Hotfoot to Saundersfoot

Days passed and we eventually got to the end of term. We had agreed to meet at the campsite with our kit and set up base camp, Rhian with the tent and airbeds and me with the table, chairs and cooking kit. I packed the car and drove down to Kidwelly. I followed the TomTom, missed the turning for the campsite and had to loop back on myself eventually going up the drive. I stopped at the neat and tidy farmhouse and asked directions to the pitch. The owner pointed me in the right direction saying, ‘You are in luck, your friend arrived about three quarters of an hour ago, I think she’s already put up the tent’. It was a sunny day and I arrived to find Rhian hot and tired but triumphant, the tent pitched and the beds inflated.

We unpacked.

‘So, ‘she said after a while, when we were sitting outside in the sunshine, ‘Explain this dress thing’.

‘Well, its like this. I wanted to raise more cash for charity, and I think it’s mean to keep asking the same people. They have been so generous already. I decided that I needed to get other people involved and there’s this Archers site on Facebook that I use.’

She interrupted, ‘The Archers? Or radio 4? That Archers? They have a Facebook group?’

‘There’s a few. Anyway, there’s this one, Archers Appreciation, and they have got a bit of a thing going about this hideous pink dress that’s on sale in M and S. It’s really awful and they all go into the shop, try it on, take photos and upload them. Its fucking hilarious.’

‘It might suit you?’

‘Trust me, this thing wouldn’t suit anyone. And I look like an ambulatory blancmange in it.’

‘And you are going to wear it? Why exactly?'

‘I asked them if they would sponsor me to £300 quid and said I would wear it while we walk. They are a generous bunch as well as being bonkers. they gave me quite a lot of sponsorship and I'm a woman of my word.’

‘And the banana outfit?’

‘That was Connie’s idea, when I got to £500 quid.’

‘So, I will have to walk with you, looking like a banana?'

‘Yup’

To be fair to her, all she did was roll her eyes a bit. She is a very patient woman. Too right I am! The word "saint" springs to mind!

‘I’m going to look like your minder.’

‘True’.

We had a cup of coffee and decided that we would have a short walk up walk, without the dress that afternoon, walking from Tenby to Saundersfoot. Just a little leg stretcher of 4 miles.

As Helen reports, on arrival at Waungadog Farm I was greeted enthusiastically by the owner, who, having had some jolly banter with Helen via email was a tad disappointed to discover that I was not her. However, he showed me to an immaculate pitch in a field where a couple of Winnebago affairs were parked up across the way, but was otherwise all ours. I set about putting up the tent, and shortly afterwards, Helen showed up.

We talked, as she says, about the pink frock and the banana outfit. I like to think I took it all womanfully in my stride, and we turned our thoughts to a swift walk from Tenby to Saundersfoot that afternoon.

We lost no time. We parked in Tenby’s multi-storey car park, the idea of which always amuses me. I know Tenby is an extremely busy place but somehow it seems incongruous. Anyhow, parked up, we had an ice cream overlooking the glorious North Beach, took the obligatory photo, and set off.

I love Tenby. If anyone fancies a holiday in Wales, Tenby would be a fantastic place to visit. It's a proper, old fashioned, seaside resort. There are stunning beaches, great places to eat and drink, an atmospheric town wall, historical buildings, a Palmerston fort on an island and lashings of excellent ice creams. It is the sea side town that the Famous Five would visit for a holiday and then find some smugglers. I used to come here as a kid and desperately wanted to find some smugglers but it was not to be. I had to make do with the Summer Special Bunty comic which was full of tales of derring-do by girls in boarding schools. The Four Marys was on of my particular favourites. they always had some crime to solve. The OFSTED report on that school would be shocking!. I loved those comics. So did I. I used to get one at the start of the week's holiday and try to make it last. So did I. I would always finish it too soon and badger my parents for another one. So did I. I also wanted to cut out the doll on the back and make the clothes fit her, but we never had card and I was never that neat at cutting out so the clothes would fall off or the tabs would break. Same here. God, but we were easily pleased. Can you imagine trying that with a 10 year old these days? They would cast you a withering look and go back to their iPad. But I digress...

