One of the first things Tom did when he was — unknown to me at the time — quietly trying to convince me that we should move here was take me to Bamburgh Castle.
And now we pass it almost every day. Sometimes from the car, sometimes walking along the beach below it.
So yes, we've been here before. Many times, really.
But mostly, I realised, we'd been here passively.
Firstly, we love it.
I've lost count of the number of times one of us has said, "Oh wow, just look at that," because the light has caught the walls differently, or a bank of weather has rolled in from the sea, or the castle has suddenly appeared through morning mist.
It is simply cinematic.
If you're seeing Bamburgh for the first time, I honestly don't think you'll be disappointed.
But I used the word passively because this was the first time we'd deliberately planned to slow down, go inside and properly absorb the place so we could write about it here.
And when you know you're going to write about somewhere, you look at it a little differently.
Waiting for the crowds to go home
We'd deliberately waited until the season was beginning to wane.
Bamburgh in summer can be busy, and we wanted enough space to linger over the exhibits, read about the artefacts and occasionally stand in front of something for far longer than necessary without feeling we were holding up a coach party from Doncaster.
I remembered an earlier visit when we'd chatted with one of the incredibly knowledgeable guides.
Within about thirty seconds I was thinking, Oh dear. I really need to brush up on my history.
But his stories were fascinating.
So, before this visit, we did what everyone does and looked at the castle website for a refresher.
Oh dear.
What a missed opportunity.
The website really doesn't reflect the experience of being here. There is some lovely history buried within it, but you have to go looking for it. The overwhelming impression instead seems to be:
Buy a ticket.
Would you like a ticket?
Psst… mate… fancy a ticket?
Which is a shame, because if we didn't already know how wonderful the castle was, we might have decided simply to enjoy the view from outside — particularly if we were visiting Northumberland on a tight holiday budget.
At the time of writing, admission is just under £20 for an adult and £10 for a child, with under-fives free. There is a family ticket, which takes a little of the sting out, but it can still become quite an expensive afternoon for a family.
Dogs are welcome in the grounds too, which is a nice touch.
Tom and I decided to buy annual passes. They cost less than two individual visits and, living so close, we know we'll use them many times over the next twelve months.
So for us, excellent value.
Curiously, though, there's no card or physical pass.
"Just give us your email when you come back and we'll look you up."
They did email us a receipt, but I don't know… if I'm joining a castle for a year, I rather fancy a little card in my purse announcing that I'm practically nobility.
Small things.
Anyway.
Moaning over.
Almost.
First, the beach
To do the visit properly, Flynn stayed at home with Mum.
We set off early and walked Meg through Bamburgh and down onto the beautiful sweep of sand between the castle and the sea.
And I know we're biased, but it must be one of the finest beaches anywhere.
Pale sand stretching away in both directions. Bamburgh Castle over one shoulder. Lindisfarne somewhere beyond the other. And, on this particular morning, barely another soul around.
It was one of those first proper days of autumn when there's suddenly a little bite in the air but the sun still has some warmth in it.
The light was beautiful.
You somehow already knew it was going to be a lovely day.
After the walk came breakfast at The Lord Crewe in Bamburgh, which has already earned itself a place in our Best Breakfasts in Northumberland notes.
Fully fuelled, we headed for the castle.
We parked in the shade and left Meg snoozing in the car while we went inside. Dogs are allowed around the castle grounds but not inside the State Rooms, and this time Tom and I wanted to wander through together.
You can pick up an audio guide.
We didn't.
We probably should.
But we quite like talking to each other about what we're looking at, even if approximately 43% of our historical conclusions are completely made up.
Looking through the windows
As you wander through the rooms, picking up fragments of history from different centuries, I found myself repeatedly drifting towards the windows.
Perhaps that's my favourite thing about old buildings.
Looking out.
There's the cricket pitch far below, and for a moment you wonder what someone standing at this same window might have seen hundreds of years ago.
Were you safely inside the castle looking down at the people living beneath its shadow?
Or were you one of those people, looking up at the few privileged — and perhaps rather lonely — souls living behind those enormous walls?
Look towards the sea and your imagination changes again.
Viking boats.
Ships offshore.
Armies approaching.
