Short shorts...

Our last day in Cornwall was yet another dry and sunny one.  Who ever was in charge of the Cornish weather this week, I owe you a drink and a bag of fudge as thanks.

Yet again, the husband had managed to coerce me down a slippery cliff to get to a beach.  Once on the sand, it became apparent that the tide hadn't quite gone out, so walking boot and sock removal were needed to reach the sandy stuff.  The woofers had the most magical time - the beach was empty so we felt happy to let them off their leads - I tend to keep them tethered to me as Reg is very fickle where legs are concerned.  In the half hour he was free, he managed to adopt an old lady in a pastel cardigan, and a lovely gay couple from York.  There are times (like when he destroyed one of my Ted Baker flip flops) when I would have signed the adoption papers, but not Friday.

     

On the way back to the Wobble Box, I just happened to mention to the husband that I was still one food item short on my Cornwall Bingo Card.  Having questioned me on every other item, he eventually reached the Crab Sandwich.  Now we had been trying to get hold of a couple of these for the whole week, only to be told at every cafe that 'crab was now finished'.  Well mercy me, what do crabs do come the end of September?  Head to the North and eye up the penguins?

On our last day we were at Perranporth, and parking up, the husband set me the mission of finding the illusive crustacean.  First, second and third cafes reaffirmed the legend of the migrating crab, but I finally struck lucky at a pub.  

'It'll be about twenty minutes', said the barman.  Well, having waited eight days, what was twenty minutes, so I made myself comfortable at the bar.

Over the course of the next twenty minutes, I was asked several times whether I wanted a drink, or, 'were you before me, love?'  Stock answer was, 'No thank you, I am waiting for a sandwich'.

Half an hour later, they appeared, and sitting in the caravan that evening, the husband and I decided that they were quite the best we'd ever had, so well worth the wait.

As a final note on the Wobble Box (for the time being) it's funny how sharing a 5' square space with your loved one can bring up topics which have previously been unspoken of.  Like my denim shorts.

Here was the husband's comment..

'How come you look really great in denim shorts, but I would look daft, even though we're the same age?'

You tell me, my love...