My random ramblings about time spent in our caravan and the time spent wishing we were in our caravan. Touring with a caravan is something you either 'Get' or you 'Don't get.' There is no middle ground.
Independence day over in the US of A, but moving camp day here for us at Exebridge. Not a great night to be honest. I struggled to get much sleep. How much was to do with my extended nap yesterday afternoon in the sun or how much it was to do with my sun kissed solar panel being too hot I couldn't tell you, but lets just say I was happy (if a little weary) to see day light and the opportunity to get up.
I open my bedside blind and all my grouchiness melts away as I soak in the view for the last time. It's good to be alive.
No rush to be off this morning. It's about 1 1/.2 hour tow down to Costa del Lyme and we can't arrive before 12. The dogs are walked and we're off by 10.30am in bright sunshine.
The tow down didn't go well, which seems to be a bit of a theme on this tour. All was good until we got to Honiton, from which I'd wanted to pick up the A35. For some inexplicable reason we ended up on Farway Common Rd and Seaton Rd (neither of which are wide enough to have a white line) for a rather tortuous ride before picking up the A3052.
The mile countdown on the dash left just 6 miles to Lyme Regis at 11.45am but I know we have a problem. This road will bring us in on the wrong side of town and I didn't really want to be having to thread our bulk through the single lane, narrow streets full of grockles.
The map is consulted and I plan to pick up the A358 towards Axminster and join the A35 there. I did wonder why there were tailbacks but thought nothing of it, until we are faced with a line of cones at the entry slip - ROAD CLOSED - and Herself tunes in the local radio to find out there has been a fatality.
There then followed a rather tortuous half hour where we joined the tail of traffic and crawled our way following a diversion through the centre of Axminster - Herself spent most of this time with her eyes shut and left me to bully my way through.
We are relieved to be joining the A35 on the other side and breeze our way towards Charmouth before doubling back towards Lyme on the A3052.
We're booked onto a CS for the next few nights. The owner is lovely and we spend a bit of time talking about our friends from Lyme while she shows us to our massive, if sloping and uneven pitch.
I'd decided there would only be one place where we could pitch our rather large van up, but Herself had other ideas. I do as I'm told, against my better judgement, and start the pitching process as instructed.
It didn't work. The Lock n Level was fully inflated under one side and Pitch Perfect was still only showing one red light. Herself gets in the van to see how far out it still is, and while we could live with it she couldn't really manage the final step into the van without climbing gear.
i didn't moan, honestly I didn't, as we move the van on it's over over to where I wanted to pitch up in the first place.
Once set up we head over to The Cobb. First stop was the Harbour master's office to see if Abercynon was in work. He was, and we had a chat before taking a beach side table at the harbour Inn for refreshments.
I spend the next half hour being overly nostalgic and could feel my eyes filling up under my shades as I recalled good times spent here when Binner's Mam (both sadly no longer with us) had a B&B down here and we travelled down from our student digs for weekends of sun, sea, sand and cider fuelled antics).
Time is getting on though, and we have stuff to do as we are entertaining this evening. We are delayed though as we stop to watch (aghast) at a man and woman having a full blown shouting match in the middle of Monmouth Beach car park.
Bang on time our guests arrive in the shape of The Fireman, The Lovely Debs and Abercynon (Abercynon's wife has been called into work). The evening flew by. A BBQ meal is devoured and the scrumpy flowed as freely as the chat as we retreated under the canopy with a heater running and the women under fleecy blankets to extend the evening.
It was a great night, and by the time we've waved them off and cleared up it's midnight as we fall into our pit, knackered after a long day.
Friday 5 July
Blue skies again this morning as I open the blinds, and try to work out exactly where Binner's Mam's B&B was on the opposite side of the valley. Unsurprisingly I've spent a lot of time thinking about him this break. The good ones always die too young.
When Herself manages to peel herself off the sheets we breakfast outside once more (really enjoying eating outside on this tour) before scrubbing up to head off out for the day.
