Visiting the fine little village of Alnmouth, we were surprised to find these old caravans sat atop the headland like Easter Island Moai. Each little plot a promise of tartan rugs, damp comics and a black and white telly run from a car battery. The grass was neat and daffodils spikes were poking up through the turf. No facilities at all. No shop, other than in the village. No site club selling John Smith Smooth, just the magnificent Red Lion down the hill. No Kidz Klub, other than the beach. I wonder when these caravans last moved?
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