Cannons pointing towards the walls.
And that last one really happened.
In 1464, during the Wars of the Roses, Bamburgh came under sustained Yorkist cannon fire while being held for the Lancastrians. Those huge medieval walls, which had survived centuries of attack, finally met something they weren't designed to withstand. Bamburgh became the first castle in England to be brought down by gunfire.
Standing there now, with a cricket pitch below and the North Sea sparkling beyond it, that seems almost impossible to imagine.
Almost.
Lady Lucy of Bamburgh
Going early definitely gave us more time to stop and think, and if you can, I'd recommend visiting either early or later in the day.
A castle like this is better when you have room to let your imagination wander.
My favourite room is the King's Hall.
The beautiful wooden ceiling, the polished floor, the scale of the room — you can't help filling it with people who aren't there.
Long tables.
Candles.
A banquet at the top table.
Music somewhere in the corner.
Ladies sweeping across the floor in enormous dresses.
Would I have been a young maiden living in Bamburgh Castle, secretly casting glances towards the mysterious Sir Tom Heathers?
Probably.
Most definitely.
Although judging by Tom's behaviour in the Armoury, Sir Tom would have been far too busy looking at weapons to notice.
There is, apparently, a definite male/female divide when visiting an armoury.
I was perfectly happy to drift through.
Tom stopped.
And stared.
And stared some more.
"What are you doing?"
He wasn't admiring the craftsmanship. He was thinking about how tired he gets carrying his camera equipment.
"Imagine marching all day carrying that," he said, pointing at one particularly substantial implement of battle. "And then somebody expects you to fight with it."
Fair point.
The thought of the violence itself makes me uncomfortable. Perhaps that's part of visiting somewhere with this much history. However beautiful the rooms are now, violence is always lurking somewhere in the shadows.
Something strange in the castle
On this particular visit there was also a sculpture trail running through parts of the castle.
I'm not entirely sure how to describe it other than… weird.
Some of the pieces gave me that slightly unsettling feeling I remember from reading Alice in Wonderland as a child. Not frightening exactly. Just slightly off-kilter, as though everything was normal except for one thing you couldn't quite put your finger on.
There have been other temporary events on previous visits too.
Personally, I'm not sure Bamburgh needs them.
The castle is the event.
Sometimes adding another layer simply distracts from the thing you came to see.
We carried on, stopping to look at costumes, family trees, furniture and enormous portraits hanging high above us.
Eventually Tom looked up at one particularly unfortunate ancestor.
"Do you think painters just weren't very good in those days," he whispered, "or was everyone actually that ugly?"
I looked again.
Round face.
Rather prominent eyes.
Very plump lips.
There may have followed a short discussion about the genetic consequences of centuries of aristocratic intermarriage.
We moved on before getting thrown out.
Tea, tart and the keys to the castle
By now Tom was very satisfied with his camera roll, which is usually the signal that refreshments are required.
There are a couple of options inside the castle grounds.
The Tack Room kiosk felt a little chilly on the day we visited, so we opted for the Clock Tower Tearoom instead.
Again, if I'm being picky, it could perhaps be a little more inviting.
But we found ourselves a table, ordered tea and a Bakewell tart which was ever so slightly drier than the Northumbrian summer, and started talking about the day.
And then, inevitably, the conversation became:
"What would you do differently if they gave you the keys?"
Now that was a question.
Because after spending a morning wandering around Bamburgh Castle, I realised something.
I absolutely love the place.
The history is extraordinary. The setting might be unbeatable. The rooms deserve to be wandered slowly rather than ticked off one after another.
But perhaps that is also why the little things stand out.
The website. The annual pass. The café. The extra attractions competing with a castle that really doesn't need any help being interesting.
None of them would stop us coming back.
Quite the opposite.
We've bought an annual pass.
They're going to be seeing rather a lot of us.
And perhaps next time we'll take the audio guide, find one of those knowledgeable guides again and fill in a few more of the enormous gaps in our history.
Or perhaps I'll simply return to the King's Hall, stare up at that beautiful wooden ceiling and continue my imaginary life as Lady Lucy of Bamburgh.
Sir Tom will be in the Armoury.
Obviously.
