Headlines: Glastonbury helicopters, The Wave and e-scooter raid
What have been the big stories in the West this week?
People living near Glastonbury Festival are fed up with the high number of helicopters being used to get to the event, according to Somerset Live. Residents claimed as many as 85 had landed in the vicinity in one day. The festival encourages people to choose sustainable transport options to get to the site.Gloucestershire Live has reported on the family who died in a crash on the M5 last month, who were returning from holiday, leaving an eight-year-old girl orphaned.Multiple e-bikes and e-scooters have been seized by police in a crackdown on overpowered modified vehicles, as reported by Bristol Live.Gloucester City Council has agreed to go ahead with the sale of Gloucestershire Airport, at Staverton.The Salisbury Journal reported on a £5m hole in Wiltshire Council's finances, caused largely by an overspend in adult social care.The £26m inland surfing lake The Wave, in South Gloucestershire, has closed after a financial row.
Top five local stories for the BBC in the West
Something longer to read
The Bristol Cable walked the streets of Bristol with resident, Anela Wood, who is blind, to understand how everyday pavements become dangerous obstacle courses, from overgrown bushes to silent e-scooters.Reporter Jaldeep Katwala talked to Ms Wood about her work with Sight Loss Councils, with whom she's pushing for lasting change in how public spaces are designed and cared for.
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Telegraph
4 hours ago
- Telegraph
The joys of an English beer garden – and my pick of the very best
On a recent Friday afternoon, the garden at Tuckers Grave, a legendary cider-focused pub in Somerset, was abuzz with human activity – and canine activity, too. A spaniel was loudly insistent that he should meet a nearby Alsatian; happily, his human companions quickly acquiesced. Before long they were chatting to the Alsatian's owners, too. When the sun shines, the action at England's best pubs moves outdoors. Not all of them have a garden, but those that do have made very good use of them recently. I spent the period from March to June touring the country, conducting last-minute research for my guide to England's 500 best pubs. The weather was superb, more often than not. Pub gardens from Newcastle to Zennor in Cornwall resounded to the hubbub of happy drinkers. There was the Bridge Inn in Topsham, where cyclists queued at a hatch for beer and sandwiches before taking a seat with a view of the delightful Clyst river; more cyclists at the Plasterers Arms in Hoylake, first to the bar when it opened at 12pm before claiming a spot in the sun outside; exuberant Geordie youth at the Free Trade Inn in Newcastle, enjoying the last rays of a glorious April weekend overlooking the Tyne; and dozens of drinkers in the garden at the Fleece, Bretforton, where the grassy outdoor space stretches endlessly away into the distance. Some outdoor spaces reflect their locality in an uncanny fashion. I'm thinking of the large yard at The Barrels in Hereford, packed with young and old on an overcast Saturday evening, more like a town square than a pub garden; or the hillside garden at The Fox and Goose in charming, quirky Hebden Bridge, accessed via a staircase inside the pub. This languid space, pockmarked with flora and patios, stretches far up the adjoining hill. When I visited recently I watched a man climb up and up, until finally he found a spot in the sunshine. A modern phenomenon – with German roots These gardens seem quintessentially English, but they haven't always played such a key role in our pub culture. They enjoyed a boost between the wars, when middle-class disapproval led to the phenomenon of the 'Improved Pub', which aimed to do away with the gin-drenched excesses of Victorian England (there was a renewed campaign in the Sixties and Seventies, too, driven in part by brewery-run competitions to find the prettiest gardens). At pubs like the now demolished Downham Tavern in South London, opened in 1930, family-friendly gardens formed a key part of the battle against overindulgence. This Presbyterian instinct has nothing to do with Bavaria, where beer comes second only to God, but the term 'beer garden' surely does. It is a direct steal from the German biergarten, and the tradition of drinking outside has deeper roots there, too. There are few pleasures in life greater than settling in under a chestnut tree at a Bavarian biergarten on a warm day. Many of the best examples are in Franconia, Bavaria's northern third, although my favourite is in Austria: the Augustiner Braustübl in