The Runway with a Pedestrian Crossing

If you’ve never flown to Gibraltar, it’s almost worth it for the airport alone. We initially arrived by car, from Spain, and were very surprised when we had to stop and wait for a plane to land. The road, and path, go right across the runway, and all traffic and pedestrians are stopped before the planes can land. Football matches in the nearby stadium also have to be paused, just in case a ball should escape and roll into the pathway of an incoming plane.

It is both bizarre, and rather wonderful. We weren’t there long enough to walk across it (my family were keener to see the wild monkeys) but it’s on my ‘one day’ list.

When we left Gibraltar, we managed to experience the little airport from the inside. I checked the Google ratings before we left, as I wanted to see if there were cafes. I was interested by the one-star ratings (they’re always the most interesting reviews to read, and often tell you more about the person writing it than the establishment being reviewed). Most of the one-star reviewers for Gibraltar airport were Spanish and based their rating on the belief that the airport was on land stolen from Spain, so shouldn’t exist anyway. (Not getting into the politics here, but am tempted to whisper the names of the cities in Morocco owned by Spain even though they are clearly within a different country.)

There was also however, an interesting review by someone who admitted that they had never actually landed in Gibraltar—as every time her flight had been diverted to Malaga. We investigated further, and discovered that unless the pilot can clearly see both ends of the runway, they will abort the landing and fly to Malaga. Which means of course that the aeroplane is then in the wrong place for the departing passengers and they all have to be bused to Spain. This caused a little consternation for Husband who tends to arrive at the airport 16 hours before the flight (just in case) as the family (all strangely strong-minded given their submissive parentage) were not easily persuaded to travel hours before the flight to a little airport which we could walk to in twenty minutes.

All was fine though. We arrived at the airport a couple of hours before the flight, and the check-in desk was actually open (a rare novelty for my family). There was then an excited few minutes when the boys spotted the price of the alcohol in the duty-free shop (I didn’t know it was even possible to buy Vodka in bottles that big!)

We walked from the airport to the plane. I was lucky enough to be sitting between chatty daughter and chatty husband, so it was quite difficult to finish reading my book. Daughter then looked at her holiday photos, and spent a happy hour deleting all the selfies that the boys had taken when she left her phone unlocked for a few minutes.

Final checks were done, the crew took their seats, and I concentrated hard on my book as we hurtled down the runway, trying to not think about all those cars and people who had been crossing a few minutes earlier, or about the length of the runway and the deep blue sea that was waiting at the end. Then we were up, Gibraltar was falling away behind us, and our holiday was finished. Thank you for sharing it with me.

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If you enjoyed this, you will love my new book: The Sarcastic Mother’s Holiday Diary.
I have always written a diary on holiday, so last Christmas, I decided to find all my old diaries and blogs, and make a book for my children. However, several other people also asked for a copy, so I have written a public version – it’s available on Amazon and has been described as “The Durrells meet Bill Bryson”!

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The Sarcastic Mother’s Holiday Diary is available as both paperback and Kindle books.

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Lisbon to the Algarve

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Breakfast. Boys only 10 minutes late.

We did a quick trip to the supermarket. After the trip to E.coli Service Station, everyone is a bit sensitive about where our food is from. Bought a range of breads and crisps and plastic looking cheese slices. My bread rolls have a use-by date of Jan 2019, so I’m not convinced they have much that’s natural in them. But hopefully that includes bacteria.

Left the Sheraton, Lisbon, at 11:30. The resort in the Algarve only had a P.O. box address, so Husband looked on their website and entered the town name—Praia da Falesia—into the SatNav. All seemed fine.

After driving for about an hour, the SatNav directed us off the motorway. J checked, and said he thought it was probably avoiding the traffic queues which were ahead. The roads grew smaller and smaller. When we were directed down an unpaved road, we began to suspect something was wrong. Could the SatNav have been tampered with by a gang of criminals, who were waiting to rob and kill wealthy tourists they had led to remote Portugal? No. There is another Praia da Falesia, a farm, in the middle of nowhere.

We found a very long route back to the correct motorway (some of the roads needed tarmac, but Husband didn’t comment). We passed several trees, which we worked out were cork trees, as all the lower bark had been removed.

