the way. Blessed with a variety of freshwater habitats, Frampton Marsh provides close views of the abundant birdlife by The Wash. Avocet, redshank and skylark can all be seen in summer, with thousands of ducks gathering on the freshwater scrapes in winter.
In recent weeks, the reserve had featured regularly in the updates from Rare Bird Alert - the longest running instant bird news service in the UK, established back in 1991. Their offices are staffed 16 hours a day, 365 days per year and reports are sent out as soon as they break. I wondered how this was achieved in the early 90s, before the days of widespread internet use and mobile phone ownership. The answer may lie in the pager - a communications device forgotten by many today but apparently still used by hardcore birders as the geographic coverage is superior to the smartphone networks, including excellent functionality in many remote rural areas. Apparently two million pagers are still used in the UK. They are an essential back-up tool for people who absolutely have to be accessible, such as medical professionals and emergency service workers. A premium subscription to Rare Bird Alert includes pager access. Other deals are available for smartphone and web platforms. Alternatively you can read a brief daily summary for free on the homepage. The grapevine had been buzzing with reports of a lesser yellowlegs at Frampton Marsh. This North American wader is found in shallow, weedy wetlands and flooded fields across the continent during migration season. They are reasonably frequent vagrants to Western Europe with around five per year appearing in Britain. One arrived at Frampton Marsh last September and remained over winter. It had recently been seen feeding frequently in a patch of floodwater in a field adjacent to the car-park and we had high hopes of spotting this rare guest. The reserve has a small visitors centre (with café) and a staff member had a scope set up at the top of the steps by the entrance door. He found the yellowlegs (pictured above) for us and we watched it potter about on the grass. A great start to the day. Further out in the wetland area we could see lapwing and various species of ducks, including shoveler and teal. We sat down in the café for a bite to eat and gazed out the large observation window overlooking a lagoon. A great-crested grebe swam by. We then headed out to explore the vast reserve, which has a mixed terrain of reedbeds, scrapes, wet grassland and saltmarsh.
Much of the wader activity centred around the spacious 360 hide, which is almost completely surrounded by water. The sheer variety of birds was breathtaking and for me the main highlight was the avocet. This distinctive black and white fellow features on the RSPB logo and has a long upcurved beak. Feeding on aquatic insects, larvae, crustaceans and worms, the avocet favours intertidal environments, wetland and grassland. Around 2000 pairs breed in the UK and we had seen a handful in Northumberland the previous year. Today they seemed to be everywhere and I was able to photograph a cluster. They scythe their bills from side to side in search of tasty morsels. Sitting in the hide was a pure panoramic cinema experience for bird lovers. Worth coming for this place alone! We spent at least an hour watching the action. Meanwhile, the bird alert service had flagged up another rarity. A black-winged stilt was somewhere on the reserve and a couple of fellow spotters told us they had seen it in a pool by the reeds. This bird has the longest legs in relation to body size therefore it's not difficult to figure out why they were christened stilts. A pair successfully bred at Frampton Marsh last year, the first time the species had nested at the Lincolnshire reserve, or indeed anywhere in the entire county. British residents have become more common recently. This is possibly due to climate change drying out wetlands in Southern Europe where the stilt would normally set up home. Unfortunately we didn't manage to see the leggy wader today. A slight disappointment, but it's also not a bad thing when nature holds out on you. Birdwatching would ultimately be less enjoyable if you were able to turn sightings on and off like a tap. Satisfied with our day's work, we walked back to the car-park, where once again the lesser yellowlegs was showing well, this time much closer to the field boundary fence. I captured a fine photo, the one used earlier in the report. Frampton had one last delight in store for us. Nicole picked out two yellow specks in the distance against the grass. They turned out to be yellow wagtails, another new sighting for me. The bird spends much of its time walking or running on the ground. The wagtail part of the name is self explanatory. It breeds in a variety of habitats, including arable farmland, wet pasture and upland hay meadows. We left Frampton in a buoyant mood.