Salzburg. England's beer gardens are a bit different from their Germanic cousins, though. They're less well organised, for a start, a rather on-the-nose reflection of our divergent national characters. The best often have a slightly ramshackle feel, with mismatched tables here and there, both in and out of the sunshine; people stand, pints in hand or perched precariously on window sills and walls. They can be chaotic, uproarious, a vision of Hogarthian excess – although in that regard, at least, there's a definite kinship with Munich's classic biergarten. They're lovely when quiet, too. One of the great joys is arriving on a warm afternoon to discover you have a magnificent beer garden all to yourself. This happened to me at the Ypres Castle in Rye, where the garden sits beneath Rye Castle and looks out across Romney Marsh. In that respect it's like many of the best beer gardens: comfortable and bucolic, with plenty of space and a marvellous view over the English landscape. You might get a wasp in your beer, but it doesn't seem so bad if you've got something nice to look at. By and large, I think, the best beer gardens are in the countryside – but they're no more cherished than those in our cities. The tables outside the Lord Clyde in Borough, for example, are nothing to write home about, but with the pub's gorgeous tiled exterior looming over them, they fill up fast at the end of the working day. I've found myself here on more than a few occasions. Many of us, I'm sure, had our first pub experience in a garden somewhere, enjoying a glass of pop and a packet of crisps. Perhaps that's why we enjoy them so much, or perhaps it's because, as on that sunny afternoon at Tucker's Grave, they often show us at our relaxed, sociable best – dogs as well as humans.
Telegraph
a day ago
- Telegraph
Fly-tipping travellers occupy seaside town and ‘dump nappies in sea'
A seaside town in Somerset has been occupied by a group of 'fly-tipping travellers' who have been accused of throwing full nappies into the sea. Burnham-on-Sea, which has a population of around 20,000, saw 15 caravans arrive on July 13, causing 'significant anxiety' for residents. Pensioner Chery Boley said the travellers 'threw nappies over into the sea' and said they had left 'tyres, fridges and human waste' near their campsite. 'It makes my blood boil,' she added. 'We live by the law. We have a caravan – if we parked it here, we'd be kicked out immediately.' Nine caravans are currently parked on the town's southern esplanade, with locals people saying vans had also come and gone during that time. Pat Baldock, also retired, said: 'I'm not angry with them as people. I'm worried, when they get to stay as long as this, that it makes the area seem like an easy place to park up. Then they'll come every spring, every autumn, and think, ooh, look how easy it is to pitch up here. 'But I'm angry when they stay here and they tear up the gardens.' 'Havoc for all our small businesses' There have been reports of 'in-fighting' at the encampment. One local, speaking anonymously, said that he understood 'the families had a fight' recently, saying that there was a 'car with its whole windscreen smashed up' and that everyone in the area had been 'watching it from the local pub'. The arrival of the travellers coincides with the start of the summer holidays, when many holidaymakers are expected to flock to the area. It has caused significant concern for local businesses. A representative of Burnham's tourist information centre said: 'I've been working here for 14 years, and it's definitely getting worse. They're coming more often, staying longer, and it's havoc for all our small businesses.' Ashley Fox, the local Conservative MP, accused Liberal Democrat-run Somerset council of being 'too slow' to remove the travellers. 'People in Burnham are rightly frustrated,' he said. 'These incidents keep happening, and too often the response from the council is far too slow. Our local traders rely on the summer season to make a living, and they deserve better than this.' Locals say they had been told the caravans will be 'moved on' on Saturday. Cllr Federica Smith-Roberts, Somerset council's cabinet member for communities, said the authority shared 'people's frustration regarding the process' and that the council issued a notice to leave 'at the earliest opportunity after relevant forms are completed'. The earliest available date local magistrates could hear the council's plea for a removal order was July 25. If that motion is accepted, the court will then allow the local authority to tell the travellers to leave. If they do not then do so, bailiffs may be required to move them on.
