Today we would have made a trouble free departure had it not been for
the on-going problems with the jockey wheel; we will have to replace it before
long or we will continue to have dramatic camp breaks.
Most of the journey was through countryside we had passed in the
last couple of days, albeit on the more major roads. The South Downs National
Park lay south of us until we passed Lewes, and then it lay to our north.
Interestingly this National Park, while covering a massive area,
1,627 square kilometres stretching from Winchester in the west
to Eastbourne in the east through the counties of Hampshire, West Sussex and
East Sussex, across chalk hills , heavily wooded sandstone and clay hills and
vales, is mostly privately owned and occupied by either farm or village
dwellers. A quick look at the map a month ago had suggested
this to be an extensive area of wild country and worthy of exploration; the
other day at Beachey Head proved that while this was partly true, most of the
park area is not accessible to the average traveller.
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| Choller Farm's fishing lake |
Our day’s destination was only about forty five miles from our
starting point, but in normal fashion we headed off just after nine and then
had to seek a park up spot to “kill” time before arrival. This time we chose a
Service Centre on the roundabout at Fontwell, just to the west of Arundel.
There were no signs to suggest that this was not appropriate for trucks and
like large vehicles. So in we went, to the “Little Chef” which appeared to have
through parks. Alas, not so; we found ourselves jammed in a car park totally
inappropriate for much more than a small sedan. We remained parked skewed
across a section of the sealed area waiting for patrons to emerge from their
brunch or early lunch, to clear a space big enough to manoeuvre our way out.
This morning no one was in a hurry to develop indigestion of whatever else can
happen when you gobble down your hamburger or gulp down your latte, and so we
sat, and sat, until finally we were able to un-wedge ourselves. We moved up to
the edge of the Shell station adjacent, in the only space apart from those at
the pumps. Some service centre this had turned out to be!
We purchased a newspaper and pork pies from the station to justify
our occupation, then after midday travelled on to our camp here at Choller
Farm, this a Caravan Club certified location costing just £10 a night plus
metered electricity, quite reasonable by British standards. There are several
acres here, farmed and leased to various parties, and open to paying anglers as
our camp at Onehouse had been. Chris and I laughed when we considered the thought of offering the same facility to the average Kiwi, or Australian; it would be considered massive joke. Diversification seems to be the answer to rural
survival in this part of the world, and probably everywhere else.
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| Our camp on Choller Farm |
By the time we had set up, in record time today, the rain had
recommenced, the wind had come up and the day was altogether miserable, yet
again. Still, we had sat out yesterday’s weather so today we should make an
effort. We travelled south the few miles to Bognor Regis, home to one of the last few Butlin's Holiday Camps left in the country, a seaside spot that
is apparently quite popular. Not today; in fact, could it ever be? We found the
town itself rather shabby and uninspiring, the pebble beach so so, and we had
no compunction in hunting out a supermarket fuel station instead of further
sightseeing. Tomton led us to Sainsbury where we found diesel three pence a
litre less than elsewhere, and a rotisserie roast chicken which served well for
dinner tonight.
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