Ezcaba Campsite 3rd July 2009

Well it looks like all that are arriving have arrived, although it is Sunday so you never know. What this means is the “space” we have on either side of the MS is still there which also means that, after cutting down some branches, we may be able to get out.

Planned next stop is Mortagne-sur-Gironde in the Poitou region of France, a 250 mile hop but that is not until 8th and we still have the Bulls to contend with.

Next to us are 2 motorhomes, one belonging to a Scottish couple, Norman and Rose, and the other to about 4 or 5 Spanish guys. Soon as they arrived, on with the built in ghetto blasters, at full ghetto mind you, and I guess it sounded like what used to be, or maybe still is, “house” music. THUMP! THUMP!....................THUMP! etc ad infonitum. No, I’m not talking about Norman and Rose.

They also must have a young lady, or one of the guy’s balls have not dropped, because someone in there struck up a guitar and she/he began to sing. I don’t know what the song was but every note was missed by a very wide margin; we were in the middle of dinner and had to stop eating - don’t give up your day job just yet, pet.

It was a relief when the main dance music came on from a large tent 100 m away and drowned them out with a different kind of thump and continued until 3 in the morning. Just dropping off and then woken at 5 am with the same guys right outside the MS. I thought at first they were putting a tent up because of the knocking sounds, looked out of window and they were playing castanets. That was definitely a first.

Woke up at around 6:30, God knows why, and had a job not turning the outside speakers to full and putting on a CD of Matt Monroe.

Went for what we thought would be a short, 5-6 mile cycle, of course we got lost, for the second time in two days and it turned out more like 18 miles.
(by the way I know I am in Europe and I should be using kilometres, however if I tell Tricia the distance in kms, she just complains it’s too far and she isn’t going)
How you get lost when you cycle alongside a river, cross a few bridges along the way and then cycle back is (was) beyond me. It turns out that probably when our backs were turned or more likely one of Tricia’s “stops”, the bloody Spanish slipped in another river!

I realised later that we were crossing at the meeting of two rivers, one of which I still do not know the name of, and of course following the wrong river back in almost the same scenery , but vastly different direction. As the sun here is almost permanently overhead, guessing north is not an option. Still, good for the fitness.

I DO NOT BELIVE IT!

I’m typing this at 8:05 (IN THE MORNING) and it’s started up again! (the thump) Admittedly from another motorhome but come on, is there any justice!
No it is them, only they have not opened up all the windows and doors yet AND they are having a go with the guitar again; sounds like trying to put a cat through a grater.

Today the plan is to find the quickest way into Pamplona by bike for the bull run because although there will be buses available from 5 in the morning it’s almost a 30 minute walk to get to the bus stop, and there will be hundreds trying to get on, so bike it is.

Pamplona 6th July

Well, I was wrong about thinking everyone who was going to arrive had arrived, they really started to arrive today.
There were huge queues at reception and in the small space between the vertical drop and the Mothership 2 tents materialised and on the other side another caravan full of Spanish managed to squeeze in along with along with four Italian guys in their motorhome, we can now just about open our door to get out.

Went into Pamplona by yet another route and got lost, again. So it ended up a 24 mile round trip and Tricia was well knackered. The Bull Run itself was very crowded but we managed to video it because I reckon no matter what time we go in tomorrow, 5’ish, we will not get much of a look.
Found some nice parks, including Parque Yamaguchi named after a place in Japan were a local, Saint Francis Xavier lived for a while in the 16th century and which Pamplona is twinned.

The San Fermine’s festival shirts were €16 in the city, we managed to pick them up for €6 just outside as we took in the parks. Might have got one for Swanny.
There were lots of adverts for the use of balconies on the run, €45 for 15 minutes, not a bad rate eh?
When we eventually got back there were even more tents and people. Main reason was tonight was the main gig at the camp site and represented the start of the festival.

My God! I’ve just been talking to John and Irene from Bromley, over here for their two week holiday in a motorhome. He has wanted to do the run for the last 20 odd years and this is his time. What he told me about the run, however, I did not know. First he asked if I was doing it, not on your nelly. Then he said that all the volunteers, and if you did you couldn’t UN volunteer once you were there if you bottled, had to be in their place at a certain time or no go.

It’s approximately ¼ of a mile up cobbled streets and the best men can do it in 3-4 minutes, the bulls can do it in 2 so you are going to be overtaken by at least 16 sharp horns. Definitely count me out.

Went into Pamplona, by another different route, how did you guess? and not only was it quicker, we did not get lost and ended at the top of the town next to the bull ring.

This was the first official day of the festival and did not include bulls (tomorrow).
It involved thousands of people dressed in red and white throwing red wine over each other, banging drums, screaming, singing and dancing, almost like a Sunderland home match (except for the thousands of people and change red wine to cans of Stella).

As you can see from the pictures you just could not move once you got into the streets. We managed to find a table in the square and get a couple of coffees, Tricia had to go and was gone for almost 35 minutes, I nearly went back without her.
Lunch was a mixed salad for me and a small plate of paella for Tricia, €36, enough said. Well not really, one of my teeth, small molar, broke in half; I’m sure I brought some superglue.

Pamplona 7th The Bull Run.

Tricia went to bed at 10 pm and I stayed up, put my ear phones in and watched the second episode of “Tinker, Tailor, Solider, Spy” which she doesn’t like much, the usual music played on in the background.

Then a 5 am start, into the “San Fermine” gear, get in line for the toilet, eat a quick brekky, attached lights (it was still dark) and keep on assuring Tricia that this time does actually exist on a clock.
On to the bikes, because relying on the bus was not the best idea with hundreds of people milling around. On the way in we noticed quite a few people dressed for the festival coming the other way, was there something we didn’t know? 5 minutes later I’m locking the bikes up and Tricia is changing into her shorts on a park bench. For some reason I am the only person wearing pink shorts and the many stares I got were trying to tell me something I should know?

Although we arrived with hours to spare, not a space remained. Standing 2 deep next to the barriers near the bull ring did not appeal to us because of the crush. The place smelt of urine, cheap wine and vomit and was strewn with debris from the previous evening. There were also a lot of people still sleeping in the park and on the streets. The steady drinkers were still going hard at it and were, from the look on most faces and inability to walk in a straight line, still drunk.

We tried the main square but the supposed large screen was nowhere to be seen. So it was back to the bull ring and onto some steps which gave us a tiny patch where we could just make out the tops of the runners heads. That was when 2 ambulances hove into view and parked.

