There comes a point in every metropolitan potentate’s journey from London to Edinburgh, when he or she looks up from their laptop in First Class and gazes from the window of the train. At this point, they suddenly realise that whatever’s been absorbing their interest for the last hour or two, is completely irrelevant.
Chances are they are gazing out at some of the 60 or so miles of Northumberland that the doubtlessly ageing LNER rolling-stock is careening through at 100 miles per hour.
That’s because whether you’re talking Alnwick – the seat of the Duke of Northumberland and spiritual home of all Harry Potter fans everywhere – or Hexham with its sensational abbey, or Alnmouth, with its sandy beaches and picture postcard town, or Berwick-upon-Tweed (for which the English should be grateful to Richard III – otherwise it would be in Scotland), then Northumberland is the glint at the heart of the flawless diamond of Britain.
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