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Sunday 23 June 2019

A Rave in the Favella of Pembrey

A few weeks back it became apparent that the van needed a few niggles sorted out, so it got booked into the dealer between two planned trips.  I dropped it off last Saturday and all was well, until that is Herself heard @DerekTheWeather waxing lyrical about the possibilities of a scorchio weekend.

Herself was miffed, especially as yesterday I got a call from 3aaa's letting me know that the van wouldn't be ready until next week!

Thursday 20 June

Mid afternoon on a particularly tortuous day in work and my Samsung start to vibrate its way off my desk, the home screen telling me is was 3aaa's, so with baited breath I take the call.  It's good news though, they've finished with he van for now and I can collect it as my leisure.

Before they get a chance to explain further I've hung up, shut my screens down and am tearing down the stairs as quick as my dumpy legs can carry me.  Points are risked on the 15 sprint down the M4, I skid to a halt outside "Home is where you drag it" Towers, throwing Vera's keys at Herself who has already thrown Toyah's keys in my direction.

More points are risked on the 20 mile sprint to the other side of Carmarthen, and by 4pm I have the van back in my possession and coupled to Toyah.



By now Herself has pinged me to let me know that  a pitch next to Grumbles' seasonal pitch at The Favella in Pembrey has been reserved.  The spin through Kidwelly to the country park was somewhat more sedate.


The warden is sat on his buggy at the gate waiting on my arrival and I'm escorted to the pitch and left to drop the legs, before returning home to collect Herself, the dogs and all the crap that we has to empty from the van last week.

Neither of us CBA to cook anything this evening so a (Healthy as possible) Tandoori meal is procured from Burry Port to be devoured back at the van before taking the dogs for a late evening walk.


It's gone 9.30 pm by now and we had the place to ourselves.  If our Derek is anywhere near being accurate it'll be a damn sight busier than this over the next few days.

Friday 21 June

An early start today, very early indeed.  Our multiple alarms go off simultaneously at 5.45am, which is way before the sparrows have even thought of farting, and we're up and heading back along the A484 to collect a precious cargo.


With Ronnie not yet home from his night shift and MBW just about to leave for work we have Beastie safely strapped in and we are on our way back to site for a day of Beastie minding.

We don't get the pleasure of having her all to ourselves very often, so make the very most of our Beastie time.  She's a determined young lady, and it has to be her way or not at all, to the point that lunch was not acceptable eaten from a plate, but has to be tipped onto her chair to be enjoyed.


Post lunch she is tired and we take her for a push in the pram to try and get her off to sleep and throw a ball for the dogs at the same time.  We're making our way back and a black Lab comes bounding over.  We're firm believers in letting dogs socialise with each other and are quite content for him and Tali to have a sniff of each other and sort out the pecking order.  So too was its owner, and was quite comfortable with it jumping all over Tali and nipping at him.  That was until Tali started to get the upper hand!

His attitude changed somewhat and decided to intervene, going to kick Tali in the process!  After dishing out a mouthful of obscenities and finishing off with a "your dog should never be off a leash if it bites" he stormed off taking a long slug of his can of luke warm Monster.

We're not going to let a valleys roid head spoil our day and stop off at the newly opened cafe in the Favella to treat Beastie to an ice-cream.


She enjoyed.

Too soon though it's time for me to put on a black suit, and leaving Herself cwtching Beastie to sleep I head back along the A484 to attend the funeral of a close family friend.

When I arrive back Grumbles and Creaky have arrived and Grumbles is giving the grass around his seasonal pitch the good news with a Flymo.

With that done and his windbreaks re arranged once more we sit out enjoying the sun until Creaky says she's tired from watching Grumbles work all afternoon and they are packed off home.

Ronnie and MBW rock up and unload their Beamer to stop for the night.  Tea comes off the Weber but is an unexciting combo of Syn Free sausages and burgers with some Jersey Royals and a side salad.

We're all knackered and as we turn in at 10.15pm is is still light.  It seems like everyone in The Favella has a fire pit going and is making the most of the Summer Solstice.

