The Haverigg Vampires (& other tales)

It was a hot, Wednesday afternoon. Too hot for my liking, but there wasn't a lot I could do about it save for heading out to the coast. The breeze there cooled things a little as I lay in the back of my open van at the Harbour Lights camping field. You can't actually see the sea from the site, but there were lots of other things to look at, lots of horses (in a neighbouring field) and lots of kites. There was supposed to have been a kite festival the previous weekend (so I was told), but it was too windy, and I guess it doesn't make for much of a festival if all the kites go into orbit. I didn't have a kite with me, but I had brought along my football which I set about trying to keep in the air for as long as possible. I once did 1007 keepie-uppies before losing count, and I haven't really bothered doing any counting since. I got roped into someone else's kick about as I walked to the toilet block to brush my teeth - one of them wanted a break for a beer, and another was having to drive round and round the campsite in order to get their baby to sleep. So, for the best part of an hour I kicked a ball about with a Manchester United fan from Walsall, all the while keeping an eye on their dog (Dolly) who had shat perilously close to my wash bag and towel. 

It's easy to get the impression that everyone knows each other on a campsite, but that's mainly because everyone talks to everyone else. Which is great, really lovely, even when someone tries to hold a deep and meaningful conversation with you when you've got a mouth full of toothpaste. I think I did a pretty good job at nodding sincerely at the appropriate places, and even offered up the occasional, wise, 'mmmm'. The aforementioned kick-about was bizarrely interrupted when two five year old kids who thought they were vampires began chasing us all around the campsite. I caught a breather while chatting to their mum, who asked if they were still pretending to be crabs. "Oh no. It's much worse than that now!" Then, almost at the exact same moment, we both looked up and saw the low, enormous, almost full moon. I wished her luck as I headed off for a walk along the giant sea wall. 

I saw the couple who had parked their van near to mine - I paused while they took a photo, one of those clever shots that makes it look like you're holding the moon in your hand. They seemed somehow familiar to me, perhaps it was the impression I got - that they cared about everyone and so therefore no one was a stranger to them. They were warm, open people - the kind that made you feel better about yourself after even the briefest of conversations. He asked me if I played for England, and I asked how far along they had walked. They warned me about the great clouds of flys that appeared just around the corner - they weren't wrong, it was almost biblical. We said our good nights, as I continued on to the lighthouse. When I reached it I jumped around on some giant concrete blocks, and watched the moon's beam play out on the water. 

I was woken in the morning by seagulls and horses. The horses had actually woken me once in the night, too. That sound that they make, a little bit like when a human sneezes or clears their throat. It must be one of the hardest animal sound impressions to make. I don't even know how to begin trying. I lazed around for a couple of hours enjoying the cool early air and drinking coffee made on my little gas stove. My vague plans then took me for a wander along the beach where I saw a blue tractor parked on the sand. The day was beginning to heat up, and having no particular inclination to see either the prison or the naturist camp, I headed back to my van, and back to Eskdale for work later on.