We stopped at services for petrol and washrooms (not food). There were many queues. Husband had to queue before he could fill with petrol, then fill the car, then queue again to pay. This took 20 minutes, Which meant the people 3 cars behind had an hour’s wait. Crazy system. The washrooms were awful—over used and under supplied.
J touched a remaining half-Twix which was bought at the food-poison services. Why? Why do we even have an E.coli-Twix in the car? Is this normal? We showered him in hand sanitiser.
I’m not sure what happened to the E.coli-Twix. Sometimes I block things.

We found Pine Cliffs Resort in Algarve. Had rather more trouble finding reception. Drove 47 loops of the resort. It looks very lovely, with white buildings and fountains and beautiful gardens. Shortage of useful signage though. Eventually we found the reception, and received the keys for our ‘villa’.

We are staying in Pine Cliffs Residences, which is a little flat with hotel services. We have 3 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, a lounge/dining room, and a kitchen/utility room. They clean and change the towels and replenish the toiletries, just like in a hotel room. It’s pretty.
Unfortunately, it also has quite a lot of ants.

Family went to one of the swimming pools, Husband and I went to the Intermarche to buy food for lunches. And ant powder.

The resort has several restaurants, but they were very expensive (we were quoted €40 per person). A short walk away, there are several restaurants and a supermarket, so we used those. They were much cheaper, and still nice—in many ways they were better, as the resort is full of English people, and it was nice to eat in places that Portuguese tourists ate.

We had dinner in Ristorante Pizzeria S. Martino—a nice Italian restaurant with a good selection of pizzas. I had a nice gnocchi dinner, followed by a horrible marshmallow ice-cream (which tasted of bubble-gum).

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A Day in Sintra

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A Day in Sintra.

On a clear day, you can see Sintra from Lisbon. Husband suggested that we spent a day there, but a quick perusal of his guidebook, and we all declined, as it looked boring. The following morning at breakfast, M said his Portuguese friend had said we should definitely visit, and he’d checked on the internet, and it looked really interesting. He showed us exciting pictures of deep wells you could walk down, and fairy castles, and we all decided to go. Husband said very little.

Most online reports about Sintra said you shouldn’t drive, as there is nowhere to park and the walk to the palace is very steep. However, most online reports were written by tour companies, who earn their living transporting people to the palace, so we ignored them and drove. Parking in Sintra was something of a challenge, because although there was a massive car-park (where a person could lose their car for several days) there were not many spaces. As people returned to their cars, a man rushed to stand in the space, and his friend then guided arriving cars to that space and charged a fee. We managed to avoid both scammers and a fee, by following a returning parked pedestrian, and then parking in their spot.

R then led us down lots of hills, and then up the same hills, to Quinta da Regaleira. This had very pretty grottos and follies, and way too many tourists. The best thing was the Tower of Initiation, which was the deep well we’d seen in pictures. It looked better in the pictures than in real life.

I wore practical clothes/shoes for the trip. I avoided full-length photos. However, as our next task was to walk up a mountain, I was quite pleased I had worn my big trainers. We walked up (a lot of up) a narrow cobbled road, diving into bushes to avoid the coaches which filled the whole space, and tuk-tuks whizzing down, so you hoped the 10 year old driving had good brakes. I think these are the people who wrote those reports.

We reached the palace, and more long queues. There were queues to buy tickets, then queues to enter the grounds, followed by a super-long queue to enter the actual palace. To increase the challenge further, there were two queues to buy tickets—one to a ticket office and one to a machine. Quick family discussion to decide strategy (not my genes) then family split; satellite group going to machine queue, main group staying in line for ticket office. Can life get more exciting? (If you prefer a less exciting trip, you can save time and buy tickets online at home.)

The castle was amazing. Ferdinand Ⅱ built it as a summer palace for the royal family. He commissioned Eschwege, a German architect who was well travelled and wanted to incorporate lots of different elements. It has parts that show Islamic influence, as well as Medieval elements. He said he wanted it to be like an opera—and it sort of is. It was completed in 1854. The last queen of Portugal, Queen Amelia, spent her last night here before she fled to Brazil. It really is amazing—sort of Taj Mahal meets Disney.
However, there were too many people, and too many queues. Some rude people managed to push in and not queue (clear psychopathic tendencies) so I took their photographs.

The inside of the palace was pretty, but with so many visitors it reminded me of the slow shuffle through the Vatican, and it wasn’t as worth seeing. The best part is the outside.

There is lots more to do in the area, like the Castle of the Moors, and of course the palace gardens and Sintra itself. But we were tired by the time we’d seen inside the palace, so we returned to the hotel via about 25 different motorways (car has a weird SatNav).