Saturday 22 June

Slept like a corpse last night but my Samsung wakes me at 6.30am.  It's Ronnie.  We wonder what's wrong as they're only pitched over the way from us.

Thankfully it's nothing serious.  They've tripped their electric and cannot locate the fuse box in the van.  Still wiping the sleep from my eyes I'm unzipping their awning and Beastie is in the window grinning at me.

I open every bed box and cupboard, but do you think I can find it? Not on your Nellie!  Ronnie then pulls out a drawer, and there it is, nice and easy to find FFS.

I leave them to it and take Beastie back over to our van for a cwtch in bed with Mims.


Jax also followed!

It's not long before Ronnie and MBW come over, having given up on the idea of boiling some water in theirs, and Ronnie lights a flame (using our gas) under the kettle.

@DerekTheWeather is promising great things today, and as I open the blinds on the roof lights I'm overcome with joy.  This is a sight that only caravanners would understand.


I'm left in charge of the dogs as they all pop off the weigh in at fat club, and take the opportunity to wake The Favella by firing up the Hoover to give the van a spruce up as Journey blasts out of Alexa.

I've breakfast ready for when they get back, and we eat in the windbreak enclosure outside their van in bright sunshine as the day begins to heat up.

Midday, and we motivate ourselves to go out for a walk through the forestry, figuring that Beastie will have a well needed nap and the dogs will be fine in the dappled shade of the forestry.



It took a few thousands steps, but in the end she could fight it no more, and Dats won.


We somehow manage to grab a table outside the newly opened bistro at the entrance to the Favella and sit to enjoy some refreshments in peace and quiet while Beastie recharged her batteries catching up on some personal contemplation time.


It was nice, and you could see both Ronnie and MBW starting to unwind proper.  they both lead such busy lives what with working full time, trying to spend as much quality time with Beastie as well as juggling time to keep us, the olds and MBW's family happy!

So you can imaging our annoyance when another grandmother let her grandson, with obvious ADHD (or just plain naughty - you decide) issues, come up to the push chair and start to prod Beastie.  When that didn't wake her he started to bang on her sun shade like a drum.

Granny then grabs him by the arm and drags him away softy saying "Be careful, you might wake her."

"Er, he just did love!!!!"

Beastie is now unsettles so we head back into the Favella where she can run free in the enclosure, play and have a splash in her paddling pool.



It's not quiet though, as Wayne & Waynetta just two pitches down are playing music, very loudly, and it's like being sat out in a rave.  Little wonder the old elderly couple were complaining about them and their feral children who are left to run riot while they make a mountain of empty cans of Carling.

Grumbles rocks up with Creaky just before tea time.  He makes out that they don't want food as they've already eaten today, but he doesn't fool me, so a few extra chicken thighs are thrown onto the Weber for good measure.


I'm stood over it, with an obligatory pint of San Miguel, pondering why some people just don't get caravanning. 

Wayne & Waynetta are now treating the general population as far as Burry Port in one direction and Kidwelly in the other to The Sultans of Swing by Dire Straits.

Beastie is tired, very tired, and had got to the stage that she doesn't know what to do with herself.  Ronnie and MBW retreat to their van and close the blinds to try and settle her down.

Herself and I retreat to ours to enjoy a few large G&Ts while listening to the complete music collection of Wayne & Waynetta.  9.30pm, and it's still blasting out.  Herself senses I'm starting to lose it and suggests a walk with the dogs in the cooling evening air.

It's 9.55pm as we return, and as we turn into our cul de sac the boom boom boom gets louder.  We ask another seasonal pitch holder how long this usually goes  on for?  He looks at his watch before saying "a while yet!"

10.20pm and it's like sitting in a night club, only now the earlier music of the 70s, 80s and 90s that we don't mind has been replaced with wordless techno shit, with no sign of it abating.

Wayne hops out over their dog enclosure to retrieve more wood for the fire and my heart sinks.  Some people just have no consideration for others.  They have a brand new Pegasus Grande and two brand new cars sat alongside, just goes to show that money can't buy you class!

It is gone 10.30pm by the time we are rescued by a flashing orange beacon pulling into our cul de sac.  Music is turned off instantly, and a cheer goes up from surrounding units who've endured the din for the last 10 more so hours!

