One of the pleasures of retirement is being able to take holiwags whenever we want.  No need to choose school holidays when prices are inflated and, worse still, there’s loads of lousy rotten kids about.

Besides cruises and package hols we make the most of our caravan.  It follows that, off-peak, the other caravanners tend to be old gits like ourselves; indeed, we are frequently the youngest on site.  I have often thought as I’ve pulled the curtain back in a shower block cubicle that one of these days I’ll find an old ‘un, pegged out and twitching on the shower tray.  Would I attempt to revive him, all pink and wrinkly, or leave him where he was and find another cubicle?

I hope not to find out.

Another observation I have is that I can bear out what Jay of The Inbetweeners says about caravan sites, that they are “dripping with clunge”.  He’s absolutely right but, of course, the talent is mostly in their eighties.  I probably couldn’t manage it anyway these days; but if I did I know they’d be eternally grateful.