A nice day, if somewhat exhausting. Thank you for reading.
Hope you have a nice week.
Love, Anne x

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A Day in Lisbon

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Lisbon in a Day (because everyone was ill for the other days!)

Everyone was better, so we caught a metro into the city. We walked through the old part of the city, saw some squares, found the castle. J couldn’t find a fridge magnet that matched his set. I couldn’t find a cork cushion cover. We did however, find a queue. We weren’t sure what the queue was for, but we’re British, we joined it. Turned out it was for the castle (8 euros) so all good.

The castle had great views of the city and very long lines for the washrooms.

We walked back along shiny cobbled streets, trying to not slip. Flat summer shoes are bit of a problem in Portugal, as they tend to have slippery soles, and most of the streets are shiny cobbles. Heels would be worse. I think the best footwear would be wellies really.

While waiting for our order to arrive, Factoid Boy explained that food cravings are actually due to the bacteria in the gut. So if, for example, you stop eating a food type (sugar) for 3 months, that bacteria (the sugar-eating bacteria) dies, and you don’t crave it anymore. This information enhanced our meal no end.

We went back to the hotel. The family swam in the pool, I did a quick Google search for postboxes in Porto. I can happily report that the sculpture where we posted our cards is also a real postbox.

Lisbon has interesting metro stations, with sayings and gargoyles on the ceilings and walls. You can recharge tickets when they have expired, which is cheaper than buying new ones.

We walked through Arco da Rua Augusta (a big archway) to Praça do Commercio (big square). Saw a little beach.

Walked to a very nice Italian restaurant—La Vita e Bella, on Rua da Prata. The Portuguese waiter said he preferred us to speak English rather than bad Portuguese, as it was easier to understand! We ordered a starter platter, which filled us up so we could hardly eat our main courses, and sangria (and then picked out all the ice because everyone is being very sensitive about tummy health!)

I got a migraine, due to eating meals at weird times. We went back on the metro, and a blind man got into our carriage, begging for money. He had this weird metallic stick and instrument, and walked up and down the carriage making loud metallic tapping noises to attract attention. Was possibly the worst noise for a migraine ever.

Thank you for reading. Tomorrow we plan to visit the palaces at Sintra. I will tell you about it in another post.

Thank you for reading
anneethompson.com
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Arrival in Lisbon

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Left the Sheraton Porto after breakfast, and drove down to Lisbon. Husband had helpfully brought a supply of CDs to entertain us during the journey. There was no obvious CD player in the car.

We stopped en route at a service station. This was later to have great significance. It looked clean, so we decided the food hygiene would be okay, despite the rather disgusting toilets. Portugal has a lot of disgusting public toilets. In my travels, most countries have cleaner washrooms than England, but not Portugal—wear shoes and take your own paper, and try not to breathe in.

Arrived in Lisbon and booked into another Sheraton (Husband gets different perks with his travels too often with work card, so we like them). One perk is the use of the hotel lounge, so we dumped our bags and I sat in the lounge with the boys, drinking free beers (them, not me) whilst looking across the city. David and Rebecca went swimming.

We caught the metro into the city, and walked around. It seems grander than Porto, but not as pretty. We went to a burger and lobster place for dinner. In Portugal, the burgers don’t necessarily come with a bun.

M began to feel ill. Then J began to feel ill. I took them back to the hotel in a taxi, Husband and R caught the metro back. We all made it without incident. There then followed a terrible night for the rest of the family, and one of those days you would rather forget. They all had food poisoning—my bet is that it was from the service station, perhaps E.coli on the salad preparation area. I survived unscathed. Not sure if that was due to taking probiotics (I always take probiotics when we travel, because I have a naturally nervous stomach). It was such a shame.

I went into breakfast on my own the following morning. I took a book to read, for support. I am rereading JOANNA as I never read it after it was published—for fear of spotting mistakes I wouldn’t be able to change. (It really is, rather good!) The buffet was lovely—even better than the Porto hotel. But then I had one of those ‘car-park’ moments—I stood there, with my plate of food, and had absolutely no idea where my table was, and no tall boys to guide me back. Wandered around the dining room, trying to look as if I just fancied a stroll. Spotted my book on the table in the corner, and hurried back to my seat. I don’t think anyone noticed.

