Our Friday began as quite a few Fridays have before it. A walk along Bamburgh Beach with Meg, a few photographs to take, and the promise of a decent coffee afterwards.
Nothing particularly ambitious.
We'd parked at the Seahouses end of the beach with the intention of walking north, past Bamburgh Castle and on towards Blackrocks Point. We needed some fresh photographs of Stag Rock and its curious little lighthouse for our Listed pages.
A nice walk, a bit of work, and coffee. What could possibly go wrong?
As it turned out, quite a lot.
A Rather Bracing Start
Bamburgh Beach is one of those places that can make you feel extraordinarily lucky to live in Northumberland.
On a calm morning, with the castle standing above the dunes and miles of pale sand stretching ahead, there are few places we'd rather be.
This wasn't one of those mornings.
A 31mph north-westerly wind was coming straight at us, whipping sand off the beach and into our faces. We'd dressed sensibly for the weather, which meant several layers, but walking into that wind was rather like trying to push a wardrobe uphill.
Within twenty minutes we were both far too hot, slightly breathless and thoroughly sandblasted.
Meg, naturally, thought it was wonderful.
By the time we reached the castle, Lucy was suggesting we abandon the lighthouse expedition and find somewhere warm to have coffee.
It was a perfectly reasonable suggestion.
Unfortunately, I had photographs to take.
"Just a little further," I said.
A phrase Lucy has learned to distrust.
A Stag, a Rock and a Little White Lighthouse
We eventually reached Blackrocks Point, where one of Bamburgh's more unusual landmarks sits among the rocks.
Stag Rock gets its name from the white stag painted onto the dark rock face. Nobody seems entirely sure who first painted it. The name has been in use since at least the late 1800s, and the stories range from a hunted stag leaping into the sea rather than be caught, to Italian prisoners of war during the Second World War.
It's a curious little piece of Bamburgh history. Not a grand monument or a famous statue. Just a white stag on a rock, looking out towards the North Sea.
The sort of thing you could walk past without giving it a second thought, unless you happened to know it was there.
Nearby stands the equally curious Stag Rock Lighthouse.
And I have to say, I rather love it.
Freshly whitewashed, compact and almost comically neat, it looks less like a serious maritime structure and more like a character from a children's television programme.
Lucy and I actually started laughing as we photographed it.
I could imagine a little animated series set along this stretch of coastline. A friendly lighthouse, a couple of talking puffins, a fishing boat with a personality of its own, a rather opinionated seal and a collection of dogs who spend their days getting into trouble on the beach.
The Adventures of Stag Rock Lighthouse.
Perhaps Lucy could write it.
Although, given what happened later, Meg might be better suited to playing the villain.
The Trouble With Familiar Places
With our photographs taken, we headed back into Bamburgh to tackle a few more entries for Listed.
One of the things we've discovered since starting Heather & Sand is how often we'd fallen into the habit of visiting the same places.
The same walks. The same coffee shops. The same reliable lunch stops.
There's nothing wrong with having favourites, of course. But when you're trying to build a genuinely useful guide to Northumberland, you have to be prepared to look beyond them.
And sometimes that means discovering something wonderful right under your nose.
We called into Stag Rock Clothing, where Lucy bought herself a hat, and then had another look around Oswalds gift shop.
We'd visited Oswalds before, but apparently not with our eyes properly open.
There's a really lovely selection of gifts and interesting things inside. We both agreed it was somewhere we'd happily return to when Christmas or a last-minute birthday present came around.
A couple more Listed entries improved, a new hat acquired, and we were ready for coffee.
We almost stopped at one of our usual places.
But I'd been researching The Walled Garden for Listed and wanted to see it for ourselves.
What a good decision that turned out to be.
Well, mostly.
How Have We Never Been Here Before?
There's something rather lovely about walking through an entrance and immediately knowing you've found somewhere special.
That's exactly what happened at The Walled Garden.
We came through the archway and stopped.
Then looked at each other.
Then looked around again.
Ahead of us was a beautifully kept garden, a sunny outdoor seating area, space for children to play and a handsome timber-framed restaurant with enormous glass windows looking out over it all.
It was gorgeous.