The firework to start the event went at 8 am and then again slightly later (?) then some commotion, a few blurry rushing heads and then it was over. Did not hear any thunder of hooves, screaming, guts been hurled over the wall, nothing. 40 minutes later we were back in the MS watching the clouds come over and the thermometer drop to 21º C.

I guess the above is not exactly painting a picture of a great event but the reason is the change from the exciting and boisterous, clean and merry drunk crowds of the first day in juxtaposition to this sorry lot, was a bit of a come down. Not actually seeing the bulls was in there as well mind.

If there is a next time I would pay the €45 for the balcony. All in all we can tick the box and I’m glad we did it but not for the next 7 days.
BTW no pictures as no batteries for camera so it’s all on video instead.

We started to prepare for our departure in the morning so got the job of cleaning out the tanks. Just got everything ready and this guy from one of our outposts of tents came along and pointed to the front wheel of the Navara. I thought it was a twig; I’d been cutting the overhanging branches of the tree that was blocking us in so I guessed it had fallen on the front tyre. It was a 10 inch long by half inch thick tent/awning peg that some one had left in the ground and was now imbedded in my tyre. Change with the spare, first time for that, and repair with my “professional” tyre repair kit, then back to the tanks. Thank God he had pointed it out in time because if I just drove off with it still in it would have completely wrecked the tyre.

Pamplona 8th into France!

Getting out was fun, cars moved, gates opened and then down a very steep slope and with lots of people helping just squeezed through the gaps, and out!

On to the AP15 toll road because the A121a, which went true north, kind of wiggled a lot through the mountains, which usually meant climbs with tight bends. Passed south of St Sebastian and across the French border with lots of enquiring looks from the police but did not get stopped.
On to the A63, more tolls and finally turned off for our destination, Mortagne-sur-Gironde, a small fishing village and Aire for motorhomes.

Coming into the village the roads got tighter and tighter, as did the bends. The GPS must have been set on “shortest” because it was trying to take us where we just could not go. On one bend a car appeared, we were on his side of the road, and trying to avoid a collision managed to scrape the awing cover on a tree. Never did like that awning anyway, now a bit torn, but it is amazing what you can do with a roll of silver gaffer tape. Getting down to the port was fun, narrow streets, tight turns, sweaty palms, high blood pressure and we are there!
Stacks of space for parking and are now hooked up to electricity in the middle of a field overlooking the marina, sorry Alan, port.

Went to pay the €6 for the night and was informed if we ate in the single table farm “restaurant” it would be free camping, dinner was for 8pm. We were basically in the farm’s front room with all sorts of personal stuff all around; it was like a family dinner. It turned out to be Moroccan cuisine with eight other people, including a number of friends of the owner, all French, only one spoke some English, we got by. Meal was superb and all the wine you could drink. Much later we said our “bon nite” and it was off to a deep and quite sleep.

I have always wanted to be in a place where at night there were no city lights, no city/townscape, a placid sea nearby, a full moon and an inky black sky full of stars, last night I got it.

To use a phrase from James Taylor’s “Up on the roof”.
“and at night the stars, they put on a show for free”

We may stay another night.
We did.

Mortagne-sur-Gironde 9th July

Walked about a bit, took some pictures and left on the 10th.
Getting out was fun as well, the other route out was up a steep hill and I was hoping to get a good run into it but somebody had placed some bollards at the corner preventing a quick turn. (well, I’m sure they were not there the other day)

Managed OK and through some tight turns out of the village, destination somewhere around Tours. We tried a few and either we were not allowed on or we (SWMBO) did not like them. By this time I was pretty frazzled with all the U turns, three point turns (Yes THREE point turns) etc. Some I just said we should push on to good old Disney World, Paris.

This time we actually got in and managed a shower.

Next stop; we were booked on the 4pm ferry on Monday 13th so a couple of nights to go, was Le Touquet, where Tricia had picked out a couple of sites. As we approached however she suddenly decided that a place in Le Crotoy was favourite. On to a packed Aire (70 odd motorhomes) parked and hooked up. Knock knock, opened door and a dark uniformed guy, with a gun, was telling me something in French. What I did understand however was that as we were not a true Motorhome we could not stay. Told him I’d just put €2 in the meter and paid €7 to the manager and he relented but we had to leave the next day. Next day it was 19° C and pissing down so I said sod Le Touquet, let’s get an early ferry, the 12th, and we did and I’m now finishing this off here in my front room at home.

Not Bonterra Park 3rd July 2009

Although we were expecting to stay until 4th July, decided to leave as it was getting a little noisy with ever more Spanish families and it may be cooler further north. So typed in the GPS stuff for a campsite near Pamplona (320 mile trip but turned out more, see later) and away we went, well not quite that simple. (Tricia having "lunch on the journey)

The day before we left I told Tricia it would be better if we hooked up and drove over to the pitch opposite. My reasoning being if someone decided to take the plot there was not much we could do to stop then except we couldn’t get out without chopping some trees down, Luckily we did because one hour later all the rest of the spaces were taken!
Paid the day before which was expected, what was not expected was a bill for €120 for less that two months electric!

Just a matter of driving out then. Managed to negotiate the one tree that was in our way then down past reception and manage to knock the barrier off its stanchion. It turns out that when it lifted it did not go fully vertical. Also turns out that it is only plastic and “it happens all the time”. No damage, no problemo!
Off down the A340 and everything OK. Not! The outside shower unit decided to become unlocked and so is now swinging around at the back and bashing into the road, couldn’t stop as no hard shoulder. So carried on until we could, no damage and stowed away safely.

On towards Zaragosa, up some “hills” that reduced our speed to 45 mph and mpg to nothing. As this, the A23, was a new dual carriageway there were no petrol stations on it so we had to pull off to find one, alright many. So, pulling out of a station and the road only goes back in the direction of Valencia where we had just come from! Back down “hills” for a number of miles, turn round and back. We almost needed fuel again.

Arrived at Pamplona and the GPS had determined that we should have a look at the town. Pulling 13 m off truck and trailer through a town is not quite what I would call full, but after Paris, bring it on mate.

Arrived at Ezcaba campsite OK. Drove to reception, yeas we can stay. “Have you come for the festival?” “Que?” We new about the famous Bull run through Pamplona which was due to start 6th July. “No, not that our Ezcaba festival”.
"The Pamplona bikre ride"
Turns out that to coincide with the Bull Run, they have their own “do”.
On 4th July thousands of people, mostly aged under 25, camp there and play pop music VERY LOUD all day for 2 weeks. I found a pair of ear plugs a little later, ominous sign. Talk about out of the frying pan. Also camp prices, which are already high (high season) double for the festival, cost €300 for the week. Oh well we do want to see the bulls.