I've had to promise Herself that if she is going to humour me tomorrow I am to take her to the Donkey Sanctuary in Sidmouth today, and pulling in to the car park there she'd like an excited child. She likes donkeys, she likes donkeys a lot.
We spend a few pleasant hours cooing and petting the beasts before the sting in the tail comes in the form of the gift shop. The upshot is that Beastie has now adopted a donkey called Pooh, for which we pay a monthly fee, Beastie also has a donkey back pack and Herself a little fluffy one for the front end of the caravan.
It's hot and we we take the scenic route back to Lyme, calling in at Branscobe, Beer and Seaton on the way.
The recliners are set up looking over to the other side of the valley and I embark on a serious session of personal contemplation.
Such was the intensity of this session I lay there snoring contentedly while the water ran out and Herself actually filled the Aquaroll, with Herself then hungry from that effort she got tea on the go - she even touched my BBQ. Now usually this would be an unforgivable transgression, but I was hungry on waking up and the plate of pork chops, new potatoes and a side salad looked quite tempting.
It's a balmy evening and the dogs are struggling to keep cool. We head down into town and walk from The Cobb along Marine Parade over to the small beach tucked behind the Marine Theatre.
The Fireman had advised that this beach was dog friendly and we spend some considerable time throwing stones into the clam sea for the dogs.
Walking back along Marine Parade we take a bench near the amusements and watch as families still play on the beach and a group of testosterone filled young Asian men are making rather a big issue of the fact that they were going into the rather chilly sea. Their efforts were all for the two young ladies paddling at the shoreline and they were 100% in impress mode. That is until and elderly lady silently entered the drink and calmly breast stroked last them.
An outside table is taken at The Cobb Arms. I go in and order a few drinks for Herself and I, as well as a bag of pork scratching for the dogs. The young girl explains that they don't sell them in bags, but they come out of the kitchen. I did say that Tali didn't care where they came from, and she took the order.
I was expecting some scraps to be sent out in a paper bag but when they brought them out they were quite something. Served warm and on a slate, dressed with rock salt and a dollop of apple sauce.
I love pork scratching and begrudged the dogs every mouthful, though my ice cold pint hardly touched the sides.
Saturday 6 July
Big day today. First thing is to pop down into Lyme to pick up some fudge and rocks to take back home for The Olds and work.
After brunch I start the process of breaking camp, doing as much as we can today as I know we'll be in no physical state to do it in the morning before heading for home.
With a day sack loaded with hoodies for later, spare shoes for Herself, water bottle and bowl for the dogs and a pair if bike clips for me, we set off on foot over to the football club to indulge in some serious cider drinking.
We're a bit hot and bothered by the time we get there and set up our chairs, and I know the first few aren't going to touch the sides, so opt for a few safe Thatchers Gold to quench the initial thirst. The place is bouncing and there's a serious good vibe as people mingle and the live bands do their stuff.
I could have stayed on the Thatchers (and later on regretted not doing so) but with so many brands of scrumpy on offer it would have been a shame not to give them a blast. I purchase a paddle of 5 (of the dozen or so available) for Herself and I to sample.
Herself decides that "Jack Ratt" is for her at 7.4% and I go for Chucklehead Dry at only 7% abv.
They went down a treat, far too many of them. A good craic was had by all and the day seemed to fly by.
10.30pm came, and I've barely a leg under me. Herself decides that I've had enough and we need to head back to the caravan. I'm loaded up like a Sherpa with our day sack and camping chairs and we say our goodbyes and stagger for home. The graveyard was interesting in the dark to say the least for a shit house like me, and I'll be honest and admit I was happy to be out of the gates of that particular shortcut.
Herself takes a tumble down the steps and does some damage to her ankle. She can't get up, and I'm in no fit state to assist. I'm not sure exactly how long we were in the alleyway bouncing from hedge to hedge, but by the time herself has hauled herself to her feet we have an audience of equally drunk cider heads.
