We had nothing planned this week beyond a vague idea of getting into the Cheviots. The sky looked suspicious enough to send us in the other direction, so we settled on Bamburgh. A walk on the beach, a bit of lunch, home again. A low-key affair.
As it turned out, the weather played nice. Grey, yes, but dry and so still you could stand on the beach and have a conversation without raising your voice. It was quiet for a Sunday. The castle looked as magnificent as ever, and Meg had enough room to chase her ball without us having to check who was in the way every time we threw it.
It was about this time of year, on another Sunday, that we met the Geordie Cowboy. We got to talking about him as we walked and decided we’d love to see him again. If you know him, give us a shout. Better still, tell him we said hello.
Coffee before the bells
We’d skipped breakfast in anticipation of an early lunch. There’s a flaw in that plan, which becomes apparent the second time you circle Bamburgh and find it’s still too early for lunch.
So we went to the Copper Kettle. We’ve walked past it hundreds of times and it always seems popular. We wondered if we might come away with something for Listed. First bit of good news: Meg could come in.
We found a seat in the corner. It’s properly old-fashioned in there, with wood-panelled walls, copper kettles hanging from the beams and cakes under glass domes. The menu looked promising. We had plenty of time.
Which was just as well.
After what felt like a good fifteen minutes of trying to catch someone’s eye, I began to wonder if we’d missed a sign telling us to order somewhere else. We did eventually get two flat whites and a slice of lemon and blackberry sponge to share. The coffee was very good and so was the cake, though our slice arrived missing a corner. I’d already mentally divided the whole thing between us, so I felt the loss.
From our corner we could see other tables trying to catch someone’s eye too. A few groups waited at the takeaway window and eventually walked away. It may simply have been an off day. The place has all the charm you’d want from an old-fashioned tearoom, and a smile and a quick “I’ll be with you in a moment” would have made a world of difference.
We finished our coffees and wandered over to St Aidan’s churchyard to see Grace Darling’s grave. Then the bells chimed. Lunch at last.
The Middle Inn
We’ve been to The Middle Inn plenty of times. There’s room to settle in, Meg is welcome, and we knew we’d get a decent lunch. We may have been among the first to order a roast that day. If so, the kitchen came out of the blocks well.
Roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, vegetables steamed just right and extra gravy. It arrived quickly, properly hot, and the staff were friendly. With a pint of Bamburgh IPA and a Sauvignon Blanc, it came to £50 for the two of us. We thought that was fair for one of the best Sunday lunches we’ve had all year.
The long way round
We also got talking briefly to Zoe and Mike, who were out for a coastal walk of their own. Theirs is about 7,300 miles longer than we’d had in mind.
Zoe Langley-Wathen and Mike Langley call their walk One Coast Any Age. They set off from Studland in Dorset in October 2025, heading anticlockwise around mainland Britain, with roughly two years in mind to get back to where they started. They’re raising money for Dorset and Somerset Air Ambulance and using the walk to show there’s room for a big outdoor adventure at any age.
We’d have liked to talk a little longer, but their lunch arrived and Meg had decided we’d spent quite enough of the day sitting down. We’ll be following their journey from here. Follow One Coast Any Age · Support their Air Ambulance fundraiser
On the way out I thought about how easily we could have gone to the Cheviots that morning. As it was, we’d had a quiet beach, a cracking roast and met two people walking all the way round Britain. And somewhere, with any luck, there’s still a Geordie Cowboy we owe a hello.