Sunday 23 June

No early morning call from Beastie this morning and by the time I lift my head from the drivel soaked pillow at 8am Herself has already got a brew on.

We set about breaking camp, taking particular care to clank the Nemesis locks together under the windows of Wayne & Waynetta.

A quick cwtch off Beastie and we're on our way by 9.30am, with the van sitting outside the house at 10am waiting from the Captain to stir from his pit and move his car.

A lovely unexpected weekend away and not long until the next one, so until then .....


Sunday 2 June 2019

Whitsun Madness in Weston Super Mud

A later than planned start to our Whitsun break away.  I've been a fan of Madness since way back in 1979, and at one time had a copy of every thing they released on vinyl, but have never actually got round to seeing them live.



It was announced that they were to play a gig at a racecourse close to where we live and Herself procured some tickets as a Xmas pressie to me.  The gig was on Saturday evening after the racing finished and we had a blast, with the Nutty Boys rocking the Gwendraeth.


We enjoyed so much that a Sunday getaway would have been unpractical and very probably illegal.  Notwithstanding the fact that a 51 year old man is incapable of  spending the evening stomping around like a 17 year old without repercussions the following day.

Monday 27 May

We can't start to early as the site we are heading for has asked that we don't arrive much before 2pm, to allow their BH guests to leave, but by 11am we have the van hitched up, are locking "Our House" and "Driving in my Car" towards junction 48.


Bank holiday traffic was heavy, but thankfully kept moving and we enjoyed a relaxing tow without incident.  I did have a moment though as we crossed the Briton Ferry bridge and I noted a derelict factory on ablaze (again), thanking my lucky stars that I am not on call this weekend.



Heavy traffic means that although we are moving it is quite difficult to get up a head of steam, and it's gone 1pm by the time we've come off the M5 and are threading our considerable bulk through then lanes, bullying oncoming traffic, and pulling into the entrance of Home Farm in Kewstoke, near Weston Super Mare.  Initial impressions are good, the site is manicured to within an inch of its life and well presented, one could even say that the owners have gone "One Step Beyond."




We get allocated the pitch I was hoping for, in an elevated position, lording it over the peasants lower down from our castle.


OK, OK. Setting up was not exactly incident free.  We are up on a raised platform, and I'm not too sure what they used to create the platform, but lurking beneath the grassy surface is some pretty unpleasant hard stuff.  The kind of hard stuff that bends rock pegs!

But that wasn't the main issue.  Until now we've been pretty lucky with our pitches, in that the van has not needed levelling side to side.  Until now.  I hadn't fancied bouncing the twin wheeler over a set of ramps.  Lock n Levels are eye wateringly expensive, but a few weeks back I picked one up on Facebook Market for a bargain £40.

So I lined the van up and my Pitch Perfect  is sat on the working surface just inside the door with just one LED illuminated.  I set the air compressor to go and wait ......... and wait ......... and wait.  Nothing, not a millimetre!  I deduce that I've been sold a dud and vow to track the vendor down like a dog! While at the same time nearly giving myself a "Cardiac Arrest" worrying how I'm going to level the van.

Herself is far more sensible than me, and is of the opinion that there must be a simple answer.  There was, and who knew that in order for the Lock n Level to lift the van, before you attempt to inflate it you must also ensure that the valves are closed!!!


Senior moments aside, it's a Superb piece of kit.

Once set up we need some provisions, and much to Herself's delight (and my dismay) the nearest supermarket to us is Sainsburys.  I'll not bore you with my suffering on that point.

The dogs have been good today, cooped up in the boot and then tethered while we set up and then back in the boot while we shopped.  They need some open space to burn off some energy so we point Toyah in the direction of Sand Bay, feed a whole 20p into the Turpin machine and get dragged over the dunes onto the sands / mud flat.



Don't let the sun fool you, there is a very stiff breeze in the open, and it's not long before Herself is starting to moan, so with 8 legs run off chasing a ball, we return to the van to get some grub on.  I had salmon and Herself had trout , both cooked on the Weber.