Up the hill we continue ... slowly .... and by the time we get back to the van I can hardy out one foot in front of the other (sideways was no problem what so ever). Back to safety in our enclosure and my mind also gives up the fight and I collapse on the grass outside in my own world of spins. There I stayed, with the rucksack still on my back.
Herself takes pity on me - only because she needs me in a state fit enough to tow home tomorrow - and makes me as comfortable as possible by throwing a blanket in my general direction, the caravan steps being for too much for her already and permanently knackered knee and her newly knackered ankle.
I did make it to bed at some point during the night.
Sunday 7 July
After yesterday's shenanigans our planned early start was never going to happen in reality. It is 9am before we struggle to get up. Herself even more so as it appears that she's injured herself (even more so) in her fall last night. This of course will be my fault before the morning is out, so my hearing aids are left on their charging station as I set about the task of breaking camp and hitching up.
Remarkably we're moving off by 10am and hitting the A roads northwards.
Whilst Toyah has behaved impeccably performing her towing duties we have not been blessed with good luck on towing days this tour. Today was no exception as there was another road closure in Axminster and another diversion. Thankfully this one wasn't due to a fatality.
Once cleared and joining the M5 I open her up and we cruise home to south Wales effortlessly, and by 2pm the van is back in its cwtch for now.
Been a a great week away, and been a real tonic. I must admit that I missed me old mate this weekend, and spent quite a bit of time thinking about him and the great times we had together.
Why don't we ever go where we'd planned? This is a regular occurrence for us (when I say us I really mean me, as Herself is quite easy going and leaves destinations down to me) only this time it wasn't my fault entirely.
We were all set to be heading to the club site at Rookesbury Park for 5 nights before moving onto Lyme Regis for another 3 nights. While I was sat outside the van at The Favella last week my Samsung pinged with an e mail from the club. At first glance I thought it was one of their "Look forward to your holiday" e mails which is a thinly disguised reminder that you have a made a booking!
But no, on opening it transpired to something a little more troublesome.
A 60 mile detour didn't sound appealing, and neither did gridlocked roads for at least half of our stay either. I wasn't that fussed on seeing the Mary Rose really, so the booking was cancelled and Rookesbury can wait for another time. Saturday 30 June
Getting hitched up was far from easy. Some git abandoned his car outside our house yesterday tea time to go on the piss in a house just up the road. Looking out of the blinds at 5am I was dismayed to see it still parked up.
We managed and at 8.30am, with the caravan on the back of Toyah, we are pulling up outside fatclub for Herself to weigh in. I was parked in a bus stop, I'll admit that, but I still see no need for the driver of the x11 to stop his bus in the middle of the road, honking his horn and flashing his lights while pointing at me to move.
I looked to my right and there was nobody waiting in the shelter, peering behind him revealed that his bus was distinctly lacking any passengers, let alone any wanting to alight!
Never the less, back up I did to allow him to pull in, for all of 5 seconds, before he pulled back out again!
Herself comes out beaming so we can assume that the jumping on scales went well, and by 9am we are joining the M4 at j47 and cruising east. Traffic is heavy, but keeps moving and we are making good progress, even discussing where we are going to stop off so as to not arrive too early. We are enjoying the spin in the sunshine, the chat is flowing freely and at one point we may have even held hands!
All was well as we crossed over into England and took the familiar route westwards down the M5. Not much later our day took a nosedive. We're just past the off slip to Sedgmoor Services when we hit a wall of tail lights. We're stationary.
Gwawr starts to whine and grizzle, but there's nothing we can do. She starts to get really anxious, but we're still stuck and can do nothing to appease her. Pretty soon the reason for her being so anxious becomes clearly apparent as the rancid smell of doggy diarrhoea assaults our hooters.
Again, we are stuck, and the temperature is hitting 30 degrees. Toyah was not a pleasant place to be. it was well over two hours we were stuck there, before Highways England reopened the motorway!
When we eventually get moving we pull off into the next available services, and despite having all windows fully open we are gagging, and a clean up operation cannot come soon enough.