The next day (Tuesday) was a disappointment weather-wise, with an intermittent drizzle. On the plus side, it was expected to brighten up by late afternoon, which suited us as we had arranged to visit RSPB Snettisham in the evening to view - in the words of the promotional literature - a whirling wader spectacle. That left the rest of the day to fill. Nicole was content to stay home and sketch some of the birds she'd seen at Frampton Marsh. I decided to drive into King's Lynn to explore the historic town centre. I seem to have developed a touch of serendipity on holidays lately. On our last English expedition, I discovered a Northumbrian beer shop just a few miles from where we were staying. This time I upped the ante by pinpointing the supermarket-sized Beers of Europe, halfway between Tottenhill and King's Lynn. It would have been an almighty breach of etiquette not to swing by. Styled as the biggest beer shop in Britain (both physical and online), the business was founded in 2000 and has an attached taproom and restaurant. The premises are situated in an industrial park just off the A10 near the village of Setchey. The brainchild of Derek Clark, who acquired a taste for artisan German and Belgian brews while travelling abroad on business, Beers of Europe came on stream just as internet shopping and interest in speciality ales were beginning to grow in popularity. Two decades down the line in a post-Brexit Britain, the shop is still going strong, although I did wonder whether the enforced customs regulations were responsible for a number of gaps on the shelves. It could also be the case that not all products are put on public display (the website claims around 1700 varieties are stocked). Cairngorm Brewery (Aviemore) had the biggest presence in the Scottish section. After inspecting the aisles, I bought a bottle for each remaining night of my stay (three English, one Welsh, one German) and made sure I picked a local Norfolk ale - Black Porter from Panther Brewery, based in Reepham. The shop also had an extensive selection of wines, spirits, soft drinks and home brewing kits. In King's Lynn, I parked up and (after downloading the requisite payment app) wandered along to the distinctive library building. It was constructed in 1904 and funded by Dunfermline-born philanthropist Andrew Carnegie, who attended the opening ceremony. The army moved in during WW1 and used the tower as an observation point. King's Lynn was the target of the first enemy zeppelin raid on Great Britain in 1915. Seven people lost their life. I had a quick look inside and the bookshelves were supplemented by a bank of computers. While digging online for background information to include in this post, my jaw crashed to the floor. The library is scheduled to close next year and relocate to - wait for it - the former Argos premises in the town centre, a 1970s concrete monstrosity apparently.
Can you believe it? An iconic landmark that greets visitors as they approach the heart of town will potentially be condemned to dereliction. I read a report suggesting the council are hiding behind alleged accessibility issues. The official line about the library becoming part of a new community hub sounded rather mealy mouthed. I immediately fired off a message of support to independent local Councillor Alexandra Kemp who had spoken out against the proposal. Hopefully the public will put pressure on the elected officials to abandon this crazy plan. Carnegie will be spinning in his grave. The town already features the sad sight of the once-grand Post Office decaying after 15 years of standing empty. Let's hope a similar fate doesn't befall the library - which has beautiful gardens to the rear with cherry blossom trees. You could play the mental health card here. Come to your senses West Norfolk Council and safeguard the future of this architectural masterpiece! I plodded on and passed through the grounds of Greyfriars Tower. The 93-foot structure was built and altered at various stages from the 13th to 15th centuries. It is also a bell tower and one of just three buildings from this era that survive in England today. An extensive priory complex once existed on the site but fell victim to the dissolution of monasteries during the reign of King Henry VIII. The tower survived as it was considered a useful navigation aid to sailors approaching the town via the choppy waters of The Wash. Nowadays public gardens and a war memorial occupy the space beside the ancient monument. I called in at Lynn Museum, where I was reunited with an artefact I'd seen on-loan at the British Museum two years ago. A major excavation was carried out among the shifting sands of the Norfolk coast in 1998. Preserved in the salty environment for over 4000 years, Seahenge - as it was dubbed by locals following the discovery - was a timber circle during the early Bronze Age, originally built upon saltmarsh. Over 50 snugly fitted oak posts formed the ceremonial ring which was an estimated 21 feet in diameter. The fencing stood 10 feet high and a huge upturned tree sump was placed at the centre. Although the exact purpose of Seahenge can never be known, experts reckon it was used as a burial site for an important person, with the body possibly laid out on the middle platform. The entrance to the circle was sealed a short time after completion. The surviving timbers were displayed in glass cases and there was also a full-size mock-up of how the site may have looked four millennia ago. As the surrounding landscape slowly changed, Seahenge was covered by a thick layer of peat that prevented the wood from rotting away to nothing. The sea encroached upon the site as the barrier formed by sand dunes moved steadily inland. Some of the stakes were installed in an inverted position, possibly to counteract the effects of the trunks thinning as you go up. Placing them all upright would have led to the circle leaning inwards. The bark is remarkably intact on all but one of the timbers. A lightning strike was probably responsible for the split in the tree casing.