With dishes squared away we're in danger of falling asleep early doors, so decide to head off out for a spin.  Bright sunshine has now been replaced by thick cloud cover, and it's turned into a bit of a "Grey Day" but we take the road through Kewstoke and past Weston Woods towards Weston.

We cruise the sea front with the rest of the NEDs, and dive down a ramp onto the beach car park at the other end. It is on the compacted sand and I can't resist doing some donuts in Toyah while the NEDs look on enviously at the trenches that I'm digging in the process.

Herself gets agitated (not least because Toyah is her car) and starts to sound off at me.  How bloody old are you, something something something, you're an "Embarrassment" you are!  I'm quite quick on the uptake and could tell that "My Girl" is mad at me so ease off the throttle and make a sedate exit back up onto the sea front road, leaving the NEDs puzzling how they're going to get their front wheel drive hot hatches out over the ruts that I've dug.

We retrace our steps, stopping off briefly at Weston Woods to let the dogs run.  We're not back long and the heavens opened, with it sounding even worse die to us being pitched under a tree.  We've had it all today, the wind, "The Sun and the Rain."

Tuesday 28 May

I had a restful night, but it turns out the same was not so for Herself.  Gwawr needed to go out at 3.30am .... urgently, and she never bothers trying to wake me so Herself was outside with her as it starts to get light.  That in turn set off the Screech Owl that lives here and I'm informed that he was quite vocal until 4.30am.  Just as he piped down the cockerels here abouts start having a cock a doodle do competition!

The sun is out so it is decided that a leisurely morning is in order.  Many cups of tea are slurped sat at the picnic table on the pitch and a few "Syn Free" sausages are thrown on the Weber.


It's gone 1pm by the time we are inclined to head off out.  First stop is Sand Bay to give the dogs a good run on the beach, before we take a mini tour of the Caravan and Camping accessory shops of north Somerset.

We need a new table for the awning as we gave ours away last week to Grumbles who has just purchased a caravan.  First stop is Brean Caravan and Angling shop.  Herself didn't like any of the tables, but we score a washing up bowl that is a perfect fit for our sink.  While at the checkout Herself is taking rather too  much notice for my liking to a Kampa 5 panel windbreak.  She remarks that it looks like a good price, and is already Googling other retailers to compare.

I'm unconvinced, and with her fingers still working overtime we thread our way through the lanes to Sedgemoor Caravans, who don't appear to have an accessory shop.  Then onto Highbriidge.  Set up outside the shop is a Kampa 5 panel windbreak, and they're asking a full £50 more for it that at Brean!  They didn't have any tidy tables either.

Herself is unable to help herself, and as we pull back out onto the A38 I have the words I told you so ringing in my ears.

We got the windbreak from Brean!

Back on site we've a Keema Matar festering in the slow cooker, which is served up with some cauliflower rice for tea, before moving the recliners around to the other side of the van to enjoy a cuppa in the sun.


Please remind me what stress is.

Wednesday 29 May

@DerekTheWeather isn't promising great things today, and peering up through the roof light confirms he's not far off, but the wet stuff hasn't started falling yet so I take the opportunity to walk the dogs along the public footpath that runs adjacent to the site.




I've been fancying bacon for breakfast for a few days now, but Herself has us on diets.  The site keeps their own hens, and Herself has scrambled some of their produce for breakfast.  She sees the expression on my chops, but all I get in return for my pleading  is the plate being slid in front of me with a you can "Take it or Leave it."

The rain starts and we have another lazy morning before piling into Toyah at around noon and pointing her nose towards Wells.  It's busy today what with it being market day despite it being wetter that an otter's pocket type of day.

There are many interesting stalls and I'm drawn towards the street food section, in particular the aroma emanating from one selling Lebanese wares.  Strictly out of bound though, so I stand there just sniffing like an idiot for a while!



My rucksack gets loaded up with a bag of new potatoes, mushrooms and spring onions, before we have to make tracks back to the car before our £2.20 runs out.

Herself wants to stop off in Cheddar on the way back, I'm not too keen as the weather is pants, but never the less, we are taking a right turn off the A371.  "It Must be Love" eh.

