Postcard from Yorkshire: Yurts and all

Just outside Masham, near the village of Ilton, is the Druids Temple. Not actually raised by those bloodthirsty beardy types at the dawn of time, this Neolithic style stone ring and assorted sticky-uppy cairns was in fact created in the Victorian age, yet another folly raised by beardy types, just not bloodthirsty ones in robes.

It's an interesting enough wee place to visit and one does not have to bee an anthropologist to work out that it has been used ritually, the ritual in question being Helen where the local teens sneak off somewhere to make a campfire, around which they drink cider, make out and pass out. At the rear of the temple is what might be termed the holy of holes but is more accurately described as the 'cave of piss and cider'. A couple of discarded lighter fluid cans suggested that the youth either really like getting their babies going with a bang, or supermarket cider isn't cutting it anymore. I dread to think what the effect of sniffing lighter fluid is but can only hope they don't attempt it while smoking a fag.


The other folly in the area is the brand new camp site 'Bivouac'. When we to led up this consisted of half a dozen yurts in a field, a camp site shop/office, a toilet block, a cafe and a business model best described as ambitious. Turns out, this is an environmentally friendly camping site. Which means no glamping. If I rent a yurt, I expect hot water, a microwave, a bed with a topper and wi if. What I do not expect is. Standard of comfort that, if the brochure is to be believed, would have Gengis Khan saying 'fuck that' and off on his pony to the nearest Travelodge.


The environmental aspect is good for business, and I sense a real business opportunity in running a combined drystone wall building adventure weekend and drystone wall repair business. I can imagine if I read the Guardian this is just the sort of place I would go camping and it has to be said the scenery is spectacular, as long as you can see over the drystone walls.. The problem is that to get there, I would have driven from London in my 4x4. Having a coffee in the cafe and resisting the urge to leaf through a copy of 'green parent' (I was aware of the folklore relating to green children, but was hitherto unaware that it was a genetic thing), I was worried when I asked for directions to the loo that I would be handed a trenching tool and dictions to a bank of soft earth. However, the loos were actually rather lovely and, fair enough, the wee shop sold a 'breakfast' lit for a tenner that essentially consisted of a lot of pork arranged in various meaty ways. Just the thing for a hungry yurt dweller.