(the lightening rod)

There are signs round the site “no alcohol to be brought onto the site, available from site shop only”. We found out why later, their “magic shop” (turns €5 into a litre of milk), everything was 5 times the price”. I had picked up 6 cans of local stuff and she said €15!! QUE!!

Getting in however was our first trial. Bloody trees again!

The guy who was to “guide” us in obviously had not noticed that we had an A/C unit on the roof. So after a few back and forwards started to pull onto our pitch “bonk!”

Ah well it had never worked anyway. Found another way in but was then told that when the campsite filled up we might not be able to get out again and remain here until September.

So we are now in and level, which is a new one on us and have got the best view you could imagine. Of course the people that had the view before were not gleeful that this 13m x 2.3 m x 3.5 m “lump” was now in their way.

Cycled into Pamplona, only 6 miles, but after flat beach runs the hills nearly killed us.
We stopped to have a 3 coarse €12 each lunch in the Plaza Principal De Viana. I had a salad starter like no other I have ever had before. It was the usual thing with Gambo (king prawns) and also little thin things that I could not figure the taste of, some sort of Chinese type young bamboo shoots. In the supermarket later, I found out that they were baby eels.

Cycled the actual Bull Run, which goes from the north of town, just inside the city walls, for about 1 mile in distance and finally arriving at the bull ring where I guess God knows what happens to them... Fun eh? On parts of the walls you can make out holes made by horn strikes.

It also starts at 8 am. So that’s a 6 am get up and 1 hour cycle to get there in time and it only lasts about 15 minutes or they are buses from some where near that start running at 5 am. Also learnt that only 8 bulls are let loose each morning where I thought, from the movies etc; that there were hundreds.
We shall see if SWMBO can get up in time.

Whilst there we found the Europa Hotel, the back rooms over look the end of the run. This was the hotel we stayed at with the Swans on one of our motorcycle tours, the hotel was reasonable and cheapish but the restaurant was apparently one of the best in Spain, it was. Unfortunately those were the days pre whip, (whip; a bag containing money from all parties to cover expenses such as eating and drinking et.) and of coarse it was the Swins turn to pay. Alan actually chortled when he saw the prices, b**tid.

Couple in their 70’s I reckon, turned up in their VW camper van and parked right next to us. They have had the van for about 20 years and been just about everywhere with it, just goes to show what you can do when you still have the will.

Just started to use my Olympus 4/3rds DSLR E-420 (yes, it’s a camera) as recommended by my son Adam. How many buttons/controls can you have on such a small gadget! I have read the manual, something I never do, it’s a man thing. If you can not use it out of the box it should be chucked away. Well you can use it, like point and shoot but apparently you can also see through walls, turn the sky orange, leap high buildings and distort people into Bugs Bunny amongst other things. It also shoots video and can be used as a chock to hold up our wonky table. Back to manual.

Today because of the high price of Gods own life giving liquid, booze, we will drive to the nearest supermarket and “fill up” for the week and smuggle it in. Might get some food as well.

When we got to our plot and were safely parked I looked at the site map and noticed their was a WiFi point right next to us, it turns out to be the camps lightening conductor. I tried to convince Tricia that this is probably the safest place to be because lightening will prefer it rather than us, (her, is all she thinks), but as a precaution she should cut back on her multivitamins with iron. So since then she insists on sleeping on her plastic Pilates mat on top of the bed. (Thinks, a little bit of Vaseline and it would be frictionless, kinky or what?). In your dreams kid.

Lazy day today as Tricia is “knackered” from cycle ride, so it’s washing and shopping. Temperature is now a balmy 28° C with a slight breeze, lovely.

As I type there are lots of people turning up and filling the site, 1,800 Australians are due tomorrow, at least we will not be short on bar staff. I must though I think we were spoiled at Bonterra because although Ezcaba has all the normal facilities it is nowhere near as good.

Just been out to defy all the rules and found the nearest supermarket 6 miles away, now fridge is fully stocked with fish, milk, eggs, meat, salad stuff and what was that other stuff ?……………..er..er.. begins with B? I forget.

Message for Swanny, have brought a case of the cheap, good, Cava, unfortunately the way Tricia is putting it away, you may get the case but no Cava.

Have to go now and get our “wrist bracelet” that allows access in and out of camp, feel like a bloody kid again.

Bonterra Park 28th June 2009

We are now off the broadband local WiFi and are using a Vodafone “stick” so you will not see many more pictures and your reading skills need to improve because I am typing much faster.
More people leaving, including Martin and Cathy, our back door neighbours for the past week or so. They are both planning to retire in the next 2 years and from my point of view they don’t look bloody old enough to do it! Martin looks after some Rover garages and Cathy looks after most of the NHS.
They have a 26’ Freelander caravan which miraculously becomes 22’ when booking on the ferry (‘cos it costs a lot less). Apparently he’s been getting away with it for years.

Whilst here I introduced him to the cheap local beer, I would not like to say that he’s an alcoholic but he certainly liked it a lot! On the day he left, he single handedly cleared out the local Mercadona supermarket of it and was heard muttering “If I left her here I could get another few crates in”. Man after my own heart.

The UFO’s (ask Alan Swan) are slowly being replaced by younger versions, including families with babies, I forgot what it’s like being kept up to the early hours and being woken first thing in the morning to incessant screaming. When they are yours it’s kind of OK but when it’s someone else’s, and screaming in Spanish, it’s too much.
I’m not so keen on babies.

There is a particular old UFO couple who have brought a small scooter with them and when they both get on it I can not believe it can actually move, if it was an animal I would feel sorry for it. I will try and get a picture next time, if I can fit my extra wide angle lens quickly enough.

We have kind of planned the trip back but are not going to actually book any sites as I’m sure (Tricia isn’t) that it will be a lot more fun that way. Main direction; Zaragosa, St Sebastian, then west coast of France, taking about 10 days, getting back 6’ish on Monday 13th July. We will leave the Mothership at the end of the drive at home and give it good spring clean. Plan then is to stay home until Adams 30th (yes he is 30!), on 18th October, and then back here for the winter. Apparently the temperature drops to 15° C during December/January; I think we can put up with that.

Finally went to Valencia yesterday (Saturday) via train. Forgot phrase book, forgot that ticket office was not open, all of which I was to blame. So just get on the train and hope we can pay on it. It was to be. €11 each, return for a 55 mile 1 hour journey on an air conditioned train, come on British Rail, catch up!

