Hello all.
I have just looked back at yesterday's offering and corrected a couple of spelling mistakes and I noticed that I was just about to return to the Bistro/Bar believing that the Bingo would be over.
As I opened the door to the bar a jovial young woman was announcing that the bingo was about to begin. I bought a pint and joined the others who had their tickets at the ready.
I must say that bingo has changed a lot since I last played. Firstly there are a lot of rules about serial numbers, claims, false claims, noise in general and messing about. Also there is an enormous screen or two showing the number as it is called, and all the numbers that have already been called. And, there are no balls. And there was no attempt at hamming it up with the usual calls of - two little ducks "quack, quack", Kelly's eye, Maggie's den etc. Where has all the romance gone. I don't know!
Anyway, I was given the responsibility of marking a card for the final round. The jackpot was £180 I think. I did the job alright and concentrated for all I was worth, but I have to admit to hoping that I wouldn't win. Imagine if I had a false claim. She had after-all explained the rules very precisely. Thankfully, I didn't win and neither did any of us.
I went to my van to crash out. But before I could go to sleep, I had to check that I had got the bus times ready for the next day's walk (today). I discovered that there are no buses running on a Sunday. Scuppered!
Once again Jack and Jen came to my rescue with an inspired plan. I would walk from Woolacombe to Braunton, leaving my van behind on the campsite and Jack would drive it to Braunton for me to find when I arrived. There are plenty of things that could have gone wrong with this, but it worked to perfection.
Memories of Stetsons
Jennie and I have had some great times in Woolacombe over the years, with friends, and on our own. One occasion was memorable because of the way that it turned out.
We took advantage of an offer in a newspaper that reduced the price of a stay at the Royal Hotel. It was for 2 nights and we arrived looking forward to our stay there. We started to realise that something was different when we saw a man in full cowboy outfit standing in the queue for reception. This was compounded when the lift doors opened to reveal a family of mum, dad and two teenagers dressed as cowboys, chaps, spurs and all.
It turns out that we were staying at the Royal during a line dancing convention and general jamboree of all things line. The strangest thing was that it appeared to be a totally joyless event. It would be hard to find less cheerful cowboys.
At dinner that evening we queued up with all the line dancers to get our meals and found a table. There weren't any waiters as such, so I went over to a member of staff and asked if we could have a bottle of wine?
"A bottle? We normally sell it by the glass".
"Well we can drink a bottle quite easily. So can I have a bottle of red please".
He went away then returned a few minutes later.
"I'm afraid we don't have any bottles".
"That's ok, don't worry about it".
Later that evening, as the line dancing was getting going, Jennie and I decided that we wouldn't stay for our second night. And we didn't.
You usually get what you pay for!
Memories of Foxes
One time Jennie and I were walking on Baggy Point, which is between Woolacombe and Croyde. We sat down on a bench to have a snack and we saw a family of foxes, which were incredibly close to us and appeared unaware of our presence. Three very young cubs were playing about, while their mother watched on. There was no sign of the father.
While I was walking along the path at Baggy Point today I remembered the experience and went off into a flight of imagination about the whereabouts of the father, who had left all responsibility of childcare to the mother.
I played with a couple of ideas to amuse myself. Was he feeling a bit sorry for himself after a night on the Speckled Hen (a beer). Then I imagined that some people might think that "a night on the speckled hen" might have connotations of unfaithful romance.
Then I realised my elemental blunder - a fox is a mammal and a hen is a bird, so it could never happen. After all, it would be like a human feeling romantic towards a sheep for instance. Clearly preposterous!
Instead, he must have been on the Crafty Fox (another beer).
Apart from the walk around Baggy Point, I found the walk today was a bit boring and rather a slog. I was actually craving a hill. Am I going hill crazy? This is the second time I have walked this stretch of path and I don't think I will be doing it again in a hurry.
If, like me you have dodgy knees, you will be well aware that the style is an instrument of torture. At the moment, my right knee will only bend so far without causing me to groan in agony. This means that I have to find a method of getting myself over the style without bending my right knee. It's very tricky and involves me having to overbalance more than I want to. There is a strong risk that I will topple and come crashing to the ground in an embarrassing and painful tangle.
I have just looked back at yesterday's offering and corrected a couple of spelling mistakes and I noticed that I was just about to return to the Bistro/Bar believing that the Bingo would be over.
As I opened the door to the bar a jovial young woman was announcing that the bingo was about to begin. I bought a pint and joined the others who had their tickets at the ready.
