The race...

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Well that's Woolacombe ticked off the 'Places to Visit in a Wobble Box' list.

Coming back home on Sunday afternoon, a call went out to daughter number two who had been spending the weekend in Bath with her other half, Jolly Sock Man.

Coincidentally, we were heading up the M4 and had just passed Bath, and between some rather snatched messages, we realised that they were about five miles behind us.  The race was on.  Would they catch us up before we reached the Membury services?  It was decided that the losers would buy the coffee, and the husband said to me that he felt like he was on the set of Hunted.  

There was some choice abuse between daughter number two and me as our menfold drove their respective vehicles, and we pulled into the service station with them nipping at our heels about a quarter a mile away.  And here is when having a caravan proved to be an absolute godsend.  Parking up at the allocated spaces for caravans and other long-vehicled lunatics, the husband and I raced into the services, each of us egging the other other on and singing snippets of the Top Gear theme.  

We won naturally, and as the winner's frappuccino was handed over to the husband, Jolly Sock Man pointed out that the name on the front.  'Winner' was beautifully written on his cup in black felt tip and it made his day.

Of course, as we all know, pride will always be followed by a fall of some sorts, and as we neared home, Jolly Sock Man and daughter number two sailed past us.  This overtaking was accompanied by some most unladylike hand signals from daughter number two as they sped by, and as she filmed us we now know that 'Losers!' was said at the same time.

But we've had a fantastic time away, celebrating Mrs Jangles' birthday, and spending time with family.

What could possibly be any better?

A frappuccino in a plastic cup with 'Winner' on it apparently...


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