At just gone 3pm, some 6 hours after setting off, we are pulling in through the gates of the CC site at Exebridge Lakeside. The wardens have not heard anything about the closure, but had wondered why none of their arrivals for today had arrived.
Setting up was fairly simple, if not exhausting in the muggy heat, and by 4.30pm we are able to announce to Facebookville that "We is arrived ......... eventually!"
We've a fridge full of food, but after the day we've had we CBA to cook anything. It doesn't take much persuading to clip the dogs on and take a wander over to the Anchor Inn, to take a table in their excellent riverside beer garden to unwind with a few beers and some scoff.
Lovely it was, and while the dogs take a cooling dip in the river, we can feel the stresses of the day fade away.
Back at the van G&Ts are poured, which I may add are somewhat cheaper than the ones Herself had been enjoying down the pub at £10 a go, and we struggle to stay up until a reasonable time.
The Gins only served to expedite our retiring to bed, and it's not yet 10pm when my head is on the pillow looking out at this view as I drift off into a state on unconsciousness. Hotels just can't offer this for £21 per night!
Sunday 30 June
I.m up before 7am keen to take a sniff in Toyah's boot after I'd valeted it last night and am happy to report that Toyah's interior was now smelling like freshly laundered bedding. I was so pleased that I gave her the good news with a waterless wash and wax.
Herself joins me in the land of the living by 8.30am and gets a brew on to drink outside. The thought was there, but the brew was rancid. Herself then remembers the "Heir In Charge" had said about a recent chlorine flush when we were checking in (at the same time that she said about there being no electric on site for most of Wenesday!). The brews are ditched and OI hot foot it into Dulverton to buy some el cheapo bottled water.
On my return breakfast of an unexciting few poached eggs on dry wholemeal toast is washed down with a decent cuppa. I was already feeling hard done by, and I could swear that the bacon in the fridge was calling me, but to make matters even worse the git on the next pitch fires up his Cadac and throws a few rashers on the cremate.
He even threw a spare one on to give his dog!
We get scrubbed up ready to go out, but all is not well with Herself (her clothes more precisely) and what she has brought with her, while fine 6 weeks back are now hanging off her. A trip to Asda in Taunton is necessary (via the one in Wellington which does not sell clothes, and also via Pets at Home for doggy stuff and Halfrauds for car stuff).
Lunch of a box of plums is eaten on the go as we tear back down the M5. We tale a different route and the decent down into Dulverton is steep, narrow and twisting. We come round one corner and we are presented with a reminder to slow down.
Herself suggests a drink in a beer garden so we park up near The Anchor Inn and take the dogs for a walk along the river bank,allowing them a cooling paddle while we admire some of the property on the other side. I know where my forthcoming lottery win is going.
We baggie a riverside bench in the beer garden and enjoy a drink soaking up the sunshine in what I'll be honest are quite idyllic surroundings.
We spotted a sign just down the road that perked our interest for a distillery. We were warmly greeted and the owner went to great lengths to explain in detail all of the different ingredients, very interesting it was too, but after looking at the contents of the fifth jar Herself's eyes are wandering over to the little thimble glasses they use for samples.
He got a sale, and we are now have a bottle of very expensive craft gin to take back to the van with us.
Having had to watch Herself enjoy the tasting I've a bit of a thirst on, so a few pints on San Miguel are enjoyed while I slave over the Weber cooking our tea.
With dishes cleared the newly acquired bottle of gin is haunting me. Herself didn't have to ask twice, and we crack open the bottle and enjoy a few under the canopy until it gets a little too chilly and retreat indoors.
Toyah is going nowhere else today, and the furthest we ventured was a hiccuping stagger over to the dog on site for the dogs to have a last stretch.
Monday 1 July
A cracking "Gin induced" kip was had, and I'm up as fresh as a daisy early doors knocking up some bubble and squeak to go with bacon medallions and poached eggs for breakfast which is eaten once more outside.
We love caravanning all year round, and each season brings its own attractions, but it is especially nice when we have a spell of nice weather and are able to eat alfresco and enjoy the warmth outdoors.