Valencia is beautiful; there is no other word to describe it. We took the “A Historical” tourist bus from the centre of the city. Tricia had been talking about going to the famous Bio Park, basically a zoo. I hate zoos, animals trapped in concrete etc.
No siree! First, although it is not as hot as Africa it was about 35° C, clear blue sky etc. so it felt a bit like it to me.
The actual Africa bit was huge savannah like open space with a lot of the animals co-existing. Obviously the areas for the lions and other predators had ravines keeping them apart. You will have to see the pictures/videos to really appreciate it. I actually agreed that SWMBO was in fact completely right this time and I was very definitely wrong. Great day! Tricia had always wanted to go on a safari in Africa, well this is about as close as she will get.

Then back to city centre and guess what, all the shops were shut, what a pity, hard lines Trishy baby, too bad, how sad. She did manage to find some that were just closing down but by then her spirit was broken and for almost 3 seconds I felt sorry for her.
At this point Pat Swan is imagining plunging red hot needles in my eyes, don’t worry Pat she will make up for it at Castellon de Plana market next week.

Tricia drove us back from the train station to Bonterra Park, her second and more
“Confident” drive on the “wrong” side of the road. We shouted a bit. (Anyone who has heard Bob Newhart’s “The Driving Instructor” will understand)

Tricia had her first real crash on her bike the other day, she ran into the back of me!
Usual trip to Castellon and coming back into a bit of a head wind, she with her head down, me stopping for a drink of water, BASH. Of course it was my fault. Anyway no bones or bike bits broken.

As I have mentioned, we are now completely won over to “The West Wing”. Last night in the middle of a very exciting episode the electricity supply cut off! Tricia was apoplectic, “Well what’s going to happen next!, will it come back on?” Etc. etc.
“Don’t think so Pet but as it’s still early why don’t we have an early night eh, nudge, nudge?”

“What, with all these kids screaming?”

I hate babies.

Bonterra Park 25th June 2009

(Note to reader; if you click on the pictures they get bigger and click on “comments” to add a comment i.e. not enough sex & violence, type a little slower for the uneducated etc.)

Decided to give “The Desert of Palms” another visit, this time by car. Parked at the information centre and chose “the yellow” route, which encompassed a climb to the highest peak in the area, mount “el bartolo” at 729 m. The route was basically circular with an offshoot to the peak. As can been seen from the photos this became questionable after dark clouds and a heavy mist closed in, and after the recent thunderstorms we wisely decided to give it a miss.

I am presently (7:45 in morning) looking at one of those small teapot things that European people have that actually brew coffee. Got it at the market for €5 and as I had never used one before decided, after buying appropriate ground coffee called “BONKA”, honest! Well yesterday fills it up and puts it on the smallest gas hob we have got, it boiled, and boiled and boiled. When is it done? Problem is the “smallest” hob is still quite powerful and although the coffee had perked, it had heated up the cup bit you put the water in, so much that it was boiling the perked coffee in the top.
Figured this out after about 15 minutes and decided to “have a look”.

Now what happens to cheap coffee thingies that, a) you have never used before b) you don’t know how fast they work, or MUCH more importantly how bloody hot they get. So “let’s just try and prise open this welded lid”, hold on to bottom and …………… OOOOOWWWGGGGHHHH!!!
Hot coffee everywhere, no fingerprints on left hand (thinks; left hand bugler leaves no trace at crime scene) and I’ll have to clean all this up, one handed, before her indoors gets up. Oh well, reach for the instant.

Back to the present, little bastid has been on for a few minutes and steam is still coming out. Right! Asbestos gloves on, hold bottom (of the coffee pot silly), prise lid and viola! I’ve never enjoyed a Bonka so much in my life. To be honest, the time taken, for only one cup mind, to fill it correctly, wait for it to do its stuff, then clean the thing, with a pickaxe, after it’s taken two hours to cool down, it’s simply not worth it, back to the instant Columbian from Lidl.

Another 24 miles to Castellion and back and Tricia is seriously talking Licra and Spandex. She has finally noticed that EVERYBODY, well cyclist that is, in Europe wears the stuff. So as she tends to wear longish shorts and a blouse, she looks like she’s off to the shops (she actually asked me to put a basket on the front of her bike) rather than a gruelling 30 miler. So it’s off to Carrefore sports section and a chamois crutch.

As the weather heats up, more and more are leaving the site to go home for summer mounts, we definitely feel like “Jonny no mates” as there are large spaces all around us. Soon will be our turn, only nine days till we leave!

As mentioned in previous post, the next is:- The invite to Tricia’s 50th, including a potted history.


Dear friends,

As chairman of the Forest Row Goose Fettering and River Widening Society and although unused to public typing as I am, it however gives me great and joyous pleasure to invite you (insert name here) to the forthcoming half-century celebration.
" I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit; and, upon this charge cry, "God for Harry! England and Saint George!"
Or better still, come to: -
Tricia Swinhoe’s 50th birthday party!

The event takes place at or around 7 o’clock’ish in Swinhoe’s back yard on Saturday 17th July. (Her actual birthday being 14th July, Bastille Day, need I say more?)
It will comprise the standard BBQ format, rain or not. Pre-orders for how you would like your meat burned can be taken, black, very black, charcoal and dust.
Invitees will be limited to those from a similar social geodemographic background and must own at least one property abroad (preferably the Algarve) and must not, under any circumstances, associate with people from, or work in the general vicinity of, Croydon or Crawley.

A gift list will be supplied in plenty of time before the event but any article/device or tool that can be used by either a Postman or Electrian will suffice.

Tricia is planning a pre-party “botox” trip to the local vets, so if anyone would like to sign up let me know by return please.

A short history: -

Tricia was born 50 years ago in a place called Seaham, a small pit village, close to the sea (obvious I know). She was your actual Miner’s daughter (not the bird).
The family became restless and finally emigrated the 7.8 miles north to Whitburn, another small pit village near the same North Sea, where her Dad became a “Pit Deputy”. (No, he did not wear a star; it was a form of management).

She went to school in Whitburn, did various northern exams, which are meaningless down south; she basically received the normal northeast education i.e. enough to sign on. She was a real working class lass. She was a bobby dazzler from the start. She started work with British Rail in Newcastle as a secretary, building herself up to a good size 14 on the local “dips”, stotty cake and pie and chips.
It was here she first met her true love. Unfortunately it did not last and he became a very useful left half for Plymouth Argyle and now runs a pub in Bolton.

She then got a job in God’s own city, Sunderland, at Thorns Radio Valves and Tubes, in Pallion Industrial Estate. Doesn’t it sound so romantic?