At the time of construction, local people would have lived in small farming communities. Wheat and barley were the main crops. Sheep and cattle were kept. The dwellings were basic roundhouses, with walls of wattle and daub. Roofs were thatched or turfed. Metal tools had come over from the continent just a few generations prior to the erection of Seahenge. Conditions for the archaeologists tasked with excavating the timbers were difficult. Due to tidal patterns, the land was only accessible for two to four hours each day. The wood was originally cut and trimmed with bronze axes, dragged towards the chosen site and lowered into a trench. No trace of human remains was found but strands of a honeysuckle rope were recovered. This would have been used to haul the stump into the correct position. In fact the rope was still attached when the find was first examined. Considerable muscle power would have been required as the stump weighed well over a ton. As soon as the excavated posts were exposed to air, they began to decay. Preservation was paramount and the wood was cleaned in fresh water before being covered by a protective sheen of wax. It was then vacuum freeze-dried to remove any remaining moisture. The museum building was formerly a church, opened in 1859. Conversion took place in 1904 and - thankfully - the suspended ceiling installed in the 1960s was removed in 2006 to allow visitors to appreciate the roof panelling and stained-glass windows. Seahenge is housed within an extension and the rows of glass cases within the original gallery space tell the story of the town and West Norfolk. King's Lynn was a wealthy port in Medieval England, lying on the River Great Ouse as it entered The Wash. Wool, cloth and agricultural produce was exported to Europe, particularly to members of the Hanseatic League. In fact, King's Lynn was the first British port to join this influential trade federation. Whaling was a major industry but declined as the 19th century wore on. The railway arrived in 1846, thus enabling large quantities of goods to be transported quickly overland. Steam-powered pumps allowed parts of the fens to be reclaimed for arable farming. The old drainage ditches - while successfully dealing with large areas of marsh - had caused some land to sink below river level, thus rendering it unusable. I really enjoyed my tour of this excellent museum and felt the £6 entry charge represented good value for money. I made my way to the historic 18th century town-centre park known as The Walks. A lottery grant helped restore the 17-hectare space to its former glory. I sought out Red Mount Chapel, built from brick around 1485 for the use of pilgrims heading to the shrine Our Lady at Walsingham.