Herself had fancied visiting a place called Homer Wood today, that promised an easy walk of about 2 miles wandering amongst the ancient oaks, so with a picnic packed into our rucksack we punch in the postcode and head north through the national park.
It was a lovely spin, but as our tunes are interrupted to say that we have arrived it immediately becomes apparent that the post code is not actually at Homer Wood. We have a scout around, but cannot find it anywhere for a good 10 mins. Neither of us say anything and fear it has been a wasted effort until poking out of the bushes we spot a knackered looking National Trust sign.
That is followed and we start to climb the hillside. I have a feeling something isn't right as the website description waxes lyrical about a circular walk on the valley bottom! We keep climbing until we spot the car park with an honesty box well hidden, only we are not at Homer Wood, but at somewhere called Selworthy.
We're here n ow though, and the sign looks promising, so we load up and set off. Our first sight of the path stops us in our tracks. It goes up rather steeply. Challenge set and we're off.
The path zig zags its way up the hillside, and around every hairpin we are presented with the view of an even steeper section. Our better diet and increased level of activity over the last few months pays dividends though, and despite the gallons on lactic acid being pumped into my calves we reach the top and are rewarded with this vista.
The path now starts to descend, and for me at least the going is somewhat easier. Herself's knackered knee is protesting and she's finding it harder going than climbing. Going was slow, but she kept going with a grimace. Many breaks were taken for respite from the pain as well as some tree hugging opportunities.
We stop where the path flattens out, firstly for Herself to regain her composure, secondly to strike up a conversation with some random dog walker, and thirdly for Tali to have a play in the stream.
It's not long before we're back on tarmac having skipped the tea rooms, and we wander along the lanes back to the car for our picnic lunch feeling rather proud of ourselves.
Herself checks her smart watch and is informed that the climb up the hillside was the equivalent of 27 flights of stairs!
Back in Toyah we point her nose down hill and rejoin the A39 briefly before turning off towards Porlock Wier. This place is always busy, today is no exception, but being a Monday while the kids are still in school means there are parking spaces available, albeit a little tight for Toyah's bulk.
I ask Herself to get out and watch me back to ensure her nose isn't sticking out into the flow of geriatrics circling the car park for the perfect spot. Parking brake applied I open my door, well try to open the door, and am presented with a problem in the shape of a raise rockery.
While Herself has easy access to her door, and the boot lid for the dogs, she has backed me up to a position where in order for me to exit the car through the half open door I have to bring into play the inner contortionist in me.
It didn't go well. It didn't go well at all. My scream of anguish must have been quite something and brought Herself scurrying round the car to check on my well being. Once she's established that I'm not in the throes of death she starts to laugh. My feelings are hurt, and with a skinless ankle and lower left leg I hobble off to find the Turpin machine.
It's not funny, it;s not funny at all, and there are squaddies who've been sent home from a war zone with less severe injuries than this!
We have a bit of a wander, well I hobbled overcoming the agony of my war wound, taking in the views. I'm sure this place is stunning when the tide is in, but we've never seen it, and once again have to make do with rapidly drying mud.
They are working on the facade of the hotel, so the outside tables are set within a building site. We skip stopping for a drink, and instead head back south through the National Park to enjoy refreshments once more in the excellent riverside beer garden at the Anchor Inn.
We eat our evening meal early and are both of the opinion that it's far too early to settle down for the evening. Tiverton first for some folding crates from B&M to keep shoes in, and then Pets at Home for a new collapsible bowl for the dogs (their current one is now leaking so badly that they have a race on their hands to have a slurp before it empties).
Back in the National Park we head for the higher ground and Wimbleball Lake for a late evening stroll. We're in Flip Flops and Jesus Creepers so are unable to venture too far, but what we see we like, and conclude that we'll be back up here when we have more time, suitable footwear and day sacks packed with a picnic.
It's been a great day today.