Working there was a rather gawky longhaired Electrian type yobo who thought himself a bit flash. Owning a red Mini with Mickey Mouse painted on one door and Dillon (from Magic Roundabout) smoking weed on the other. (He often wondered why the Police kept stopping him?).

To cut a very long story short, Tricia made it known to the local gossip that she may fancy a bit of “rough”. He eventually went round to her office and asked for a date. On the way out her mate asked what the hell did she see in him? “Oh, I’m in love and I’m going to marry him”…………………………er, make up your own words now.

The “date” involved seeing Little and Large at “The Tavern” in South Shields and John (yes the bit of rough, thank God), for some obscure reason, pouring as many Brandy and Babychams down her neck as possible,

He got promoted to Factory Engineer and she left to work 400 yards away at Rolls Royce, eventually becoming the Managing Directors PA and earning a relative fortune. Which came in handy later as John tried to get pregnant because they could not afford her to stop working.

Anyway, engagement was followed by the great day, John bought a Triumph Spitfire, er... no the Wedding!

John by now had received his first of 6 redundancies and was working as an Electronics/programming design Engineer at Newcastle University, studying for his degree, part-time Electrian and still earning less than her. John remembers vividly standing in the rain at the bus stop as Tricia drove by in HIS Spitfire. He should have realised there and then that this was the way it was going to be forever, him always getting the shitty end of the stick. (Only joking, pet)

If he had murdered her then, he would be out on good behaviour next Thursday.

Two kids followed and a real “emigration” took place when the family moved “Sarff”; well to Hertfordshire for a couple of years and then here, to Forest Row.

Tricia decided she should be “looked after”, which meant not working and bringing up the kids for the next 16 years. Twice during that time Tricia had her credit cards stolen, John never reported it though, as the thief was spending less than her.

In that time she has met many people down here and made friends and that is why you are all invited, her friends

Tricia and John.

Tricia's Day Speech by Bill Wagglestick

This day is called the 50th feast of Tricia:He that outlives this day, and comes safe home (via Roadrunners or Southdown, whoever comes first)

Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,And rouse him at the name of Tricia.

He that shall live this day, and see old age,Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,

And say 'To-morrow is Tricia’s day:'

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.

And say 'These wounds I had on Tricia's day, fighting with Swan for the last chicken leg.

'Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,

But she'll remember with advantagesWhat feats she did that day: then shall our names.

Familiar in her mouth as household wordsRadford the dour,

Marsh the silver fox, Stockwell the Greek,Kent the injured,

Connacher the devious, Leadbetter and Swan of the short pocket,

Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.

This story shall the good man teach his son;

And Tricia’s day shall ne'er go by,From this day to the ending of the world,

But we in it shall be remember'd;We few, we happy few, we band of brothers (and sisters!);

For he to-day that sheds his blood, wine, beer and burgers with her Shall be her brother

(and sister, watch the PC);

be he ne'er so vile,This day shall gentle his condition:

And gentlemen in England now a-bed

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,

And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks

That fought, drank and BBQ’ed with us, upon Tricia’s day.

Bonterra Park 19th June 2009++

Firstly I must apologise to my reader out there. There seems to be a problem with the formatting of pictures in the blog. You will have to just bear with me on that for the time being.

Our DVD dilemma is now history, after the first showing of “The West Wing” we are now converts, thanks to the generous donation from brother Alan, you’ll get them back when the gravy boat comes in. more than 100 hours to watch!

Well the exciting news is that Tricia has finally driven on the wrong side of the road!

Coming back from a day trip to Peniscola, a busy tourist town up the coast, I said “Do you fancy giving it a go? Driving on the right I mean”, “OK”, Gulp!

So she drove for 37 miles, with turns and roundabouts thrown in, and it was fine, mind you I still can’t unclench my hands.

The place had a castle and lots of restaurants and shops, we always hold hands when we go on trips like this, if I let go, she shops. The old castle was one of the many homes of the Knights Templar. You always think knights being big, tall and powerful but as the average height in those days was about 5’ 6”, they do not quite so formidable.

The castle was used as the set in "El Cid" and had been added to quite a lot. We had lunch just outside the castle, Tricia's contained a few tenticles but she ate it.

Parked in an underground car park at 37 cents a minute! So the shopping and eating was a little rushed from

Tricia’s point of view.

Couple of days ago we were told that the water was going to be shut off to “clean” the system. I didn’t realise how bad the water quality had become until one new arrival, Martin, said “This stuff tastes bloody awful!”

Were told about “El Talle’s”, mountain streams, which turned out to be faucets set into a wall in the mountains. But the taste, or lack of it, was great and the views were magnificent. They are all in the “Desert of Palms”, which is the region we tried to walk up/around in the first week, leaving me not walking properly for two days afterwards. Last night “la tormenta electrica” with the accompanied cats and dogs. Then all sorts of vehicles, planes, helicopters began buzzing around the mountains; one of the helicopters was emptying a large container of water on a particular area. It appeared that either they had been a crash or the lightening had set a fire.

Our Spanish is coming along, I/we can count, pronounce most of the words and vowels correctly, there is a lot of “th’s” and important this like “it is not possible for me to get this rig in that space”, which I feel I will need a lot.

Rained all last night and pretty cool this morning which is a relief. I’m getting pratty fed up with constant hot sultry days, fantastic Spanish salads for lunch, BBQ’s in the evening and all the bear and wine Lidl can supply, what a waste of a life.

I was looking through some of the old files on my computer back up and found my write ups from previous trips/events worth recording. So for the next few blog entries I will end with one of them. Some of you will already have heard these re-told on many occasion, for others read on. Since they are all actually true I have used real names with one or two obvious exception. To come:- “The Venetian Boys Choir”, “Rugby Rome”, “Italy, the blind leading the blind”, “Tricia’s 50th” and some more if I can find them..

The Athens Trip
(This takes place before the € and pre-posty, when I was still in computer sales)

OK, here's a thing, you get a call from your brother at 10 o'clock at night "John, how do you and Tricia think about going to Athens?
“When?”
“Tomorrow?”
Been planned for a while, Ruth, Alan's wife, was really looking forward to it but work had dictated a no go situation.
We were planning a "booze trip" to France on the Friday of that week; this call was Wednesday therefore logic tells you Athens was Thursday. Flight from good old Luton airport. We live 15 miles from Gatwick so train, tube, train (and bus, but that was as yet an un-thought of event) was on the cards. Car (of three) was out of the question as my son needed one, the 3 week old 3,000 mile Toyota Yaris (Y reg, first time I had ever bought a new car) for college, the Porsche was sick with negative wiper action and my beloved Mini Cooper was non operational mode due to a knackered radiator. So can we do all this in time, can I get the time off work and was there anything "on" for the coming four days that could not wait, be put off, lied about etc?
All the above went through my brain in a nanosecond, so I thought "better check this out with Tricia". Hold it! Back with brother "is this actually going to cost me anything"? No. Good. Back to wife. "Tricia, how do you fancy.............etc" the whole 9 yards. Her reaction; "What am I going to wear"?

