Survival

We went over the river last week, turned left and headed for the wilds of Wales. Always a pleasure. It was incredibly moist, as always, and wild and lovely. The little brown dog ran and ran and dug holes on beaches and went in the sea and tried his hardest to keep his unruly pack together. It's been utterly exhausting for him.

We stayed in a lovely village on the Gower, which really felt like it was at the end of the world. The sheep were walking around in the road, which absolutely outraged Bertie. They would sashay up the street ahead of him, bold as brass. He was furious. Cows and horses as well, all roaming about the place like they owned it. We are not used to such things.

The boys did things in the sea with surfboards and kayaks. I left my swimsuit at home and was encouraging from the relative warmth of the shore. The beaches there are absolutely massive, and some of them almost deserted. I seem to remember craving peace and quiet when I booked the holiday, and it was lovely to find some, although with just enough civilisation to keep everyone happy.

A self-catering holiday in Wales can be hard work at times, you know how it is, and sometimes something that you sort of need to survive. But having survived it, I can report that a good time was had by all, and that no-one wanted to leave. Well, maybe the little brown dog, he was happy to get home to where everything was familiar and in the right place and he has his people slightly more under control. Holidays are not for lightweights.