EXMOUTH AND ITS PARKRUN
On the parkrun grocklism route again, this time to sunny Devon. I have never been sure whether the word is a derogatory or an endearment term. I suppose it is dependent on which side of the fence you are based.
Given that we were the tourists, English for grockles, I am taking it as the latter. I suppose if you are a resident of these delightful Devonshire towns it is the former. Whatever your opinion of tourists, we all need them and we all want to be one.
Speaking of derogatory terms, have you ever wondered where the word twerp comes from? Well, I have worked it out. It started life as an acronym, The Wallies of Exmouth are Real Prats. Unfortunately, I am afraid to report, twerpism is no longer restricted to its place of origin. It now springs up everywhere. I have even experienced it in my own village.
What defines twerpist behaviour? I am sure the answer to this is different for everyone. For me it is the idiots who ride motorbikes and drive cars that seem to be about a thousand decibels louder than they really need to be, thus keeping me awake. Exmouth has these cretins by the bucketload and, what is more, they don’t practise their art during daylight hours.
They appear after dark, especially after midnight and, or so it appears anyway, only at weekends. I am not sure what pleasure they get out of irritating the general populace. Engines are revved up to such a thundering roar the very ground within a mile or so shakes; I am convinced it must register on the Richter scale.
They then charge off up the road, awl… nearly twenty metres before slamming on the brakes and then, after posing for others to swoon at their childish behaviour, repeat it all over again until they run out of petrol. I have no idea who they think they are impressing. Not me, that is for damned sure.
I bet they are mainly boys with baseball caps on back‑to‑front. If you wish for a testosterone boost, why not visit an Ann Summers or Lovehoney store, where you might be able to obtain less intrusive gadgets.
Once we arrived in the coastal resort which, in the glorious sunshine that adorned our stay, looked more like the French Riviera, we deposited our luggage at the hotel and went for a stroll. Established readers of these pages know that Norfolk’s most famous son, Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson, has always been my hero.
I was over the moon when Jane spotted a blue plaque fixed to a residence just along from where we were staying. It said Nelson’s Fanny was here. I think it may have been a little more eloquent than that. It did get my juices flowing though.
Now old Horatio was a one, having married Frances whom he met whilst cruising the Caribbean. She was a Nevis native. He later fell for a society temptress, Lady Emma Hamilton, and they lived like husband and wife whilst they waited for the ailing Sir William Hamilton to pop his clogs.
All this happened at their shared home in Piccadilly, so anyone who thinks throuples are a modern development, think again. I am not sure where she thought the longevity was in her marriage; she was 35 years younger than old Bill.
Whilst Horatio and Emma were adulterising in London, the Viscountess of the Nile found herself ensconced at Nelson’s proposed retirement estate near Ipswich, a home she shared with her husband’s dad. I think you will agree it was a funny old setup.
Once she realised the one‑eyed and one‑armed fighting admiral had made his bed, not easy when an arm down, and was laying in it, Fanny moved down to take the sea airs in Devon. She ended up living in Louisa Terrace from 1803 until 1829. Well, I hope she enjoyed it as much as I did.
Ironically, the hero of the day never lived in his Suffolk home, getting in the way of a French musket ball at Trafalgar. Rather sadly, Emma died in penury in France in 1815.
Speaking of historical figures who never took up residence in their home, we stumbled across another blue plaque. Exmouth is full of them. This one was dedicated to Charles Gordon, better known as General Gordon of Khartoum.
We all know the story. He was sitting in his palace in the Sudanese capital, planning his 52nd birthday bash for 28th January 1885. It is quite nice to get away to the sun for the celebrations if it falls in winter. It was all looking rosy until some were affronted by being omitted from the invitation list.
Mahdi warriors had been laying siege to Khartoum for months. They had heard that a British Relief Force, who had been invited to the party, was on its way, due to arrive on the day. The Mahdis had the right hump and gate‑crashed the city two days before the big day.
They sought out the birthday boy and skewered him on their spears. There’s no pleasing some. He never got to see Miramar, his intended retirement home in the Devon coastal resort. His loss was his sister’s gain, as she took up residence after its completion. It might not have happened as I described, but you get the gist.
Exmouth has its fair number of blue plaques and here is a list of some that took my fancy.
Execliff – home of Admiral Sir Fairfax Moresby, for whom Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea’s capital, was named.
Chester House – home to Mary Ann Clarke, mistress of the then Duke of York, he of the marching them up to the top of the hill before marching them down again. He was not the brightest light on the Christmas tree, selling off officer commissions for knockdown prices, only for his own personal gain.
Corner of Lime Kiln Lane – this lane was used by the smuggler, Mutter, to haul contraband from Orcombe to his cider shop on Salterton Road.
The Pilot Inn – I like this one. A landlord of this establishment got himself embroiled in a brawl and cut off a man’s ear, as you do. He escaped prison by paying a local surgeon to sew it back on. What a beautiful gesture. I wonder if the ear ever worked again.
I think that will do for now. There are many more, 33 in total, and I would thoroughly recommend you visit for yourself and enjoy everything the place has to offer. If, like me, you are suffering from an eye condition, you will find it pretty easy to navigate around the town.
It is compact and, in the main, the pavements are generously wide. “A” frames are still present but, I am sure, we will see this breed of nuisance become extinct in time along with, hopefully, twerps.