We nearly didn't stop though.  We find a space to abandon Toyah's bulk easy enough, but the sign at the side of the Turpin machine is demanding £5.  I'm beside my self and by the time Herself wanders over to investigate the delay I am midway through a bloody good rant.  With a roll of the eyes, and a oh "Shut Up" , I am unceremoniously elbowed out of the way so she can feed in the fistful of coins!





It has stopped raining by now, but there is a damp air hanging over the place.  Loads of tourists about, but Cheddar is mostly closed!!  I've experienced this a few times now and in my mind Cheddar must be the most un-tourist friendly tourist destination I know of.

We're back to the car almost before the last of the 5 £1 coins has hit the bottom in the Turpin machine, and thread our way up the gorge to find somewhere to let the dogs run.. It's started raining again.

We're both Hank Marvin, so back at the van no words are needed as we get into the groove and do our own thing to put tea on the table as quickly as possible.


The weather starts to improve, so Sand Bay benefits from our presence once more as we join the rest of the dog walkers in north Somerset running the legs off their dogs on the beach.

Crap weather today, but our @DerekTheWeather says it's going to improved, so as they say, "Tomorrow's just Another Day."

Nos dda.

Thursday 30 May

I had an all nighter last night, which means something completely different in my 50s than it did in my teens, I Slept straight through, and when I stirred at 6.30am felt decidedly fresh.  Not wanting to disturb Herself by tossing and turning, I get up and light a flame under the kettle to get a brew on.

While campers are still tucked up in their beds, nature is coming to life, and as I sit tapping a few keys I am rewarded with these playing just outside my window.



After breakfast we get out early for us by 11am, and first stop is Sand (named without a hint or irony) Bay.  We've been here 4 days on the trot now, at different times, and have not seen the sea yet!


The perpetual low tide exposes the mud flats and we've got to keep a close eye on Tali as every time he thinks we're not looking he trots off in the direction of said mud!!

With necessary functions carried out and legs run off we climb into Toyah and make tracks inland.

Parking in Glastonbury was relatively easy, and we clip the dogs on and let them drag us towards where the action is.  We're walking down High St and sat outside St John the Baptist's Church is a rather colourful lady selling Tarot readings 9in between skinning up).


A rather inconvenient consequence of my hearing loss is that I find it difficult to control my own voice volume.  As we passed a gust of wind came from nowhere and blew her cards off the table and down the street.

What I thought I was doing was speaking in a hushed tome to Herself, but it turned out when I laughed and said "Ha, she didn't predict that happening!" was full audible to all in the vicinity, including the Hi as a Kite lady in the pink hat!

I earned myself a dig in the ribs for that from Herself, in addition to a filthy look and spell from the witch.


We get to the bottom of High Street and take a table outside Te King William Inn to spend some time people watching.  Glastonbury never disappoints on this score, and in the 30 mins or so it took s to supp our drinks we saw it all.

Nobody gives a stuff here.  Everyone mingles and nobody is judged.  We watched witches come and do a weekly shop for frogs legs and such, stoners trudges past smoking blow, a bloke wearing a bleach blond wig with a leather miniskirt and thigh high wellies, folks walking around barefoot all mingle with the occasional normal person (I do not include myself as normal by the way)

Ambling back to the car I'm rather taken by an aptly named tattoo parlour.


The intention was to also visit Clarke's village nearby, but it is far too warm and sunny to leave the dogs in the car, so much to my wallet's relief Herself aborts the idea and we head back to site to chill by the van for a bit.

I couldn't settle though, we are pitched under a tree and yesterday's deluge brought down with it a load of sap, and our van looks like someone has thrown a tea pot over it!  I give it the good news with a water less wash and wax before joining Herself in the recliners to top up on some vitamin D.

Non caravanning friends often question my sanity in wanting to spend my holiday time in a shed that I drag around with me, one of the common misconceptions is that we have to survive the week on tins of beans and sausages.  One Clarkson wannabe is very vociferous on the topic, so I take any opportunity I can to goad him on Facebook.



Isn't it remarkable what you can get out of a tin these days.