As the family were all too ill to leave the hotel, I set off on my own for the prison, which we could see from the lounge, and a park. (If I am honest, the prison interested me more than the park.) I found a building that looked like a church, and walked all round it, trying to find a way inside. Someone came out, so I went towards the door, but was shouted at by three policemen, so am guessing it wasn’t open to random tourists.

Walked through the park. There were Olympic wreaths atop tall pillars, and a fountain, and a view right down to the river. At the exact moment I went to take a photo of the fountain, it stopped running. Bizarre.

I made my way to the prison, unsure if it’s against the law to take photos of a prison wall. Next door is the court house, a huge building, with some very cool pictures in tiles all around it. They depict scenes from the Bible, and the scales of justice, and are not particularly friendly (but perhaps a courthouse is not meant to be friendly). As I walked around the outside, a man appeared, on a bike, with a backpack that was blaring very loud opera. He circled the courthouse a few times, the music fading and growing loud again as he passed me. It was very strange. Was he signalling to someone inside the prison? Was this a weird tourist attraction? Was he a security guard, surreptitiously spying on me? After about 6 loops of the courthouse, he cycled away.

I walked back to the hotel, but it had gone. Tried to find it on my phone, but the map had also gone. Sent text messages to the family, who told me to turn on data-roaming. Managed to find hotel.

Family were well enough to eat at a local Pizza Hut. It was surprisingly very nice. Especially the sangria.

Thank you for reading. I will post of more of my holiday diary soon. Take care.

Love,

Anne x

Thank you for reading
anneethompson.com
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
Anne E. Thompson has written several novels and one non-fiction book. You can find her books in bookshops and on Amazon.

Why not buy a copy today? I think it will make you laugh.

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Porto, Portugal: Family Holiday Diary 2018

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Porto – Sunday

Woke 7am. Weather is cloudy—hope no one notices.

Metro into Porto. Wandered down to the river, which is very pretty. Crossed the bridge to Gaia after lunch. Eating here is very difficult, as all the restaurants seem to be fully booked or closed. Which then makes you wonder why the ones with vacancies have vacancies.

On the bridge a young man was standing on the balustrade, wearing swimwear, waiting to jump. Gradually, a crowd gathered, waiting to watch. Would he plummet to his death? Be run down by one of the large pleasure boats passing beneath the bridge? Or dive spectacularly and emerge on the bank? I think none of the above. When a fairly large crowd had gathered, a group of his friends passed amongst them, asking for money. I never saw him jump and I think it was a scam. Later, a different young man was standing there, waiting to jump. Perhaps I should have pushed him in.

The Gaia side of the Douro river is the north side, so it gets less sun. It’s where all the port cellars are. We saw the signs for Taylor’s, Graham’s, Cockburn, and Calem’s. We had a tour of Calem’s. Tour guide was very witty. At the end, we sat and tasted three different ports ( a proper, small glass, of port, so a proper taste not just a mouthful). This was great fun, we each liked a different port, and one of us drank rather a lot by the time he’d finished off all the glasses that other people weren’t keen on.

We then left, via their shop (not stupid the port-making people). The port was much cheaper than you can buy it in England, and came in nice gift boxes and bags, so we all bought some as gifts. I’m not sure that it all actually made it back to England with us, but I won’t say any more about that. It was an excellent afternoon.

Portugal is one of the main cork growing places in the world. They are trying to increase the popularity of cork by using it for products other than wine stoppers. So as we walked around, we saw lots of shops selling postcards made of cork. We all bought one for our mothers/partners who are back in England. We passed a postbox with a fun sculpture next to it, so took lots of photos and posted our cards. Then we worried that the postbox was just part of the sculpture, and not a proper postbox at all. Tried to retrieve cards, but it was impossible. All the post-offices in Portugal seem to be yellow–so why would there be a red English postbox? I fear we may never see those cards again.

Walked back to the metro and stopped for ice-creams. When the train arrived, there were lots of people, so I quickly jumped onto the train, the doors shut, and the train set off. I then realised I couldn’t see any of my family, and I had no idea of which station I needed to get off at, or how to get to the hotel from the station. Felt rather abandoned. (When the children were small, I had strategies for this sort of disaster—now they are all super-competent, they sometimes forget me.) R sent me a message, telling me which carriage they were in, and which station to get off at. Found them. Will keep a closer eye on the group in future.

