On the road again...

The husband and I spent most of yesterday afternoon planning our first big holiday away in the Wobble Box.  I had been trying to get him to consider Suffolk (Southwold fish and chips are the best) but he finally got his own way and we have settled on a whistle stop tour of Cornwall.  Eight nights over three different sites.  All chosen for their dog walks and beaches (Poldark.  Need I say more?)

If you could have seen the husband yesterday afternoon with his 'special map pen', described thus because it has a torch on the end, he looked like Captain Scott the night after some bloke in the pub suggested a trip to the South Pole.  He had a map of the UK spread over the patio table, neatly folded around Birmingham to avoid any unintentional forays north of the border, his glasses were perched at the end of his nose, and the 'special map pen' clicked furiously as he worked out journey times and routes.  

So we are now all booked in.  This week away has cost us substantially less that the normal week in the beach hut which we do each year.  I have sidelined the money saved for a trip to the optician for the husband.  Looking at the way he was relying on the 'special map pen' with its illuminating light, I would imagine that some stronger spectacles might be required.  This was confirmed yesterday morning when I pointed out a rather funny number plate on a car which we walked past en route to the pub.  'That's a really clever plate', I said, pointing at it.  'Well I can see it's yellow', said the husband, 'but other than that I can't see anything clever about it'.

The pub which we were heading for was reward after four miles of river bank walk yesterday morning.  By mile one I was desperate for a comfort break, by mile three I was desperate for a cider, but too frightened of the effect it would have on me, and by mile four, it was a race as to which would win, a broad tree or a pint of scrumpy.  Finally making it to the promised pub garden with dignity intact, I slumped onto a bench and left the husband to get the drinks.  He was back within fifty two seconds with the devastating news that the pub was closed.

It was a rather brisk two mile walk back to the car, definitely not the scenic route of the first part of the journey, and the four of us clambered back into the car and drove back to the pub in silence.  By now, the pub was open, and the husband and I did a passable 100m relay as we took it in turns to go to the loo.

I just hope that his caravan route planning has taken old lady breaks into consideration.

You know what I mean, ladies....