I must say that bingo has changed a lot since I last played. Firstly there are a lot of rules about serial numbers, claims, false claims, noise in general and messing about. Also there is an enormous screen or two showing the number as it is called, and all the numbers that have already been called. And, there are no balls. And there was no attempt at hamming it up with the usual calls of - two little ducks "quack, quack", Kelly's eye, Maggie's den etc. Where has all the romance gone. I don't know!
Anyway, I was given the responsibility of marking a card for the final round. The jackpot was £180 I think. I did the job alright and concentrated for all I was worth, but I have to admit to hoping that I wouldn't win. Imagine if I had a false claim. She had after-all explained the rules very precisely. Thankfully, I didn't win and neither did any of us.
I went to my van to crash out. But before I could go to sleep, I had to check that I had got the bus times ready for the next day's walk (today). I discovered that there are no buses running on a Sunday. Scuppered!
Once again Jack and Jen came to my rescue with an inspired plan. I would walk from Woolacombe to Braunton, leaving my van behind on the campsite and Jack would drive it to Braunton for me to find when I arrived. There are plenty of things that could have gone wrong with this, but it worked to perfection.
Memories of Stetsons
 |
| The Royal Hotel Woolacombe (probably under new management) |
We took advantage of an offer in a newspaper that reduced the price of a stay at the Royal Hotel. It was for 2 nights and we arrived looking forward to our stay there. We started to realise that something was different when we saw a man in full cowboy outfit standing in the queue for reception. This was compounded when the lift doors opened to reveal a family of mum, dad and two teenagers dressed as cowboys, chaps, spurs and all.
It turns out that we were staying at the Royal during a line dancing convention and general jamboree of all things line. The strangest thing was that it appeared to be a totally joyless event. It would be hard to find less cheerful cowboys.
At dinner that evening we queued up with all the line dancers to get our meals and found a table. There weren't any waiters as such, so I went over to a member of staff and asked if we could have a bottle of wine?
"A bottle? We normally sell it by the glass".
"Well we can drink a bottle quite easily. So can I have a bottle of red please".
He went away then returned a few minutes later.
"I'm afraid we don't have any bottles".
"That's ok, don't worry about it".
Later that evening, as the line dancing was getting going, Jennie and I decided that we wouldn't stay for our second night. And we didn't.
You usually get what you pay for!
Memories of Foxes
One time Jennie and I were walking on Baggy Point, which is between Woolacombe and Croyde. We sat down on a bench to have a snack and we saw a family of foxes, which were incredibly close to us and appeared unaware of our presence. Three very young cubs were playing about, while their mother watched on. There was no sign of the father.
While I was walking along the path at Baggy Point today I remembered the experience and went off into a flight of imagination about the whereabouts of the father, who had left all responsibility of childcare to the mother.
I played with a couple of ideas to amuse myself. Was he feeling a bit sorry for himself after a night on the Speckled Hen (a beer). Then I imagined that some people might think that "a night on the speckled hen" might have connotations of unfaithful romance.
Then I realised my elemental blunder - a fox is a mammal and a hen is a bird, so it could never happen. After all, it would be like a human feeling romantic towards a sheep for instance. Clearly preposterous!
Instead, he must have been on the Crafty Fox (another beer).
 |
| The view from Baggy Point to Morte Point and Woolacombe Sands |
Apart from the walk around Baggy Point, I found the walk today was a bit boring and rather a slog. I was actually craving a hill. Am I going hill crazy? This is the second time I have walked this stretch of path and I don't think I will be doing it again in a hurry.
Styles or Gates
If, like me you have dodgy knees, you will be well aware that the style is an instrument of torture. At the moment, my right knee will only bend so far without causing me to groan in agony. This means that I have to find a method of getting myself over the style without bending my right knee. It's very tricky and involves me having to overbalance more than I want to. There is a strong risk that I will topple and come crashing to the ground in an embarrassing and painful tangle.
The gate on the on the other hand requires no bending of the knees. The gate swings open allowing the rambler to walk through to the other side.
Let's hear it for the gate - a marvellous invention.
My family have been incredibly supportive of me, leading up to, and during the walk and I'd like to say something about that.
I have three grown up children - Rebecca (Bex), Joe (Bonzo) and Lucy (Lulubelle).
Lucy has been a marvel by having patience with me while she set up my Facebook pages and is a constant support, giving me technical advice and doing a great job with the admin. She was brilliant in coordinating my parking and camping arrangements recently. She is always ready to help with a smile.
Joe did a brilliant job on the van (more of the van later). It is fitted out with everything that could be needed. Joe has done a lot of wild camping and has advised me in this area of expertise and has made sure that I have a method of purifying the water I will be collecting for drinking.
and
Rebecca lent me her iPhone charger.
All three of my kids are marvellous and are extremely precious to me.
Take it easy.
Rob
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