I had a nap, while the males tried to book a restaurant for dinner. The males failed. It was raining (raining!) so we got taxis back to the cathedral. (The cathedral didn’t get a mention earlier, because I didn’t like it.) Walked to several fully-booked restaurants. Found one, next to the river, with okay(ish) food and okay(ish) service. No one got food poisoning, which is the main thing.

Walked back to the metro in the rain.

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Anne E. Thompson has written several novels and one non-fiction book. You can find her work in book shops and Amazon. Why not buy one today?
(I think the best one is CLARA – A Good Psychopath? which shows how someone very bad, can achieve something amazing…

Portugal

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Family Holiday 2018—Portugal

We had planned a family holiday for the last two weeks of August. As the date grew nearer, the whole of Europe was gripped in a heatwave. We watched as temperatures in Portugal went over 40, and saw wild fires on the news. All rather a worry.

Saturday

We met R at the airport. J had been helpfully sending her updates on our progress (wrong airport, earlier flight, left already) but we managed to meet her at the bag drop.

All good with the flight. I sat next to M/factoid boy, and therefore knew lots of facts about Portugal by the time we arrived. Some of these were interesting, for example, did you know that the Romans called the region known as France and Spain ‘Gaul’ and we were going to the area that was the main port, hence ‘Port-o-Gaul’? Or that, an exploring nation, the Portuguese discovered Newfoundland? However, after trying to establish a colony there they left, saying there was ‘nothing there’—hence name ‘Ca nada’.

We collected a car (smaller than expected) and drove to Sheraton Hotel in Porto. The hotel has a glass lift. It was quite noisy when my family went up in it.

We walked to the metro. Buying tickets was slightly more complicated than we first thought, as ‘number of tickets’ means number of journeys on a single ticket, not number of tickets. Once we had sussed that, it was very easy, though I’m not sure my family was the fastest user of the automatic ticket machines. We caught a train to the old part of Porto.

We ate ice-creams in Freedom Square. Factoid Boy ate custard tart, as this is apparently a traditional food in Portugal. We then wandered around, taking in the atmosphere. There were lots of cool designs done in tiles, especially the railway station (Sao Bento Station). It was built in 1916 (most of Europe was too busy that year to build fancy stations with tiled patterns).

Family spent 6 hours looking on Trip Advisor for a nice restaurant for dinner. R didn’t feel the ‘Traditional Steakhouse’ that J recommended would necessarily cater well for vegetarians.

Finally ate at A Despensa—a lovely Italian restaurant. It had a great atmosphere, and we all like Italian food. The only problem was the washrooms, which were gender specific but only inside the door.

Metro back to the hotel. Rather tense discussion about what time we would meet for breakfast. Went to bed, slept well. Holiday going well so far.

Thank you for reading. I’ll post another instalment of our family holiday diary soon. Why not sign up to follow my blog so you don’t miss it?

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Mini Review of Camber Sands

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Well, our holiday at Camber has finished, and we both survived. We had a nice routine, with me working (inefficiently) for the morning, then meeting for lunch. We then ‘did our own thing’ until 4pm, when we went to the beach, followed by tea, then Netflix until bedtime. All very civilised and relaxing. It was also nice to spend time with just Mum, to properly listen to her stories about the past, without having to rush off to do things. Camber Sands, out of season, is ideal for this.

We stayed in a holiday cottage on the White Sands estate, and this was ideal. Mum called it ‘Toy Town’ and with all the little houses, I know what she meant. We walked around, guessing which ones were rental homes and which ones were lived in. I’m assuming that most people don’t, by choice, have ornaments of sea-gulls and anchors in their normal homes. Many of the gardens were full of lavender, and it’s all very pretty.

There are a few places to eat in Camber, even out of season, though some were closed until July or working limited hours. So the fish and chip shop was only open in the evenings (though you can get very good fish and chips from the friendly man with a ponytail, in the cafe on the grass carpark, near beach C). We ate a couple of times in Dunes Bar (5* hygiene rating and friendly staff) and sometimes drove to The King’s Head in Playden (which has the above plus the best food, I think).

I prefer Camber in the winter, when you can walk the dog along the whole beach, but it’s cold. Even in the summer, it always seems to be windy.

We had very good weather. It was always windy, but it was dry, and warm in the sand dunes. On Friday, the main road was quite busy, which gave a taste of how it must be in high season, when I imagine it would be fairly difficult to cross the road if you’re a slow walker (which one of us was).