Octagonal in shape, there are three entrances. Following the monastery suppression, the chapel had various non-religious purposes, being used as a water tower, study, observatory, gunpowder store during the Civil War and a stable. The condition of the building declined and a public subscription restoration project was launched in 1828. German bombs came perilously close as WW2 air raids raged. Recent repairs have seen the chapel re-roofed and sensitive structural works undertaken. During winter, a colony of bats takes up residence. Light rain began to fall and I started working my way back to the car, scuttling past the impressive minster. Founded as a Benedictine priory by the first Bishop of Norwich in 1101, the church was known as St Margaret's for centuries, before being rechristened King's Lynn Minster in 2011. I reached the waterfront and walked a short stretch of the River Great Ouse, the fifth longest watercourse in the UK. Artificially channelised at the mouth, the river is very much in use as an industrial artery. The port specialises in handling bulk agricultural cargo and aggregates. The facility provides a full range of terminal operations for shippers and receivers. Ample transit store is available. I drove back to Tottenhill, where I had a nap before setting out for the extravaganza at RSPB Snettisham. Nicole had booked one of the limited car-park spaces which enabled us to avoid a walk of over a mile to the viewpoint. En route we passed Sandringham Estate, the private country retreat of the monarch and the preferred residence for the Royal Family over Christmas and New Year. Prince Philip was involved in a car crash here at the age of 97, overturning his Range Rover as he pulled out into the path of an oncoming car on the A149. Philip walked away unhurt and thankfully the two occupants of the other vehicle had only minor injuries. The "Iron Duke" did the sensible thing and relinquished his driving licence following the incident. It had been widely covered by the BBC and I was positive that I recognised the exact junction where the collision occurred. RSPB Snettisham is tucked into The Wash. It has extensive views across brackish lagoons, salt marsh and a vast expanse of mudflats. During especially high spring tides, huge flocks of knots take to the air as the water creeps closer to the feeding grounds and eventually fills the entire bay. This spectacular commotion only happens at certain times and we waited with anticipation alongside a hundred or so fellow birders. Having witnessed large-scale starling murmurations before, we had an idea of what to expect tonight. We were not disappointed. As the knots swirled upwards, they formed strangely shaped "clouds" in the dimming sky above the water. We experienced several overhead passes and the spectacle lasted around 15 minutes. The sound of wingbeats and excited calls created a marvellous atmosphere.
Many people headed for the hide overlooking the lagoon. Rather than jostle for position, we waited for the crowd to subside before scanning the scene. Take a look at the picture to your left. A group of gulls are swimming in the water at the bottom. The triangular wedge of land directly above looks like it may be a pebble beach. Except it's not. This is the spot where the knots landed and they were so tightly packed they couldn't be individually discerned by the naked eye. A woman at the next window invited us to look through her scope. It was staggering to see the mosaic of heads in fine detail. In order to create the public spectacle, the high tide has to occur at a time with sufficient daylight to see the birds. They remain by the lagoon for just over an hour, until the mudflats begin to reappear. Two days into our holiday and both birding trips were solid gold. We walked the short distance back to the car as the foamy seawater lapped just metres from the raised path. The schedule for the following day involved retracing our journey past Sandringham but continuing around the mouth of The Wash to RSPB Titchwell Marsh. Yes, we were getting a lot of mileage from our membership cards. The reserve was busy and we started off with a nice lunch in the café. Having self catering accommodation keeps costs down but we've always believed in supporting the local economy while out and about during the day. Titchwell was a pleasant place to explore but it struggled to match the enthrallment of the previous two outings. Just a quirk of fate. An embankment led towards the beach and looked over freshwater pools fed by a natural spring. The avocets were out in force and we also saw a little ringed plover poking around. While sitting on a bench, a ruff came within close proximity and I watched it through binoculars for several minutes. It was the first time I'd had such an excellent view of this medium-sized wader. Its physical characteristics are a long neck, small head, slightly droopy bill and orange or reddish legs. Usually here as a migrant, its diet consists of insects, larvae, frogs, small fish and seeds. We branched on to a woodland trail and reached a wooden walkway that straddled a swamp. Out the corner of my eye, I noticed a reddish brown shape disappear below a part the boardwalk on dry land. My initial assumption was squirrel but I discounted this theory almost immediately. I had seen something markedly bigger. Then the dog-like face appeared. It belonged to a muntjac, a small stocky deer introduced from China to Woburn Park, Bedfordshire, in the early 20th century. Deliberate releases and escapes allowed the species to establish wild populations across southeast England. Now legally classed as alien and invasive, it is prohibited to breed them in captivity. Nor may they be imported or sold. At some point during the week, we also saw a couple of them in Tottenhill by the roadside. Something other than birds to write home about (which I actually did).