Friday 31 May

Herself had another difficult night last night, and for a change it had nothing to do with me.  We're doing quite a bit of walking this week, and while it is good for every other part of her, it is no good for her cartilage-less knees, and they are screaming at her overnight.

I have no such issues, and slept like a baby.  I'm up on my own early doors again and take a cuppa out to the picnic table outside to spend some time to reflect during the early morning silence.  You see it's 6 years to the day that my brother from another mother passed away.  Time is a great healer, but I still cannot quite get my head around the fact that he's gone.  You can read a little ditty that I penned on the eve of his funeral HERE.

Below is his appearance on GMTV on the day he set the world record, as Best Welsh Elvis, for the most live performances in a day around many London landmarks, before rounding it all off with an appearance on The One Show.  He wasn't "The Prince" but was The King (he could probably out Elvis the man himself)>


Anyway, yesterday two van pulled onto site and appear to be sharing a pitch.  You just know when they pitch like this and the gazebo comes out that the peace and quiet will be a distant memory.


They probably don't realise, but groups always talk in raised voices, even more so when a couple of sherbets are involved.

We have a very lazy morning, and it's gone noon by the time we take the dogs along the footpath adjacent to the site.  In the field to our right we spot a red fox which has stopped in its tracks and is watching us intently.  As we move along she starts to shriek in distress, the further up the hill we trudge the more noise she makes, almost like crying.  We are obvious;y close to her den where she has left her cubs, so we turn back, and once we're a  a safe distance away her cries stop.

Time to head out, firstly to Davan Caravans, where Herself is quite taken with an Isabella table.  She starts with her "But it's too expensive" lines, but I've been married to her for long enough now to realise how this will end up, so cave in rather easily to save time!

Next we park up close to the sea front, not on the sea front you understand as that costs £6, but close enough as to not wear out £6 worth of shoe leather.  The sun is out and so are the tourists.  The place is buzzing and we walk a while soaking up the atmos until Herself's knee starts to protest.




A table is taken in an establishment opposite the pier for refreshments with a view of the beach and incoming tide (in between bursts of traffic).

On the way back we walk along the promenade, taking in the sights of families enjoying the weather, and the donkey man plying his trade on the sands.


Back on site it's nice and sunny, but Herself has a problem.  You see, the way the van is pitched means that most of our pitch sits in the shadow of the tree (and the van) from mid afternoon onward.  I did suggest moving it a few days back, but Herself has left it until 2 nights before we leave to make the suggestion herself.

She did say that it didn't matter and that it would be too much work, but I know exactly how this works and set about rotating the caravan through 90 degrees and re-pitch the canopy.


Don't let on to her though, but it was worth the effort involved as we had the sun to sit out in until early evening.

We're sat having tea, when just to our right we notice that we have a visitor, the red fox from earlier walking around the site in broad daylight, obviously interested in the 100 or so hens that they keep here.


The owners also have a black and white cat, Tuna, and the welcome pack includes a note asking you to check your caravan before leaving as Tuna likes to make himself at home, and it has not been unknown for him to be discovered miles away from home.  He's a brave little git, and is getting more confident as the week has gone on, and seems to know when the dogs are out of harms way.


It's 9pm, and a lot cooler, when we load up the dogs and head once more down to Sand Bay to give them a good run on the open sands, it was far too hot to do it earlier - well that and I was busying myself fitting some tile trim over the gap behind the front seats.


I've lost count of the times a book or phone or TV remote has been dropped down there, and we're only 4 trips out in this van!

Saturday 1 June

Very early start for us today with alarms set for 7am.  You see, Herself has us on a diet, and is doing hers as a member of Slimming World.  I am too tight for such things, so she pays and weight in there and I follow roughly what she's doing, weighing at home.  Today is weigh in day, but we're 98 miles from home, but Ronnie has been Googling for us and there's a fat club this morning at the local community centre.

It's going to be full of strangers so herself thinks that the 7.30am slot will be quiet.  It wasn't, and the parade of wobbly legging covered behinds was continuous.

Herself comes out beaming.  In the three weeks she's been on it she's smashed through the first stone lost with a bit to spare.  I'm chuffed, not only for her, but she's promised that if the weigh in went well we could treat ourselves and share a bag of chips by the sea!