Exactly the sort of place we love.
On a calmer day we'd have been straight outside, but after our morning battling the North Sea wind, sitting indoors seemed infinitely more appealing.
Well-behaved dogs welcome.
Excellent.
Remember that bit.
We'd missed breakfast and weren't quite ready for lunch, so ordered two lattes and a slice of raspberry cheesecake to share.
And what a cheesecake.
Quite possibly the nicest raspberry cheesecake we've had in a very long time.
Everything on display looked beautiful. Proper, tempting, home-baked-looking cakes that make you wish you'd skipped breakfast altogether.
The breakfast and lunch menus looked equally appealing. Prices were perhaps towards the upper end of what we'd normally spend on a casual stop, but looking around that beautiful room and out towards the garden, we could understand why.
We were already planning a return visit for lunch.
I think I might even have said something along the lines of, "This could become one of our favourites."
Famous last words.
The Trouble With Tipping
We were sitting enjoying our coffees, congratulating ourselves on our excellent discovery, when I brought up one small irritation.
The card machine.
More specifically, the increasingly common habit of asking customers whether they'd like to leave a tip before they've actually experienced the service.
Now, I'm perfectly happy to tip for good service.
But I don't particularly enjoy standing at a counter, with someone watching, while a little machine asks me to choose between various percentages or the dreaded No Tip button.
It feels awkward.
I was explaining all this to Lucy, suggesting that perhaps cafés could have a separate card terminal near the exit where customers could leave something after their visit.
That way, you'd know what you were tipping for.
A perfectly sensible argument, I thought.
And then I looked across the room towards the counter.
And saw it.
Oh, dear God.
Meg.
Our lovely, normally well-behaved Meg had been sick.
Not a discreet little accident.
Not something you could quietly mop up with a napkin and pretend hadn't happened.
No.
A truly spectacular amount, deposited in several locations across the café floor.
I stared at it.
Then at Meg.
Then back at the floor.
At almost the same moment, I caught the eye of the young woman who'd served us.
She saw my expression.
I saw hers.
There was no disguising what had happened.
"I'm so sorry. I'm SO sorry. Could I possibly have some kitchen roll? And a bin bag? And perhaps some cleaning spray?"
Lucy quickly took Meg outside while I began what can only be described as a deeply unpleasant and technically challenging cleaning operation.
If you've ever tried to scoop something of that consistency into a plastic bag using kitchen roll, you'll appreciate that it isn't a job for the faint-hearted.
I was mortified.
Absolutely mortified.
And here's where The Walled Garden went from being a lovely café to somewhere that genuinely impressed us.
The staff were wonderful.
Not just polite.
Wonderful.
They immediately helped, brought water outside for Meg, checked that she was all right and never once made me feel like the dreadful customer I was convinced I'd become.
There was no fuss, no disapproving look, no sense that we'd ruined anyone's day.
Just kindness.
And professionalism.
Exactly the sort of service that deserves recognition.
As I knelt there, kitchen roll in hand, desperately trying to restore the floor to its former glory, one thought kept going through my mind.
I really wish I'd left that tip.
A Friday to Remember
Thankfully, Meg was absolutely fine afterwards.
We suspect she'd swallowed some sand while chasing her ball on the beach. Given the amount of sand blowing around that morning, it wouldn't have been difficult.
And despite the embarrassment, we left The Walled Garden with an overwhelmingly positive impression.
The setting was beautiful. The coffee was good. The cheesecake was exceptional.
But what we'll remember most is how the staff treated us when things went spectacularly wrong.
It's easy to write a glowing review when everything is perfect.
Sometimes you learn much more about a place when it isn't.
Before Heather & Sand, we'd probably have walked straight past The Walled Garden and headed somewhere familiar.
Instead, we found a new favourite, met some genuinely lovely people and came away with a story we'll probably be telling for years.
We've also added several more personal observations to our Bamburgh Listed pages, which was, after all, the whole point of the day.
So, a productive Friday.
A new hat for Lucy.
Some photographs of a little lighthouse.
A wonderful new café.
And one very embarrassed dog owner.
We'll definitely be going back to The Walled Garden.
If they'll have us.