The beach is flat and sandy – so great for kids wanting to build sandcastles or old ladies who like to paddle, or dogs who want to dig and bounce through waves. The east end of the beach is where all the water sports enthusiasts are allowed, and when the wind is right, you can see lots of coloured kites with mad people attached. (I did offer to pay for Mum to rent one, but she made lots of excuses.) The carparks all seem to have toilets, and there are plenty of bins to put your bags of dog mess (so no excuses for cleaning up after them people!)

However, the tide comes in unevenly, so you have to watch out so you don’t get cut-off. This can be dangerous for non-swimmers. And there are rip tides, which are dangerous for swimmers. They now have life-guards on duty (which I’ve never seen before) and signs telling you the tide times and where is safe to swim. One day there were jellyfish in the water, but I have come to Camber many times, and never seen them before, so perhaps we were just unlucky. Another hazard is towards the Rye end of the beach, where at low tide some of the sand is oily. It is the wet sand, and your feet sink into the sand and then come out black, which is very unpleasant, and bit of a worry with the dog, who was most unhelpful about being taken into the sea to be washed. I still maintain that wellies are the best footwear for a beach (see last week’s post).

The marshes around Camber are beautiful, and there are paths and cycle routes through them. You can hire bikes in Rye and Camber (ebike-hire.com 07960 587482). While we were there, the fields were full of poppies and chubby lambs and water birds.

So that’s it, a quick review of Camber Sands. If you would like to also borrow my mother to take for company, I’m sure that can be arranged.

Have a good week.
Take care,

Love, Anne x

Camber continues…

Posted by anneethompson

Well, you’ll be pleased to know I have managed to not murder my mother, so far… In fact, we’re having a rather nice time, here at Camber Sands. The little cottage we’ve rented is turning out very well, everything works, and there are a few novelties. I am enjoying the Nespresso machine, Mum was unexpectedly taken by the spy-hole in the front door. I haven’t liked to ask how often she stands there spying on the neighbours. Even the dog is happy, as she simply adores the beach.

The beach is great, though we did have a near-disaster yesterday, as we hadn’t realised the tide was coming in, and we were walking along a sandbank, completely oblivious to the water rushing in between us and the beach. It wasn’t dangerous, just annoying, as I had to get my jeans wet wading across to the beach. Not helped by a particularly bouncy dog who thought it was great that I was finally joining her in the sea.

Today we had another disaster – not our fault – as we decided to go to Rye for the day. I hate driving, and find it particularly stressful driving through towns I don’t know, trying to find a carpark. And I know Rye has lots of one-way streets. There is a map in the cottage, but it doesn’t show the one-way streets AND it has South at the top. So it’s all backwards. (I find this completely irritating – who would draw a map with South at the top???)

Anyway, when Mum suggested that we could catch a bus into town, it seemed like an excellent plan. I took the dog for an early walk (ignoring her when she pulled desperately towards the beach path, as I didn’t want her to get wet, so she had to settle for the fields) and checked the timetable at the bus-stop. There are buses every hour, so we planned to catch the 11:13 bus, wander around Rye, have lunch, and catch a bus home early afternoon. Perfect – or so we thought.

We allowed plenty of time to walk to the bus-stop, so were there about 11:05. We stood at the shelter, and I worried they might not take notes or cards and I didn’t have enough change. At 11:13, there was no bus, but Mum, who catches a lot of buses, assured me they are often a few minutes late.

At 11:30, we made friends with the other lady waiting at the stop, who said the buses are often very late, and sometimes don’t arrive until about 50 minutes after their due time. She had been there before us, and had a very cute little dog, called Benjie. She said it was a new timetable, it began at the beginning of June, and previously there had been buses every 30 minutes rather than every hour. Mum then chatted to her (about the weather/her dog/what it’s like living in Camber/her political views/religion/her sex life, etc, you know what elderly ladies are like) and I moved slightly away and hid behind my sunglasses.

At 11:50 the bus arrived. Happy days. Chatty lady got on first, and was told: “You can’t bring the dog on, there are already 3 other dogs on, I’m not taking any more.”

Chatty lady said she’d been waiting nearly an hour, but the bus driver was adamant, he wasn’t taking any more dogs. Chatty lady got off the bus.

Mum and I stepped onto the bus. The driver said, “I can only take one of you.”