8 am and it's too early for chips, so we take the dogs straight down to Sand Bay for an early morning blow out.


It was busy, and at one point it seemed like everyone within a 5 mile radius that owned a dog was on the sands!

Back at the van we breakfast alfresco on an omelet before heading back out for a spin over The Quantocks towards Minehead.  We park up by the steam railway and stroll up and down The Avenue trying to source a gift for Beastie, and once that was done we take an outside table at The Hairy Dog (one cannot simply go to  Minehead without calling at The Hairy Dog) for refreshments, and to give Herself's screaming knee a rest.


I had a bit of a moment in the pub.  I was in desperate need of a toilet so followed the signs to the Gents.  I open the door and a row of urinals are opposite me and a sink to my right.  I see no cubicles.  I go back out and check the sign on the door, yes it is the Gents.  I have another look around (by now I would estimate that I was 2cm dilated) and start tapping walls for secret panels.

With a sweat on I exit and look at all the other doors on the corridor.  Nowt, just a kitchen and store!

Things are getting separate now and stop a waiter and pose the question.  He just points to the other side of the pub before making off with someones gammon, egg and chips.  I'm waddling now with clenched cheeks (now about 3cm and dripping in sweat) through the pub.  My heart sinks when I see the sign pointing up the stairs.

This was going to be some challenge.  I stand at the bottom, composing myself and waiting for a gap in the contractions, then go for it (pushing women and children out of my way) charging up the stairs.

I burst into the nearest trap, there is no lock, but to be quite frank I was past caring by this time!

Moving on, we stroll down to the sea front.  Herself takes a bench and I skip over to the chippy to get a bag of chips (with far too much salt and vinegar that is good for you) for us to share.  I attacked them like a savage, and Herself was struggling to get in on the act such was the speed of my hands!


While sat there, in between mouthfuls, we observed a traffic warden nervously hovering around a VW for 10 mins before issuing ticket and scarpering.  I've no idea who the car belonged to, but it obviously belonged to someone with a bit of clout because 5 chips later she's had a call from HQ and is sprinting back to the car to remove the ticket!

Remember the gazebo gang?  We get back to site at around 3.30pm and they're in full flow, sounding like they've been on the shant since noon.  Very loud with obscenities every other word!

We sit out for a while, extending our expletive vocabulary with relief from their din only coming when they are drowned out by Easy Jet either taking off from or approaching Bristol Airport.  The women start staggering up the site, glasses in hand, past our pitch shouting at us that they were going for a game of effin ping pong!

After tea we drop the canopy in readiness for our departure tomorrow and escape to Sand Bay for one last time.


It's idyllic down there, families still playing, groups of youths sat around drift wood fires and dog walkers mingle.

Back on site the gazebo gang must have run out of shant at 10pm and head off down to the pub, chanting football crap as they exit the site.  This site has been superb, the owners come over to apologise for the noise, but to be honest there is not a lot else they can do.  Gazebo gang are all too pissed to drive, and you can't really reason with pissed people either!

Sunday 2 June

As is usual for us on leaving day we're up nice and early.  We like to get home and still have something left of the day once we're sorted.

Come 7am I'm outside making a start.  Usually I like to be quiet, but this morning I'm clanging the Nemesis for all I'm worth.  I do hope it sounds as bad to the sore headed gazebo gang as their shenanigans did to us yesterday!

Once I see their blinds spring open I quieten down, and am rewarded with an audience for the rest of my chores.




By 8.50am we've had ourselves a tray of eggs from the hutch thing and are hitched up and pulling out of the gates.  Traffic is light and I'm able to set the cruise control to 98 and let Toyah do the work (that's km/h mind).

We're cruising over the SSC, now to be known as The Prince of Wales Bridge, and with impeccable timing Tom Jones starts blasting The Green Green Grass of Home out of the speakers.

The Captain has buggered off to Cyprus for 10 days, so no worries about asking to have cars moved, and the van in squeezed back into its cwtch until next week when it goes back to the dealer for some minor niggles to be sorted.

Until next time