Approaching the visitors centre on the reserve, we paused for a seat in a garden area with bird feeders hanging from the trees. It's nice to watch the little birds flit about and there's always the chance of seeing something unusual. Our luck was in today as a brambling stopped to inspect the food on offer. Similar in size and shape to the chaffinch, we had seen these little fellows just once before, at the viewpoint for Flodden Battlefield in Northumberland. They spend the winter in the UK and are widely distributed across the island. They don't breed here, flying to Scandinavia and Russia instead. It had been a fun afternoon and we paused for an ice cream at a farm shop on the way back. I had a steam train journey planned for Thursday and will write a separate post about this scenic route. I dropped Nicole off at Cley Marshes on the North Sea coast. This reserve is run by the Norfolk Wildlife Trust. A 10-minute drive inland brought me to the small town of Holt, where one end of the North Norfolk Railway is situated. The heritage operation is affectionately known as the Poppy Line, due to the abundance of red flowers around the unspoilt coastal areas. After a few hours of railway adventures, I returned to Cley Marshes where Nicole was having lunch in the elevated visitors centre that looks over the saltmarsh. Entry to this building is free, with charges applying to those going down to the hides. I heard all about the bird activity I had missed. Nicole had seen a marsh harrier pass food mid-air to its mate. A rare vagrant was also present, the long-billed dowitcher (native to North America). Most likely it had been blown off course during a storm. And finally the legendary spoonbill. Formerly top of my must-see list, I spotted one at Montrose Basin a couple of years ago. A small breeding colony has existed in Norfolk since 2010, the first settlement in over 300 years. It takes a mere glance at a photo of a spoonbill to figure out the origin of the name. Did I get the better deal today? A spoonbill on its home turf is not to be sneezed at but I think the steam locomotive just shades it. After leaving the reserve, we stopped at Cley Spy, an optical equipment shop, where Nicole purchased a clamp for her scope. This allows you to attach the viewing device to a windowsill in a bird hide, rather than assemble a bulky tripod. Back at the cottage, I scrawled a postcard to my dad, detailing the railway journey. I sent it off late evening, walking down to the village postbox in near total darkness (there was no streetlighting). Guided by my phone torch, I passed a small pond where the white geese were hanging out. They seemed to have the run of the place.
The week was speeding past and it was now Friday. We decided to visit a couple of local inland reserves and soon arrived at RSPB Lakenheath Fen. En route we drove along a B-road with massive drainage ditches on either side. I wondered how many vehicles have to be pulled out each year. Lakenheath sits right on the Norfolk Suffolk border (just inside the latter county). Once an area of intensive farmland, this wetland landscape is now a rich tapestry of reedbeds, grazed marsh and woodland where kingfishers and otters thrive. Work on establishing a wildlife haven began in the mid-90s when the RSPB purchased carrot fields and transformed them into a more natural state. 300,000 reeds were planted by hand, 15 miles of water channels installed and 50 pools dug. The southern flank of the vast reserve is bounded by a railway and Lakenheath Station is very close to the main entrance. An intriguing aspect of today's visit was the presence of bittern. This secretive member of the heron family moves silently through reedbeds and takes comfort in the camouflage. The bird stands stock still and upright when threatened, almost becoming a reed itself. All of this makes the bittern extremely challenging to spot. Its booming call is more obvious. We actually heard this sound in a German forest years ago but didn't find it too exciting as we hadn't yet hooked up with our feathered friends. The staff in the small visitors centre confirmed 17 bitterns were recently counted on site but they didn't make an appearance today. They were once widespread across the fens but following extensive habitat loss and persecution (often eaten, and nicknamed the fenman's turkey), the bittern was extinct in Britain by 1885. They made a return to Norfolk the following century but population growth has been slow. In 2002 they moved into Lakenheath and now nest here. Hopes are high that breeding will continue over the longer term. It was pleasing to learn the 150-year barren spell has been halted. We walked up to a viewpoint overlooking the Little Ouse river (the county boundary). Bearded tits live in the reedbeds but the chances of seeing them were probably lower than the bittern. I pushed further on into the woodland and a couple of trains passed by. I arrived at a hide by a pond where two coot chicks were swimming in the distance. Not a great deal to report from Lakenheath, but that's the way it goes sometimes.