Tuesday 2 July
Another superb kip, and I'm up by 6.30am tapping keys while Herself catches some prolonged zzzzz. Herself doesn't fancy anything cooked this morning and suggests a lighter breakfast of maybe some cereal and fruit.
I don't mind, and being an athlete myself fully understand, after all my body is a Temple. Its just such a shame that it looks like the Buddha that is usually sat cross legged outside the Temple!
Never the less, under bright blue skies we sit outside to take breakfast as God's waiting room around us slowly but steadily groans creaks and clicks into life.
6 Wheatabix, a plum and a nectarine later I'm done and we're scrubbing up to head out for the day. A spin through The National Park is required and we thread our way through Dulverton onto the open road. When I say open road, what I meant to say was narrow and claustrophobic lanes. Toyah's satnav had a bit of a brain fart just outside Dulverton and didn't really recover the situation until we''ve cleared Simonsbath some 20 miles later. Still, some of the scenery was spectacular.
Happily as we approach Lynton some brown signs for what we are looking for appear, and as we drop down into The Valley of the Rocks we are not disappointed. After feeding a few coins into the Turpin machine we shoulder our day sacks, lead the dogs and head off down the valley towards the coastal path.
Once on the SW Coastal Path we head north towards Lynton. The going is relatively easy on the tarmac path, but frequent stops are required to take in the spectacular scenery as Exmoor meets the sea - in quite dramatic fashion.
I hadn't told Herself, but these cliffs play home to a herd of wild goats, but they don't always come out to play for the tourists. We round a couple of bends and both Tali and Gwawr start to sniff the air, one more bend and we can also smell them too. We look up, and for the next couple of hundred yards have staring competitions with the beasts.
Back at Toyah the dogs are watered and we point her nose towards a private road that hugs the coastline. Initially we are rewarded with more spectacular scenery and we travel southwards with breathtaking views down into the coves below.
A sign tells us that we are on a toll road and we are to pay outside The Abbey down the road. We get to the abbey but there's no toll booth, just a post in the middle of the road with a slot in the top and a sign demanding £2.
I'm now looking around, scouting for CCTV, but can't see any. I'm torn, I am, but any thoughts I may have been harbouring of pretending to drop a few coins through the slot were dispensed with as soon as Herself threatened to "tear me a new one" if I didn't cough.
No sooner had we paid required fee the views all but disappeared as we spend the next 20 mins threading our way down increasingly narrow lanes under the thick tree canopy, with all views lost.
For most of the time the road was that narrow Toyah's sensors were in overdrive, and lighting up like a Xmas tree in the gloom. We round a corner and our luck runs out. Passing places have been few and far between, sorry I exaggerate, they have been non existent. Anyway, with Toyah's wing mirrors clipping the sides we come face to face with an X Trail.
Not to worry though as I can see a gated entrance about 20m behind it. The driver (you're not allowed to mention gender these days, but lets just say that this non-binary driver also had tits) gives a quick flash of the lights and attempts to reverse. The non-binary driver (with tits) puts the X Trail in the hedge twice before I deduce that despite best intentions we are going to be here some time.
I engage reverse and start to edge backwards down the lane, round a few corners, and kept going and going. I've not put a foot wrong, even Herself is impressed, and Toyah is threaded backwards for about 1/4 with grass clipping her wrong mirrors all the while until we find a property entrance to squeeze into.
I DIDN'T HAVE A SMUG LOOK ON MY FACE AT ALL, HONESTLY I DIDN'T.
By now we note that the X Trail has a full fat Range Rover on its tail too. The non-binary driver (with tits) is most grateful and thanks us profusely as they squeeze past. The non-binary driver (with smaller tits and a full beard) of the Range Rover also squeezes past whilst tutting and pointing at the X Trail in front.
We'd had alight lunch perched on the cliffs earlier, but are both peckish, so once back on the open road Toyah's throttle is opened up and we head straight back to the van for an early tea of Salmon and new potatoes with a mahoosive side salad.
