There are Sundays when you have a plan.
And then there are Sundays when the plan amounts to lunch somewhere nice, a walk afterwards and see where we end up.
This was one of those.
We were heading west of Morpeth with good friends and their new baby, Robin. Flynn had company, the dogs were coming too, and our first priority was fairly obvious.
Food.
The Running Fox, Kirkharle
We've visited a couple of Fox holes this year.
There are five Running Fox cafés dotted around Northumberland now and, as things currently stand, Powburn sits proudly at the top of Tom's Best Breakfasts in Northumberland.
Kirkharle, however, was new territory.
We arrived at around 11.30, which put us just the wrong side of breakfast. The nice chap front of house did say that if we really wanted breakfast he'd see what he could do — which immediately earned points.
But actually, the four of us had lunch on our minds.
More specifically, Foxy Pie.
We've had it before. Several times.
A proper home-baked pie, potato wedges, mushy peas, plenty of gravy and bread and butter on the side.
There are times for delicate little plates with artistic blobs of sauce.
And there are times for pie.
This was a pie day.
Kirkharle itself is worth knowing about, even before lunch enters the equation. This quiet little corner of Northumberland was the birthplace of Lancelot "Capability" Brown in 1716. He grew up here and began learning his trade on the Kirkharle estate before eventually going on to shape some of the most famous landscapes in Britain.
It feels rather appropriate, then, that more than three centuries later people are still coming here to enjoy the surroundings.
The Running Fox sits within Kirkharle Courtyard, among beautifully converted old stone buildings just off the A696.
And it's a lovely spot.
Stone walls. Stone floors. Big windows letting in plenty of light and looking towards a courtyard that on a sunny day becomes a little sun trap.
Inside are chunky wooden tables with that reassuring look that suggests nobody is going to bring you a lettuce leaf and call it lunch.
The dogs settled underneath the table. The pram fitted comfortably behind us. Nobody made a fuss.
Quite the opposite.
“Would you like a water bowl for the dog?”
Yes please.
There were dogs at the next table.
And the next.
Very much our kind of place.
Proper Food
One of the things I like about The Running Fox is that the menu still contains plenty of what I'd call proper British fare.
Soup. Home-baked pies. Thick, deep-filled sandwiches. Cream teas. Fabulous cakes. Good coffee.
Food that doesn't require an explanation when it arrives.
But the thing I noticed most at Kirkharle was the consistency.
Everything we'd enjoyed at the other Running Fox cafés was exactly as we remembered it here. The pie tasted like the Foxy Pie. The portions were generous. The bread was good. The gravy was plentiful.
There is something very reassuring about that.
You can walk through a different door, sit at a different table in a completely different building and know what's coming.
And sometimes that's exactly what you want.
I do have one small Foxy request, if anyone there happens to be reading.
The toilets could perhaps do with a little love.
We've thought much the same at Powburn. These are old buildings and that's obviously part of their character, but particularly when you're visiting with babies and all the associated paraphernalia, an upgrade would make quite a difference to the overall experience.
It's a small criticism of somewhere we otherwise thoroughly enjoy.
We'd also recommend booking a table online if you know you're going. The cafés can get busy and bookings come with a very civilised two-hour slot, so nobody is hovering beside you waiting for the table.
That said, we've called in without booking before and they've often managed to squeeze us in.
Full of pie and sufficiently caffeinated, it was time to continue our Sunday.
A Sneaky Look at Shortflatt
Our next stop wasn't really part of the plan.
We called briefly at Shortflatt Tower near Belsay, where a wedding event was taking place.
We have a wedding to attend there very soon and curiosity got the better of us.
So we had a sneaky look.
Nice.
Very nice, actually.
We'll report back on that one another day.
For now, though, babies needed carrying, dogs needed walking and the afternoon was far too good to waste indoors.
So we carried on to Bolam Lake.
Sunday Afternoon at Bolam Lake
Bolam Lake Country Park is one of those places that doesn't really demand anything from you.
You don't need walking poles.
You don't need a route downloaded to your phone.
Nobody needs to conquer anything.
You simply start walking.
We put the babies into their slings, got the dogs organised and headed beneath the trees.
It was one of those gorgeous late-summer, just-turning-autumn afternoons when the light seems a little softer than it did a few weeks earlier.
The woodland was still green, but summer was beginning to loosen its grip.
Then through the trees came glimpses of the lake.
Swans drifting across the water.
Ducks fussing around the edges.
Sunlight dancing across the surface whenever the breeze dropped.
And absolutely no reason whatsoever to hurry.
That's really the appeal of Bolam Lake.
The main walk around the water is only a couple of miles and is mostly gentle going, winding through woodland and along the lakeside. There are plenty of places to stop, sit or simply watch the water for a while.
Come in winter and you'll probably discover considerably more mud.
Today, though, it was just about perfect.
There is plenty of parking around the country park, with the first hour currently free, plus toilets and somewhere to grab a coffee.
But none of those are really the reason to come.
Come because you've had a good lunch.
Come because the dog needs a walk.
Come because the baby might sleep in the sling.
Come because the sun is shining through the trees and you've got nowhere particularly urgent to be.
We arrived back at the car having done nothing remarkable.
No mountain climbed. No castle conquered. No great Northumberland adventure to report.
Just pie, friends, babies, dogs, woodland and a couple of miles around a lake.
Some Sundays don't need any more than that.