The Guardian
a day ago
- The Guardian
Explore Portugal's historic hilltop hamlets in a free electric hire car
Twisting along roads flanked by cherry trees, granite boulders, vines and wildflower-flecked pastures, I wind down the windows and breathe in the pure air of Portugal's remote, historic Beira Interior region. The motor is silent, the playlist is birdsong and occasional bleating sheep; all is serene. 'This is easier,' I say to myself with a smile, recalling my previous attempt to visit the Aldeias Históricas – a dozen historic hamlets bound by a 1995 conservation project – using woeful public transport. Revisiting this unspoilt pocket of Portugal, 155 miles (250km) north-east of Lisbon, near the border with Spain, is going to be effortless in an EV. And, best of all, the transport doesn't cost me a penny. An hour before, I arrived in Castelo Novo, a four-hour train ride from the capital, and currently the sole hub of the Aldeias Históricas's Sustainable Urban Mobility Scheme. It was launched in 2022 to address local transport issues by providing five free-to-hire electric vehicles, alongside other community-supporting projects. It sounded too good to be true, but I booked the maximum three-day rental – enough time to see at least nine of the villages. I was informed that if I arrived by train, someone would meet me at the station. Sure enough, Duarte Rodrigues welcomes me like an old friend. 'The project's main focus is tourism to the historic villages, but some of the cars are used for the community, to take elderly people to the market or distribute meals,' he says on the gorgeous drive to the medieval hamlet of Castelo Novo, 650 metres up the slopes of the Serra da Gardunha. Take-up was nearly equal between tourists and residents, he adds. A few minutes later, outside the romanesque town hall, Duarte hands me the keys to my Megane E-Tech with a wave. It's worth staying for a night at Pedra Nova, a gorgeously renovated boutique B&B, but it needs to be booked well in advance and I am keen to make the most of my time in the EV. Having decided to skip popular Piódão and Monsanto – now a House of the Dragon jet-setting destination – my first stop is Belmonte. Like all 12 aldeias, this hazy hilltop town played a pivotal role in Portugal's identity. A Brazilian flag flutters behind a statue of local legend Pedro Álvares Cabral, the first European to 'discover' Brazil. I stroll through the old Jewish Quarter's single-storey granite houses to Bet Eliahu synagogue, built 500 years after King Manuel I's 1496 decree expelling Jews from the kingdom. Continuing to 12th-century Linhares da Beira, I wander the leafy slopes of the Serra da Estrela – mainland Portugal's highest range. Similar to much-loved Monsanto, the hamlet lies between and atop giant granite boulders. From the largest rocky outcrop, where the castle's crenellated walls rise, the Mondego valley's panorama is endless. Other than an airborne paraglider and a man hawking hand-carved magnets in the car park, there's not a soul in sight. I walk a stretch of slabbed Roman road that once linked Mérida in Spain to Braga, north of Porto, and remember why I adore these villages. History is bite-size, hushed and unhurried, the antithesis of my home in the Algarve. After a brief drive, I park up and plug in outside the medieval defences of the most populated aldeia. Founded in the ninth century, handsome Trancoso hides behind hefty, turret-topped walls that have witnessed royal nuptials and numerous skirmishes. Today, walking beneath weathered porticos and streets lined with hydrangeas, it feels like the calmest place in the world. As does Solar Sampaio e Melo, a palatial 17th-century guesthouse – repurchased by a descendant of the original owners in 2011 – with an honesty bar and a pool shaded by turrets. Following a late breakfast of sardinhas doces, Troncoso's sardine-shaped, almond-stuffed sweets, I make for Marialva. The satnav states 30 minutes, but with back-road detours to gawp at giant granite mounds around Moreira de Rei, I reach the massif-mounted castle well after lunch. Occupied by the Aravos, a Lusitanian tribe, then the Romans and Moors, this was a crucial site for the advance of the Christian Reconquista. An old chap in a checkered shirt sits hammering almonds from their shells outside his home. I buy a bulging bag for €7 and gobble a handful inside the semi-ruined citadel, where Bonelli's eagles soar and cacti reclaim the stone. The flavour transports me to my Algarvian childhood holidays, when I'd