It was warm enough to dine al fresco and we pulled in at The Paddocks Coffee Bar just down the road. Fighter jets from the nearby RAF base flew periodically overhead. Our next stop was Weeting Heath, a Norfolk Wildlife Trust reserve just a short drive away. It is the best place in the country to view the rare and unusual stone curlew. Roughly the size of a crow, it is not related to the standard curlew and the name instead derives from the distinctive call. The species requires open, stony ground with short vegetation to breed, making the close-cropped turf of Weeting an ideal site. This special habitat has to be managed to keep it low. Rabbits and sheep assist with this task. In addition to stone curlew, Weeting Heath is also home to woodlark, green woodpecker, lapwing and mistle thrush. Other birds sometimes seen from the hides include kestrel, little owl, sparrowhawk, common buzzard and - in summer - hobby. We received a very friendly welcome and purchased a couple of pocket-sized bird guides from the shop. Along at the hide, we picked out the stone curlew sitting on its nest in the middle of the field. I zoomed in with my camera and took the passable image above. The bird did stand up at one point, but only briefly, revealing its surprisingly long legs. A kestrel appeared in the sky and a couple of blokes in the hide offered to show us the spot where the woodlark had been seen earlier. The stone curlew seemed intent on staying put and we went in search of the woodlark, alas with no luck. Founded in 1926, the Norfolk Wildlife Trust is the oldest organisation of its type in the UK. Membership stands at 35000 and over 50 sites are in the trust's care. It was satisfying to interact with a local organisation as well as a national one. Norfolk certainly attracts wildlife enthusiasts from all over Britain, and probably further afield. On our last full day, we returned to Frampton Marsh. The lesser yellowlegs was still there and the sightings board informed us a red breasted goose was in the vicinity, as well as little stint. The reserve was bustling today and I put that down to it simply being a Saturday. I wasn't quite prepared for the twitching jamboree that awaited us. The pathway to the 360 hide was blocked by massed ranks of birders (mainly men) with bulky optical equipment and camera lenses of phallic proportions. Freud would have had a field day! What was arousing such interest, I asked myself. It turned out to be a Bonaparte's Gull, of whose very existence I had been completely unaware until now. The pool was full of regular black-headed gulls and we had to ask someone to point out the American interloper.
Aside from a slight difference in size and facial pattern, the visiting gull didn't stand out from the crowd. The name honours Charles Lucien Bonaparte, who made important contributions to stateside ornithology. It is the only gull to nest in trees. Moving into the hide, we watched a large group of godwits doing their thing. We repeatedly scanned the water and shoreline for the little stint but it didn't show. Back outside we followed the twitcher trail to a grassy field full of geese. The red-breasted chap was in there somewhere and this time we managed to confidently pick out the infiltrator. A very striking plump bird it was too! A rare sighting in the wild sense, most red-breasted geese that appear in the British countryside are reckoned to be escapees from private collections. Camera shutters clicked all around us. Few of these people had entered the 360 hide to take in the relaxing scene. When we arrived back at the café, we found it no busier than normal. Clearly there are folks for whom it's all about racing from one reported rarity to the next. Chasing that next tick on the list, rather than enjoy a day out at a nature reserve. But whatever floats your boat! Our holiday was coming to an end and every day had offered something special. You can't realistically ask for more than that. We bade farewell to Tottenhill and set off across the fens towards the A1 junction. We were unable to join the dual carriageway at Newark due to an accident and some hasty recalculation saw us dog-leg towards Lincoln then back along the A57 to meet the A1 at a more northerly point. We crossed Dunham Bridge which levied the princely sum of 50p to cross the River Trent. Hunger was kicking in by the time we reached Berwick and we pulled over at KFC. Just a short drive to the Scottish border and the obligatory cheer as we crossed.
