Friday, 9 September 2016

Step by step...

So it's day one of our week away in the shed.  I say 'shed', but it's really a very posh beach hut on the South coast, with all mod cons.  Thank goodness it has wifi, otherwise I would have to have written this in a pub whilst necking the usual half pints of cider.   (I am a lady, and never drink from a pint glass, unlike others I could mention...you know who you are Miss H..)  I can only begin to imagine what the spelling would have been like.

So we had a trouble free journey down for a change.  There were no traffic jams, no accidents and only a sprinkling of ripe language from the husband as he reprimanded various drivers from the safety of his driver's seat with the windows up and the car door locked.

The shed hadn't changed one bit since last year.  It's a complete haven from our lunatic life at home, and is totally governed by food and drink.  Of course, the husband likes to temper this with something called 'activities'.  Experience tells me that these can range from a slow amble along the beach, right through to a clamp-ons and safety harness hill climb.  We did this twice last year, and if I remember rightly, I had to get a taxi back as my feet downed tools, sobbing quietly in their walking boots.

But we started off gently today.  A lovely walk along the beach with the dogs in tow.  We didn't go too far, as we were both hungry, so a stop at the pub about 200 yards from our front door was on the cards.  Half an hour later, after several beers and ciders and a couple of chicken sandwiches, we were off again, marching up the beach with the dogs.

Suddenly, the husband stopped.  'Where are my glasses?'  he asked frantically patting the top of his head.  'I know I had them at the table'.  Ten minutes of pocket emptying (mine as well for some reason) proved fruitless, so we headed back to the pub, retracing our steps.  Sure enough, the pub had them, and the husband looked like he'd been reunited with some long lost friend. 

Back at the shed, we both dozed off to the sound of the waves.  Funny how cider can do that.  Waking up two hours later, the husband was pottering about the shed.  'Oh no, where are my glasses now?'  I might have to get him one of those chains which doctors' receptionists wear around their necks.  This would be dual purpose, as not only would he never lose his glasses again, but I could hang onto it as he's racing up some hill, thus slowing him down to my pace.

Miss R turns up tomorrow.  She is a good companion for the husband's cycling/walking/climbing activities, as she's very fit (as in the exercise department, rather than looks, but having said that she is quite a foxy lady too).  She'll be egging him on with some cycling challenge, after which he'll probably be a broken man who really should have known better.

If you ask me, all you really need for the perfect holiday is a bit of sun, a strip of beach, a deckchair and a bottle of cider. 

I'll leave all the strenuous stuff to the other two I think.
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