We forgot the table, the Aqua roll handle, his crocs and I seem to be missing one lot of my tablets. We do this time, have my white bra if that’s any consolation. As per usual with our planning we woke to the greyist of skies and that fine stuff that wets you through. Bin run done in my big coat to keep the mizzle at bay, I sweat that much with my coat on, I don’t know if I’d’ve been better getting wet from the cloud that Broadway seems to be sitting in.
Bins emptied, cobwebs shifted, arrivals checked in, butty chucked down our necks, quick glug of water and we are Bourton on the Water CAMC site bound, all of about 25 minutes away. Formerly known as Notgrove, a site we’ve never been to before so quite looking forward to it. No toilet block and lots of grass, just praying that the sun decides to join us.
Checked in, one of the last few pitches, backing onto a lovely woodland dog walk, grass with a sprinkling of sunshine and daisies. Chairs out, kettle on, book in hand just as the clouds roll in. Not to be beaten I hold my ground and carry on reading. Birds twittering their heads off in the trees and big fat bumble bees buzzing around the grass. The relaxation button has been hit, time to switch off.
Ever the optimist I’ve brought bbq stuff for tea, with clouds threatening rain we decide to hedge our bets and get the canopy out, just in case. It’s not seen the light of day in well over a year and it stinks! It’s dripping wet through and smells like a sailor’s dead dog. Hopefully a bit of rain and a damn good airing will sort it out.
Indulge with me in a spot of people watching. In between the grey clouds, the sun pops its head out momentarily bringing out the masses. Limbs splayed, eyes closed facing the icon that we all worship, the blazing golden ball in the sky, until those blooming clouds return with a vengeance. Names have been changed because obviously, I don’t know their real names, so for this end, they remain anonymous. Edith, three caravans away regales her neighbour with tales of woe and all the problems her new van came with. Little three year old Billy diagonally across from us is screaming, I know he’s three because his Dad keeps telling him that three year olds don’t act like that, or speak to their parents like that. Victoria and David next door sit quietly, absorbing the vitamin D and observing the world through dark glasses. Stan across the way has got his Tepanyaki out and put it on his table outside, now I’m jealous,my freshly washed cadac, minus all it’s bits and pieces and switched off is now serving me as a coffee table.
Little Billy has gone quiet, too early for bedtime, maybe he did one too many things a three year old shouldn’t do. Meanwhile Margaret and Dennis’ tv is blaring out, just in case those of us sat outside wondered what was happening in the news today. Frank is lovingly polishing their e-bikes ready for tomorrow’s ride. Turns out little Billy hasn’t passed to the playground in the sky, he’s just had a nap, he’s back and refreshed and his parent’s battle begins again.
As the sun sets, we can’t see it setting but the sky has faded and the temperature has dropped a little so we know it’s on it’s way to bed, we sit and soak up the peace, just bird song, laughter from the opposite end of the site, no road noise, no nothing, just perfect.
It might sound mad but the site is actually a few miles away from Bourton on the Water and knowing how busy it can get we decided not to go, we’ve been before and sharing small pavements with hoards of people doesn’t appeal. Bibury is to provide our entertainment for the afternoon. Arlington Row is a world famous row of 17th century weavers’ cottages. Still relatively untouched apart from the small Christmas tree light set on the first cottage. Being popular, we plonked our bums on a bench and waited for the few seconds where our photograph would be people free.
With the grey clouds retreating as our stay went on, we settled ourselves for a day of well deserved rest and relaxation on our final day. Chasing the shade round the caravan I still managed to burn a bit.
A site we will definitely be going back to, bursting with flowers and a really pretty entrance. With a view like this, looking across farmland from pitch 27 what more could you want? For us having no toilet block wasn’t a problem, we are more than happy to use our own facilities, it’s much easier to roll out of bed and into the shower than traipsing across to the toilet block.
Photo of the beautiful Bourton on the Water taken on on a separate day trip.