hide from the sun (and my parents) under almond trees. For a second, it feels like Portugal hasn't changed in 30 years. Perhaps here, far from the coast, little has. The journey to Castelo Rodrigo is filled with awe, particularly around the craggy valley sliced by the Côa river. Just upstream is a unique collection of rock art etchings from three eras – prehistory, protohistory and history – and Faia Brava, Portugal's first private nature reserve, co-founded by biologist Ana Berliner, her husband and others. In 2004, the couple renovated Casa da Cisterna into a boutique guesthouse, and on its wisteria-draped terrace, Ana welcomes me with sugared almonds and fresh juice. I enquire about Faia Brava (Ana guides guests on excursions to the reserve and the prehistoric rock art) and whether they're concerned about tourism growing. 'These small villages benefit a lot [from tourism] because there aren't many people living here or many opportunities, so people are moving to the big cities,' she tells me. 'If you retain your people, and your young people spend those days living here, it's very good.' As I poke around the castle ruins, I mull over how the Portuguese writer José Saramago described Castelo Rodrigo in Journey to Portugal (1981): 'desolation, infinite sadness' and 'abandoned by those who once lived here'. I'm reassured that Ana is right. Lisbon's tourism boom has created Europe's least affordable city for locals. Yet, in these hinterlands, the right tourism approach could help preserve local customs. Unlike most of the aldeias, Castelo Rodrigo was founded by the Kingdom of León. It became Portuguese when the 1297 treaty of Alcanizes defined one of Europe's oldest frontiers. Reminders of Spain linger, such as the Ávila-style semicircular turrets and ruined Cristóvão de Moura palace, constructed under the Habsburg Spanish kings. Portuguese locals later torched it. With no charging station in Castelo Rodrigo (work is under way to expand the project to other villages, including the installation of chargers and the opening of new bases with additional cars in 2026), I drive to Figueira de Castelo Rodrigo, the modern town below. At Taverna da Matilde flaming chouriço scents the dining room, and the pork loin – bisaro, an indigenous part-pig, part‑boar – is perfect. I sleep like a prince at Casa da Cisterna. Breakfast is a casual, communal affair of buttery Seia mountain cheese and pão com chouriço, followed by a quick stop at Castelo Rodrigo's wine cooperative to collect a case of robust Touriga Nacional (tours and tastings €18pp). In Almeida, a star-shaped military town, I roam the grassy ramparts before continuing south. Swallows soon replace eagles, and granite fades into gentle farmland. I breathe in the silence, standing by Castelo Mendo's twin-turreted gate. It feels like the world has stopped. I tiptoe across the ruined castle keep and am transfixed by the endless panorama of olive groves, cherry trees and occasional shepherd's huts. In search of coffee, I step into a dimly lit stone room below a sign that reads D Sancho. Inside is an old-world retail marvel. Photos of popes, boxes of wine, retired horseshoes, mounds of old coins and 'mystery boxes' that I'm tempted to spend a tenner on. A hunched woman with a smile gifts me a shot of ginjinha, the local cherry liquor, and signals me to sit with her on the bench outside. We don't speak, yet I somehow feel a connection to her land. I buy a bottle in the hope of taking that feeling home. My final stop, Sortelha, comes with high expectations – Saramago promised a perfectly preserved medieval town. Hulking walls cradle a 16th-century cluster of stone houses dominated by a castle that crowns an outcrop. Almost on cue, fog and showers shroud it all in mystery. I retreat to O Foral, where plates of bacalhau (salted cod) are bathed in pistachio-hued local olive oil. Parking back in Castelo Novo with a panic-inducing 7% charge showing on the dash, I am grateful to return the keys, and use the time before my lift to the station to survey the Knights Templar's former domain from the 12th-century castle. Stopping outside the red door where Saramago reportedly once stayed, I ponder how he would describe these villages 44 years later. Hopefully, he'd recount that, for the traveller, timeless magic remains, but those returning and reviving have vanquished any melancholy. Complimentary EV rentals of one to three days can be booked online at reservations open about 75 days in advance. For details of the 12 Aldeias Históricas, visit
