Rather an interesting start to the day though, as the Captain from next door was having a new spa delivered. It's a beast a beast of a thing and had to be craned in over the garage. Think it's safe to say his arse was making buttons for a while, and when he fills it later teh Dwr Cymru van will be up and down the hill looking for leaks!
Anyway, with that little drama out of the way it was time to get the the van out from it's hidey hole by the side of the house (it's a bit of a squeeze) and hitched up to Mandy for our Easter break away.
We set off at around 11.15am, stopping in Burry Port to break the journey up and have a comfort break. After a grueling 25 minutes behind the wheel we pulled up at reception and herself trapses off to get us booked in, only to be reprimanded by 'Heir in Charge' for having arrived a whole 15 minutes early!
Mr Shag texts me to say that Mr & Mrs Tatasports are not joining us for the weekend afterall. So we set about the task of finding some pitches.
The site is quite full, and finding two empty pitches together takes some doing. Not much choice, but we spot two vacant ones in an enclosure and bag those. Now I always get into trouble with Mrs Shag over my choice of pitch, and I think today will be no exception. Horror of horrors, the pitches are in the shadow of some rather large trees and we won't get any late afternoon sun (like as if there will be any this weekend).
Mr and Mrs Shag arrive shortly after us, and we're both set up in no time at all with nothing more to do than sit around waiting for 'beer o clock.
The BBQs get lit and 'Mein Führer' arrives promtly to give me and Mr Shag a light hearted telling off about the smoke our BBQs were generating. I have a feeling this won't be the last we see of the wardens this weekend.
Our boys are now much too cool to come away with us, and we now find ourselves to be 'childless' caravanners and becoming somewhat less tolerant of the little darlings that belong to others. We had little choice of pitches on arrival, but we soon realise that we are WAY too close to the kiddies playground.
Mrs Shag again congratulates me on my superb choice of pitch as we sit outside (in the shade) cwtched up in blankets while everyone else is bathed in sunshine, listening to the birdsong and the screeching, yelling, shouting & slide slamming little darlings.
In an effort to dispense them I briefly consider wandering over to the play area with a 'bag of sweets' offering them to 'come and see my puppies' but think better of it when I look round and see how hard some of the parents look! The fathers looked quite menacing too!
Disclaimer : THE PARAGRAPH ABOVE IS SAID IN JEST ONLY. I AM NOT OR NEVER HAVE BEEN A KIDDIE FIDDLER AND APOLOGISE IF YOU FIND MY HUMOR TO BE IN POOR TASTE.
We resist the urge to hit the bow until about 5ish, then cave in big style. The rest of the evening is a bit of a blur. I am sure we made a fair bit of noise. Herself demolished a box of wine and took to her bed by about 11.30ish with Mrs Shag not long behind leaving a trail of empty Carlsberg cans behind her.
That just left me and Mr Shag in the awning getting corned beef legs and talking crap. The bow took a hammering and neither of us can stand up straight or steady when we decide to call it a night.
The morning after, and I have a rather thick head. I peel myself off the mattress and it hurts. Herself must be feeling sorry for me and comes to the rescue with bacon rolls and a steaming mug of tea. My head and guts are telling me that I drank a fair but the night before, and a trip out to the awning to survey the damage reveals that my coolbox is empty. That means I threw just short of 15 cans of bow down my neck last night. Little wonder I was pissed.
Mrs Shag appears and takes great delight in showing me the pictures and videos off Mr Shag's phone. Oh Dear!!!!! They'd better not find their way onto Twitter!
Herself has gone off to take jnr #2 to be measured for his prom suit. I am still feeling a little delicate and I have dedicated the day to doing very little. The dogs seem content for now, but will need a good walk later.
Mr Shag makes an appearance, and I'm happy to note that he is suffering just as much as me.
Jnr #1 & 2 join us for tea. A few quiet bottles of Stella then an early night is had by all, after a bit of Britain's Got Talent (Where do they find these people?).
I wake on Sunday, fresh as a daisy, look round the van and realise that Easter Bunny has not found us! See there's always a risk going away from home at special times of the year. I'm staying put at Christmas!
With no eggs to gorge on, it's off out with the dogs, allowing herself a well deserved lie in bed. Another day is spent not doing much at all, except have a few brews and talk shit with the neighbours.
Now one of my pet hates on caravan sites is inconsiderate types cutting across your pitch on the way to the bogs. This has been particulary bad this weekend and there must be quite a few 'First Seasoners' on site who do not yet understand the unspoken code and have not heard of the 11th comandment.
'Thou shalt not take a short cut across someone elses pitch.'
There are loads of kids on the site this weekend, and this morning 'Heir in Charge' and 'Mein Führer' have organised an egg hunt for the little darlings. So now we have hundreds of the snotty nosed little darlings darting everywhere, including our pitches.
Next time I go away I'm taking a few of these with me.
Everyone seems to be taking their awnings down, which only ever means one thing on a caravan site. A quick check on t'internet reveals why.
There is nothing worse that taking down a wet awning and then having to dry it out at home, so down they come quicker than you could say "Oh shit, it's going to chuck it down tomorrow!"
Curry for tea, then settle down with Mr Shag to watch The Scarlets take on Brive in the Amlin Cup. It's a close game, and the Scarlets could have sneaked it, 'if it wasn't for that pesky ref!'
Mr Shag seems to be shouting at my TV a lot, and judging by his Facebook status update.... "Wayne Barnes should be burnt at the steak!"........ I don't think the ref is on Mr Shag's christmas card list any longer.
The bow takes another mini hammering before we hit the sack.
Monday morning arrives and I wake to the sound of rain drumming on the roof. A peak outside reveals that 'Derek the Weatherman' has got it spot on for a change, and it's a little damp out there.
With the awning already sorted it takes no time to pack up and head off. A short comfort break by Sandy Water Park, and we're home by 11am.
We have not really done much at all this weekend, but sometimes that's just the way we like it. You don't have to be far from home to be 'away' and sometimes it's just nice to chill and have a drink with friends.
It may not have been warm enough to sit out for long, but at least we din't have snow like much of the rest of the UK.