As we wandered around the place the summer vibe was present from dawn until dusk, and beyond. On a negative note, it was disappointing to walk past spliff gardens in Louisa Terrace, but they weren’t really causing trouble, apart from a noxious smell.
There are many eateries and drinkeries. We enjoyed hospitality at Sea Dog Bar, Grove Pub and Queen Victoria Pub. All three waterholes were excellent (check out the links to each), but I have to say, my favourite was the first one in my list, where we were made most welcome by our host, Vlad.
Nothing was too much trouble. Even when we realised all the restaurants were closed, we had been hydrating for too long, he rustled up a brilliant snack. It is a most welcoming intimate bar where you can drink on your own, with a loved one or in a larger group. Make sure you go there when you visit.
If you like a good old ramble, you won’t go short down here. We were slightly stymied by a hectic social calendar while we were in the town, but we did get to walk a section of the coastal path, out past Sandy Bay towards Budleigh Salterton. Alas, we had to turn around for a luncheon appointment.
For heaven’s sake, we weren’t there to enjoy ourselves. Drinking beer and superb company was compensation enough, that’s for sure.
I suppose I had better get onto the parkrun. It is not the main reason for visiting, but when we book a short break the next research is to see where the closest parkruns are. This one was no more than a hundred metres from our front door. Couldn’t be better.
There cannot be many better views from a parkrun course. There are a number of promenade‑style events out there, and we have been to a few, but you will have to go a long way to beat this one. The instruction from the Run Director was simple: on the way to Orcombe keep the sea on your right and on the way back keep it on your left.
Even my restricted vision allowed me to appreciate the openness as the water glittered, glinted and glistened in the bright sunlight. Gorgeous.
As usual, I was running with a VI Guide, one I have used before, Paul Williams, who is based down near Plymouth. A massive thank you to him for making the effort to drive all the way to Exmouth’s Esplanade to do this for me. Tandem pilots and VI Guides — my life wouldn’t be worth living if it wasn’t for these incredible people.
It was a one‑lap course, with a couple of fairly narrow bits where traffic is going in both directions. Probably not the easiest of tracks for VI runners and their guides. We started somewhere in the middle and took in the esplanade between Orcombe Point and the Cavendish Hotel.
Not sure why, but someone has plonked a lifeboat station right in the centre of our path. We progressed around the front of it on the way out and behind it on the way back.
In one section where runners were going pell‑mell in each direction, a fast female, for reasons only best known to herself, decided to overtake someone and pulled out into our lane. There was nothing we could do to avoid the head‑on collision.
The impact, estimated at around 24 km/h, reeled both of us back. No lasting damage in my case and, I am afraid, I have no idea how badly off the lady was, but I really hope she is alright. I was reassured by everyone around me saying it was not my fault.
A word about another couple of twerps we encountered. What on earth makes you ride on a cycle path when it is being used by nearly 600 runners, walkers and Geoffers? Paul had to jerk me out of their way.
I accept that we are meant to have respect for other users of the amenities that host us but, just maybe, they should give it some thought and avoid the course for an hour or so each Saturday. Who will be to blame if someone ends up in hospital?
I know that some supporters shot a volley of verbals at them, but whether it will have any effect, we shall have to wait and see. As someone said afterwards, there is no known cure for stupid. How I wish I had thought of that line.
The course is pretty level, just one or two Norfolk hills where we crossed paths leading to the beach, so a PB was a real possibility. I am pleased to say that, despite how crowded the prom was with runners, with one or two bottlenecks, Paul took me across the line in over a minute less than my previous best.
My word, I was pleased. Talk about made up, over the moon and all that sort of thing.
Yes, the pubs and bars are top notch, but don’t forget the coffee shops. We didn’t actually join the other parkrunners in the event’s recommended joint — shame on us — instead accompanying friends to the Rise Bakery on the front.
Talk about first‑class sausage rolls and Danish pastries. They certainly did it for me.
In conclusion, I have to say, it is a real shame that Exmouth isn’t just a bike ride away. If it was, I would be frequenting it more regularly than I do.
Perhaps a train next time; a car is not needed unless you intend to explore further afield.
Can’t wait to go back.
Find Out More – The Town
Exmouth: https://www.visitexmouth.co.uk
Exmouth Historical and Archaeological Society:
https://www.devonhistorysociety.org.uk
White Cane Ratings - The Town©
Town and Esplanade: very good; very accessible - 🦯 🦯 🦯 🦯 (4)
Coastal Path: good; need companion - 🦯 🦯 🦯 (3)
Find Out More - parkrun
Exmouth parkrun: https://www.parkrun.org.uk/exmouth
Parkrun: https://www.parkrun.org.uk
White Cane Ratings* - parkrun©
Car Park: n/a; couldn’t say - (-)
Welcome and Briefing: good; engaging - 🦯 🦯 🦯 (3)
Atmosphere: very good - 🦯 🦯 🦯 🦯 (4)
Course: average; hard surface, needs care as a VI runner – 🦯 🦯 (2)
Marshalling: very good; concise - 🦯 🦯 🦯 🦯 (4)
*These ratings are how the event suits this particular blind person and are my opinion only; they are not scientific. Whatever happens no-one must be put off by me. The best way to learn about something is try it for yourself.
