The caravan park is known as a repository for those Eastenders wishing to escape the smoke and grime of the City and partake of what is known in the vernacular as a "dirty weekend". Of course there will be no such conduct on our visit,which can be termed loosely as a working holiday as I cross the Saxon settlements and traverse the fertile fields,whilst Lookout mounts the ladies' bicycle and braves the salt air as she rides the sea wall, viewing The Stumbles on the horizon whilst periodically checking her stopwatch as she shifts gear.
After the reconnoitre we reconvene at the park to compare notes. The social discourse is halted momentarily whilst I imbibe a green herbal infusion and stick my pencil behind the ears as I meditate on the day's events and Lookout enjoys a tot of the harder stuff as it finally registers with her that Jeremy could indeed have made the malign trip with malice aforethought with all the consequences that journey has brought in its wake..
You really want me to do that,Steve.? Yes,I'm rather partial to a tot of " oh be joyful ",,,,but there's a method in your madness,isn't there.?
I'll bring my little black book,,,,which is full of names, of----------------------------doctors,consultants,etc etc,,,except for a little patch the size of a postage stamp in which to enter the flimsy evidence which led to Jeremy's incarceration.
I'm sure we'd get on like a house on fire. One thing I must add though, and that is what doesn't hurt----------------------doesn't work.
I couldn't think of a better way of enjoying an Easter weekend,than being saddle-sore.! Because of the working holiday,you understand. How bracing it all sounds.