Back to Brother Alan. "OK we are up for it"
What followed was a marvel to the powers of the Internet. E-mails were sent to EasyJet (not so easy to change) and the Athens hotel, to change all bookings from Mr A & Mrs R Swinhoe to Mr J & Mrs P Swinhoe, confusion abounded, but true to that electronic ether, all was accomplished by about 1 in the morning.
During all this, felt it wise to check all documentation was at hand. Would have checked the next day due to the France trip but thought it prudent to do now. Wife's passport, yep, my passport, yep..., I mean it’s a 10 year passport, of coarse it’s OK, er…………. Expiry date 6th February 2001, today is 28th March 2001. Quick do the math, do the math! SHIT!

Good advice coming up.
Go check your 10-year passport NOW!

Back to brother "er...got a problem etc.", answer "oh well just use mine then".
It was late at night (early in the morning!), and had a couple of wines but no, not a particular good idea. Athenian police? I think not, we look vaguely similar, i.e. two eyes either side of a nose, mouth below, you know that sort of thing, but that’s where it ends.
Switch scene. Next morning, you can make up your own script for what went on with wife after passport thing was explained (explained?).
Son drops us off at Gatwick to get the Gatwick Express to Victoria, Tube strike! Walk to Petty France Passport Office, with bags etc. Walk in PO, look at queue and take ticket. Look at ticket number 89, look at board, 12, look at approximate time expected 147 minutes, look dejected.
Flight leaves 1:30 pm, time now 8:30 am, no problem? Told by reception that there is a quicker "renewals queue, but no one is manning it yet".
Dateline: 9:23 am, renewals is manned! Semi-queue that was, now forms into true British queue i.e. I'm here, your there, don't even think of going to the toilet! Two hours idle by, brother turns up with his passport and original plan, er no. Need to catch 11:30 am Thames link train from Blackfriars to be able to make Luton Airport Parkway by say 12'ish to allow check in and some eats!

Two hours trickle by. Get to front of renewals queue, look over shoulder at board and guess what number is showing? Hand over bits to a very nice man. "Were these photos done on a computer"? I had used my digital camera and computer, with the right photo paper to generate these the previous night in between e-mails. "Er... yes". "Well, they're no good you see, bubble up they do, for your long term benefit, you will thank me for it, go to the back of the queue after you have got proper ones from that machine over there"

Feeling at that quintessential moment in time? Don’t ask.

"But please! I've got this plane to catch". "Proof of flight"? "Well yes, but it hasn't actually got the right name on it", que for story so far. "OK then, you've got a honest face" (I'm in sales!) "Use yonder machine and come straight back to me when you’ve got the pictures". Suddenly out of nowhere 2 people decide the need the photo booth! In the previous wait no one has gone near it!
Wait, wait and wait again. Into booth, what expression? Right! Everybody always looks like a convict, therefore simple logic and try and REALLY look like a convict. Put money in, do the biz. Where are the bloody photos? Machine busted! Photos jammed! Reach up into "dispenser" NOT and pull out bedraggled photos. Manage to smooth the requisite 2 into acceptable format and yes I look like someone who's just done a 6 stretch at Lewis jail. Out of booth, front of queue (sound of teeth grinding from rest of queue members) and fill in paperwork with attendant "going to cost you an extra 12 quid doing it like this mate". Yes, yes, yes at this point money actually becomes worthless.

OK all done, here’s the money, where's my passport? "Oh, just pay the cashier over there and you passport will be ready by 4 pm. WHAT! “But what about my flight?”. "Sorry, I forgot, we will "fast track" you, it will be about an hour”. Another hour! What! Who! When! Where! Why!
I had scheduled a business meeting on Monday and also a squash match at the same time we arrived in Athens but I did not want to postpone either until I was checked in on the flight, so I just put a hold on both.

Wait, wait, wait, wait and wait.

Now since no Tube, on strike for safety reasons, cabs about as plentiful as rocking horse shit, it was a 2-mile walk, with bags, to Blackfriars. Alan leaps to rescue and orders a Cab via his firm "we have an account you know".
Exactly 1-hour later cab turns up and passport is ready, cab waits all of 3 seconds and vacates. Out of Passport office, along Petty France and Alan manages to stop a cab by lying on the bonnet after he lets his last fare out.
In cab, bye Al, hello cabby. "Blackfriars please, trying to get to Luton airport asap", "All the trains are running slow on account of Tube strike. I'll take you up there myself for £70 if you like". "er...no thanks".

Dateline 11.45 am, Thames Link Blackfriars, standing outside station. Hear a distant, muffled "The train standing at platform 4 is the Thames Link to blah, blah, blah, LUTON AIRPORT, blah!” Run like hell, just make it as train pulls out. No ticket, so worry that we might get done for fare avoidance like Cherrie Blair. Phone various people, including office, 'cos it looks like we are going to make it. Arrive at the airport to find that it is a shuttle bus (see, I told you there was a bus) ride and we have to buy a ticket after all so we can get out of the station. Bus waits forever but finally pulls out and we arrive at the mile long EasyJet queue at 12:40 pm. At the front of the queue and I am now worried about the last minute name changes. Hand over one absolutely brand new passport and a once used one and we're on!
EasyJet does not use boarding cards and seat assignment is on the basis of whoever checks in first gets on the plane first and picks whatever seat they want, except for the front 2 of course, unless you are of Arabic decent. So you get handed a plastic card with a number on it, we were 78 and 79.

Rush of to ATM get money, change money. What's the rate? "Er...£200 of er... er Athens money please". Get about 100,000 drachmas, therefore 500 D to GBP? Who knows / cares, just get on the bloody plane!

Plane boards at 1:40 pm and we choose to sit at the back. The plane fills up but we end with a spare seat between us, great!

I guess because the fares are cheap you get to buy all your food and drink, so a few G&T's and a sandwich later Tricia's asleep and I'm writing this.