We stared at him. (I nearly asked which one – but decided it wouldn’t be polite.) Mum asked why. Driver said the bus was too full already (it was) and passengers weren’t allowed to stand beyond the blue line (a line – blue- painted on the floor). There were people standing almost up to it, though they could have all squashed back a bit. But Mum said she needed a seat, and I could see that there weren’t any, and I really couldn’t face the conversation with random strangers about which one was going to give up their seat for her, so we too got off. Bus then sped away, and we walked back to cottage. The dog was pleased to see us.

We ate in a pub in Camber instead, and had a nice time, and will take the dog on the beach later. But it was a bit of a shame, especially as until recently there had been more buses, so we’d have got a seat. It must be infuriating for chatty lady, who was local, to have the bus to Rye full of holiday-makers so she doesn’t fit on it. Perhaps the bus company will reconsider the cuts for the summer months. I hope so.

Thank you for reading.

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Camber Sands with Mother

Posted by anneethompson

Mum said she wanted a week by the sea, and I can write anywhere, so I told her that if she didn’t mind being ignored until midday each day, I would take her to Camber Sands. Am hoping we don’t murder each other.

Other people’s reactions to the news were telling. My children all declined to join us, citing work/parties/washing their hair as plausible excuses. My siblings all advised I take lots of alcohol. My friends all said, “A whole week? Gosh!” I expect they were jealous.

We set off on Saturday. The dog filled the whole boot, so I told Mum we could only take what would fit behind her seat. I packed the dog, my stuff (one tiny bag) and the food (quite a lot of bags) and went to collect Mum. Her stuff was already packed, and in a long line down the front path and round the corner and half way to the next town. But we managed to fit it all in. And I quite like eating bruised apples and crushed crisps, so it’s fine.

Arrived at the cottage in one piece, despite my dodgy driving and fairly useless brain and completely useless SatNav. We have rented a two-bedroomed house from ‘Beside the Sea’ cottages. It’s on a little estate of pastel coloured houses, and is 3 minutes walk from the beach. The house is pretty small (Mum suggested we could empty a cupboard for big smelly dog to live in) but it’s very pretty. It also – most importantly – has a shower with decent water pressure, an outside hose (for rinsing big smelly dog) and two washrooms. There are also a few luxuries, like a Nespresso machine (am on my 4th coffee this morning and the world is buzzing) and Netflix. The owners have included helpful things like capsules for the dishwasher and hand soap for all the sinks, and we arrived to cake and biscuits and a bottle of wine. All very nice.

After a quick cup of tea, we walked to the beach. I don’t know if you know Camber Sands, but in the summer months, the only part of the beach where dogs are allowed is accessed via sand dunes. Dragged Mum over one the height of Snowdon but we made it to the beach. Tried to take selfies – realised neither of us were very good at this, and we now have several photos of our feet, and the sky, and the dunes. Both dog and mother went completely nuts and insisted on paddling. Mother told me she thought I was completely ridiculous to be wearing wellies on the beach in June. But I have lived with Husband for too long. And I hate sandy feet.

Sunday: I took the dog for an early run. The tide in Camber goes out for miles and miles, so we had a good walk. The only other people out there were fishermen digging for lugworms. I worried a little that the tide might come in and we’d get cut-off, but there were no warning signs (only about riptides for swimmers) so we walked 27 miles out to the sea and back. Kia chased seagulls and brought me dead crabs and stones to throw. (I didn’t throw the dead crabs, in case you’re wondering.)

Met Mum and we walked to the little wood and brick church on the main road, next to Pontins. People seemed friendly, and there was coffee and cake afterwards, which Mum stayed for as she likes chatting to strangers, and I didn’t, as I don’t.

We had lunch at The King’s Head in Playden. I’ve been there before, and it never disappoints. It’s pretty and cosy and the food is lovely. Spent the rest of the day walking and reading and watching Netflix.

This morning I walked along a footpath towards Rye (I couldn’t face even more sand and wet dog, I figured one trip to the beach a day would be fine.) The path went past fields of chubby lambs and great pools of deep water with fishermen next to them, and was lined with poppies. Camber seems to have lots of poppies in June. Came back to write this, and will now do some work. So far the week is going well, and we are both still alive. I’ll give you an update next week.

Thank you for reading. Have a good week.

Take care.
Love, Anne x

Anne E. Thompson is an author of several novels and one non-fiction book. You can find her work in bookshops and on Amazon.
Thank you for reading.
anneethompson.com

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