With the sun still high in the sky we clip the dogs on and take a walk past the lake down to the beer garden at the Anchor Inn (we're 19 miles in a straight line to the sea on the north coast, so why it's called the Anchor Inn is beyond me) and take a table on the riverside decking to enjoy a few sherbets as some huge Dragon Flies dart about over the water.
Back on site the evening sun is still quite warm so the recliners are brought out to sleep off the booze with the sun warming our chops.
Wednesday 3 July
Blue skies again this morning, but when I wake I've no idea how the day will turn out. Much will depend on how Herself is feeling, today being the 4th anniversary of her sister's passing.
The dogs are taken over to the superb on site dog walk for an early morning stretch.
Things are discussed over some fruit for breakfast and Herself says she'd rather be occupied. She's been Googling and quite likes the sound of Tarr Steps. A packed lunch is hastily thrown together before we thread Toyah's bulk once more through the lanes to the north of Dulverton.
As we rock up it is really starting to warm up, and after shouldering our bags and clipping the dogs on we feed £3 into the machine and start to trudge down the slope to river level.
Near the bottom we pass the Tarr Inn, promising ourselves a refreshing drink before the climb back up, before we round the last bend and the clapper bridge comes into view.
Crossing the bridge to the other bank I'm informed by Herself that under no circumstances am I allowed to bring Toyah down to have a go at the ford crossing the Barle. We turn right and take the riverside path upstream. The dogs are having a whale of a time, in and out of the river and darting between the trees.
Before long we come across some heavy duty wires strung at tension between two pillars crossing the river. First glance suggests it may be some sort of bridge, or river crossing for an outdoors adventure company. A plaque on the pillar explains that it's not a bridge, but an arrangement to catch fallen trees, I assume to stop them destroying the clapper bridge down stream.
Half way point on the circular walk and we're crossing the river and heading back down stream. A fallen tree trunk serves as a "wish tree" with hundreds of coins hammered into the bark. Not worth getting out the Leatherman as they all look to have been here some time and are well past the state of being able to be presented over the bar in the pub.
We get back to the clapper bridge and there's quite a few people about now. and we cannot believe our luck as there is a riverside bench that is free. I spot another couple heading for it too, he also spots me and our eyes lock.
We both start walking towards the bench, each picking up speed without actually breaking into a run, and keeping an eye on each other's position. He looks at my girth and figures that he'll beat me to it. By now I've left Herself and her knackered knee in my dust and am on the home straight with the other git about 20m further that me away.
You know when someone is running for a bus, and then they stop running when they realise they're not going to make it and want to make it look like they weren't running for it anyway? Yeah.that's him now, but as smug as I was, I had the good grace not to jump up on it and use it like a winner's podium.
Herself catches up, and as soon as we've broken the seal on our Tupperware (other makes of plastic containers are available) boxes it immediately becomes apparent why the bench had remained unoccupied despite the throngs of people. We are swarmed by flies, hundreds of the little gits. They are all over the food too, so that goes in the dogs before we pack up and head for the beer garden.
It's hot, really hot, as we sip - well Herself sipped as I guzzled - our refreshments, bracing ourselves for the climb up the hill back to the car park. The "loser" climbs the steps into the beer garden and looks around for an empty table. There aren't any left and he scowls at me in response to my nod. They stand there in the middle, waiting for a table to come free. Herself asks why I'm taking so long to finish my drink.
We head back to the van and drag out the recliners for an afternoon of personal contemplation in the sun. I was out for the count I was. When I eventually wake I am a sweaty mess with a river of dribble down my chest. Herself had noticed that my solar panel was burning and had got up to put my Mongo hat on me. See, she loves me really!!
We'd picked up a couple of huge sirloin steaks in Dulverton earlier, which get thrown onto the Weber with some veggie skewers to be lovingly cremated for our tea.
As the sun starts to drop we take down the canopy and start the process of breaking camp in readiness for our departure in the morning.
A difficult one, as we won't be packing up properly to go home, just enough to travel for the 50 or so miles down to the south coast and Lyme Regis for the next leg of this tour. So until next time ...........