Arrive at newly opened airport, like 15 hours newly opened, I'm glade the pilot knew 'cos nobody told us. It became apparent that something was not quite right when we got out of the terminal to try to find the taxi stand. Most of the passengers, officials, taxi and bus drivers were yelling at each other a lot higher up the scale than was normal for a European airport. We only found out after getting in the taxi and having the guy complain that the old airport (there was actually two, domestic and international) had closed at midnight and the new one opened 30 seconds later.
Problem was the old one was north and 10 kms out of the city, the new one being south and about 50 kms out, so it took nearly 2 hours to get to the hotel!
The traffic was really, really bad. So bad that our cabby explained that he had been on all day and had only made 3 trips. As he lived next to the old airport, it was his final fare and his drive home was now longer. Strange thing though, his wife now complained that she could not sleep because there were no plans flying over their house anymore?

You should always have ingrained into your mind the exchange rate especially when paying taxi drivers. Friendly as they all are, especially toward the end of a long journey. So I'm sitting there thinking "nearly 2 hours and his meter says 5900 D, what is he going to charge extra for the luggage, the night sky, the air that we breathe etc." So he managers to get the total to 6800 D, the smallest I've got is a 10,000 D so I'm now thinking 6,800 D is about £13 and give him the 10k and "keep the change". That's a £7 tip for a £13 fare! What am I doing? Of course by the time this has dawned on me, about 2 seconds, he is in his cab and history.

Anyway, into the hotel and again, was there going to be some confusion with the name change? "Do you have a voucher?". “er…voucher?”, Hand over recently e-mailed copy of voucher in wrong name. No problemo! and in room 2 minutes later. Tip chap with 1,000 D and flop on bed, we actually, really made it!
Check out room, scrape off socks and underpants and phone brother Alan to tell him we are there but I did not like the shower unit 'cos it's got a curtain and not a glass panel.

The relief was good but the night was, as yet, relatively young! Wash and brush up and out to get something to eat. Outside every restaurant there is always some guy dressed in a shabby mohair coat trying to drag you into his place speaking passable English and telling you the food is the best in Athens. In we get dragged, to Fridas's place just round the corner from the hotel. Pretty good meal and wine, bill comes 36,500 D. Divide by 2? Multiply by 6 and a half, add a few cattle and sheep, who knows? Pay bill with tip, 41,000 D inc. tip.
Next day discover that math was not too good and have been ripped off to the tune of £80 for one meal. Spend whole day grinding teeth and then go round, against wife's wishes for confrontation with sleazy waiter. He most upset (NOT) and points to wine list and most expensive wine on bill i.e. £36. Never ask a waiter to recommend a wine on your first night in a foreign city, which, of course is what I did. Leave restaurant by leaving a number of expletives and recommending he spends the rest of his life somewhere very hot.

This hotel had a safe, simple to use, you put in your chosen 4 digit code, pressed enter and then close. To open, 4 digit code then enter and sesame! We chose our standard ATM pin code, used it for years, all the family used it. So there am I sitting on the throne, reading as usual. In the bedroom I hear "beep, beep etc." for quite a while. Leave throne, after completing necessary paperwork to find Tricia sitting in front of the safe punching in various, but wrong, combinations. Every time you use a wrong number you have to wait an increasing amount of seconds until you can try again.
After a while it kicks you off for 5 minutes. Twenty minutes later no dice or rather no passports, money etc. I knew, but she did not, that the reception always has an "override" code, but I knew it would break her little heart if I told her. So I guess I exacerbated the situation slightly informing her that we would be stuck in rain sodden Athens forever with no money and they would have to use a thermic-lance to force open the safe. "I put the right numbers in, honest, but the numbers it flashed back before closing were not the ones I put in". Yeh right.

Anyroadup, reception had to be called, I was F'd at by wife for the wind up. The number she initially put in bore no relationship to any combination we had ever used. But guess what? It was all my fault 'cos we should have used four 9's, "'cos it would be easier to remember!" What a fool I am.
It is a little known fact, to me that is, that it rains in Athens from January to March. This was the end of March and it was raining, we saw the sun only once during our stay.

Due to the overcast weather, sorry rain, decide against any day trips, so.....
Friday, visit most sites including the Acropolis, must admit it's all pretty interesting.
Saturday, ditto. Sunday, ditto. We only got lost once and now know Athens like a resident. We visited every museum or place of “interest” in Athens. I now know that the Byzantine period lasted from 454 AD until 1453 when the Ottoman Empire crushed and captured Constantinople. There is a fantastic painting in the Natural history museum that shows a courtroom packed with guys in formal, turn of the century, black, business type suits, except for one guy in the Greek national costume. You know, red hat, white top and tights and shoes with bobbles on them.
Tricia wanted to scrawl underneath the epitaph “I’m going to get the bastard who told me it was supposed to be fancy dress”, but I pressed her not to.

Exiting Athens.
Last day, Monday, and all we can do is pack, bag split, breakfast and stooge around in the gloom until it's late enough to go to the airport. Tricia is in eat mode so we end up in her favourite place on the edge of the flea market and she has lamb and potatoes again, me beer. Back to hotel, pick up bags and order taxi at 3:40 p.m. for the 8 o'clock flight. Taxi comes and I don't even want to put my bags in it! It is dirtier than my garage after I’ve done an oil change on the Mini!

Traffic is actually worst than when we arrived and our taxi gets lost "they keep moving the roads, honest gov”, or Athens equivalent. He also has the annoying habit of talking with his hands at 120 kph when we finally find the motorway. Airport, and our flights not on the board because it's full of "late departure" signs. Go to information after standing for about a hour, hoping to get numbers 1 & 2 boarding tickets for the flight. Our check in desk is the other side of the airport, we get 31 & 32.
Hurry up and wait, hurry up and wait, should be the motto as you enter any airport. Bought some stuff and went through "immigration" and radar etc. Found McCafe, an offshoot of Macdonald’s I had never heard of. Have you got......? No, er, no fresh out, the cat’s eaten it, the van does not come round on Mondays, etc..So we settled for 2 beers and a "four" cheeses pie? Which only tasted of one thing and that was not cheese. Then went through to gate, better cafe available on other side! No G&T however so settled for two very, not ordered but delivered that way, large Dimple whiskeys to use up some of the remaining D's. As we queued Tricia noticed a lady with a small baby, "anywhere but next to that!" We know all about kids on planes, we have suffered 2 of our own.
Numbers 31 & 32 were eventually called and we boarded what turned out to be a 75% full plane, therefore spare seat between us again, yippee! But the kid was behind us ALL the way.

Push back was supposed to be 8pm, it was now 8:30 p.m. and "sorry but the airbridge will not detach from the plane and we need the get an engineer". That would be a Greek engineer of course. No problem it seemed and took off at 9 o'clock and looking forward to Luton, London, Gatwick and then home!
Minor but important point, if you have D's left, EasyJet have their own exchange rate. Instead of the 545 D's to the £, they use 666 D's to the £. The 3 6’s set me on a train of thought about the Greek owner of EasyJet. A 25% reduction so pay with £'s and change at home. Also don't expect to pay any less, in fact more, on the plane for drinks, eats etc. two sandwiches, 1 beer, one G&T, water and crisps cost £16, go figure.

Plus point! Just remembered that Thames link goes from Bedford to Brighton calling at Gatwick and when we arrived at Luton proved to be true! Missed the 10:42 pm due to airbridge fault again, did we actually carry the bloody thing with us? Now on 11:42 pm train, getting in at 1:15 am. Called Adam and he said he would wait up, with friends, which of course means there is no food or drink left in the house.
Unfortunately Heather is back with old boyfriend again (on / off relationship for two years) and so had the Yaris, Mini buggered again, so he can not pick us up. Back to Taxi plan.

Was it all worth it? You betcha, will not be forgotten. This "free" holiday cost £800+!

But what is the vote on Athens then? It’s got a real sense of history, great markets and wonderful food. Many menus are similar but all are great eating. Try the Retsina, you will either love it or hate it. The people are honest and friendly, always haggle and just enjoy your stay.

Bonterra Park 17th June 2009

What a day, 37 degrees at highest and it was still 29 degrees at midnight!

Went to the port, on bikes, because Alan needed to, don’t ask. Although he used to cycle a lot, London to Brighton a number of times, it’s been a while since then. His main worry was that his knees would give out.
Although it’s 8 miles to the port I told him it was only 4 and Tricia, who has ridden there at least 3 times, didn’t contradict me. After about 5 miles “How far is this port then?” “Just up the road a bit” When he finally figured it out it was too late but he was OK because his knees were not bothering him. What was bothering him though was his “crown jewels” as he put it and when we finally got back he could not wait to “cool” them down in the pool.

Tricia asked how much the bike hire was. “€10.50”. “Well then why don’t you give me €5 and I just bash you in the goolies with this baseball bat, that way you’ll have the same effect of a cycle ride and you get to save €5.50 into the bargain?”
He took the bike straight bike and never to use it again.

I insisted that we should watch a DVD, “Dark Knight” was chosen and I fell asleep.
"This is Weatherspoons!"

On the evening after eating at reception, OK’ish, because the restaurants we went to did not have menus or prices and we were not confident enough to order..
So stayed up and drank and talked, Tricia drank a whole bottle of fizz after 3 beers and when she finally went to bed, about 12:30 am, “Do not wake me up in the morning!”

However she did get up about 8:30 and we all proceeded to have a “lazy” day, i.e. do bugger all. In the end we went for a walk along the beach, which was now quite crowded. Getting to the end we had to use a shower to get the sand off our feet. Tricia had a blond moment. The shower unit had four nozzles with four push buttons under each nozzle; she put her foot under one and then presser the button of the one she was standing under. Result; soaking wet, sand still on feet.
Into café and beers, then back to MS.

Alan is always talking about all the “skivvies” he has working for him and I just figured out this does not just mean anybody who gets him a coffee first thing in the morning at work. No, it refers to everybody on the planet. I was just coming back from washing the dishes and there he was sprawled out on my lounger. “Any chance of a cup of coffee and some cake, now that you are finally back, squire?”

Tonight it’s BBQ and tomorrow Alan goes back to Blighty. Above "The cake eating machine"

Another lazy day counting off the minutes until we can take “the cake eating machine” back to the airport. As we were taking him there, I dropped a few hints about, it being a 100 mile round trip (twice), diesel was getting expensive, I had forgot to bring any money etc: subtle things like that. Result, the long pocket won again, nada, not a sausage, zip. If he and Ron C found a penny in the road they would invent copper wire.
Typical "Tricia lunch" TWO baked taties.
Big notice in reception “Wednesday no water all day and electric will go off now and then. For inspection purposes”. So, the big wash day is going to be today. See the new invention, clothes line and prop.

Bonterra Park 12th June 2009 (2)

Was talking to Colin, the “Monster” owner and I noticed that he had a pair of “Long Vehicle” plates on the back of the trailer that he tows his Smart car on. “What’re those for?” He told me that all vehicles over 12m needed them. I did not notice him pointing to the MS when he said, “How long is it?” “That’s a rather personal question, Colin….Oh sorry oh that thing”.

So it turns out I need them as well. Funny enough I should have figured out myself because on a number of occasions, on the way down here, we have been overtaken by cars that obviously just thought we were a motorhome, not something 13.5 m long. They barely made it!

Now I have been known, on some very rare circumstances to utter the expletive “WHAT!” when presented with something I deem to be overpriced, termed by our friends the Swans as “The Swinhoe WHAT”. In Spain however this has been replaced by “QUE!” Pronounced “KAY” as in Faulty Towers.

Well we went to the store in Valencia, Juvi, a kind of Halfords, to get the said items. They are a thin piece of rectangular tin approximately 4” x 16”, centre yellow and red tape around the edges. Not a lot of English spoken at the shop but managed to get, by pointing, what I wanted. Quanto vale? (How much are they) “€veintiuna”. Right, now numbers, let’s think, sounds like a “one” is in there somewhere, now what’s that “Beheenteh sound?” 10? Could it be 11? Hang on that’s a 20, €21!!!! EACH!!!
“QUE!”
We eventually agreed on €17 but I only bought one, I thought I’ll just cut in half.

Well the time came round and we had to drive down to the airport and get the “SWAN”, they was no way round it, he had ignored all the subtle hints, “We don’t want you here!” etc. But as he was bringing the Branston Pickle nearly all could be forgiven. Apparently son Adam had taken it and other essentials round to Swanny’s office, Air Engineering, Alan had explained that if he was going to take it at all, it could not be in a glass container because of airport security. Those thieving buggers would have it away and it would jacket potatoes with cheese before you could say Jack Robinson. So between them, they came up with the idea of pouring it into a Tupperware container and sealing it with duck tape.
By the time he gets on the plane Alan is thinking, “If I get stopped by the Spanish customs, what the hell am I going to tell them what it is?”

So there’s him arriving, notice the pocket low down on his right leg, he can’t reach it. It’s where he keeps his money.

Well we got back in the dark, had some beers, king prawns in garlic butter, more beers then bed. He tucks up in that.

Up at 7’sh, walk to beech then to town, back for coffee and cake, then the pool.
Swan decides to text the lads back home “sorry, will not be making it to Wetherspoons tomorrow night, might just stop here”. It’s 34 degrees and warming up.