This is a view of the Palmerston Fort on St Catherine's island from a café in the small museum opposite. I adore the use of Rambunctiousness on this window and will strive to use it more in every day life

The fort had many uses over its long history. I remember walking to it at low tide as a child. It was a small aquarium at the time but had a section on nocturnal animals. I was wildly excited at the thought of seeing them but it was the day time and they were all having a kip so I was disappointed. You have to really wonder at the marketing meeting that came up with that idea. 'Let's make people pay money to see animals sleeping!', although, to be fair, there are television programs not much better.

It was very warm. We got lost. We found our way again. We headed uphill past the cottage hospital towards Waterwynch. I was wearing a pair of cropped jeans with my walking boots, and this, I soon realised, was a mistake. The walking was lovely, with views back to Tenby and of the sea to our left, but the heat was causing chub rub in awkward places. I was used to Helen and her feet, but I usually escape without this kind of issue. I felt as if I was going to explode, I was so warm. I had begun to walk a little like John Wayne, who, as my mother always said, couldn't stop a pig in a passage. Mothers could be damning, back in the day. my mother would always say, of Kirk Douglas, 'You can never trust a man with a cleft chin'. She had similar views on men wearing white socks.

The steps in the Mines of Moria. Rhian was Frodo to my Sam at this point. But Frodo with chub rub. This was supposed to be a gentle introduction to the weeks walk and was proving harder than I wanted. I was very out of shape.

The path led through some shady trees which was a relief, and we passed families puffing up towards us, red faced, from the nearby caravan sites heading towards town, some clearly wishing they had caught the bus. We headed downhill, knowing that there was an uppy coming, and in fact this stretch of the path turned out to be a somewhat taxing 4 miles or so. We realised we were out of practice in this sort of walking. After all, Helen lives in a place that makes the Russian steppe look hilly, and I hadn’t done any walking to speak of since the previous summer’s escapades.

The chafing and sweating in the jeans area was becoming very unpleasant and it was something of a relief to head down the busy hill that brings you to Saundersfoot harbour, and an excellent choice of watering holes. It was a lovely sight. We decided that we deserved a fish and chip supper before heading back to the campsite. The Boathouse overlooked the marina and the beach and gave us a huge plate of food each, which, quite frankly we polished off like Scooby and Shaggy (you can decide which one of us is which) after a particularly challenging adventure where the caretaker is uncovered as the bad guy.

Historically, Saundersfoot was a port serving the coal mines just inland at Stepaside, and the tramway forms a part of the coastal path that we would be walking next, eastwards towards Wiseman's Bridge and Amroth, with narrow tunnels cut through the cliffs in places.

Saundersfoot has changed since I visited a child, staying just outside in a holiday cottage with my parents (one of their better choices of accommodation). I recall it being very, very busy, attractive, with a great beach, fish and chips, candy floss, tourist tat and amusement arcades. Nowadays, however, Saundersfoot is an even more attractive place to visit, with its revamped marina, independent little shops, upmarket spa hotels, smart holiday lets and privately owned holiday homes. It has also become something of a foodie paradise with a varied selection of places to eat, which Helen and I inspected with interest. The locals have invested huge amounts of time and energy on their little town and beach and it really shows.

https://www.stbridesspahotel.com/dine/marina-fish-chips

The restaurant is owned by the same people who own the St Bride's Spa hotel which is also excellent.

A taxi took us back to Tenby, the driver being suitably impressed by our exploits, and we drove back to the tent, chub rub thankfully a thing of the past.

We had some wine before retiring to our pods to sleep. Alcohol is entirely medicinal when you are walking and takes away the aches of the day (and the chub rub). This is, of course, the ONLY reason that we indulge. You will notice the camping table and light. This really was going to be a camping holiday, all be it one with certain luxuries.

I was excited to be camping, and as we settled down in our pods we chatted and laughed, and anticipated the adventure to come. The weather had started clouding over as evening came, and there was quite a breeze building up around us. Our flaps were flapping but we dozed off into a comfortable, cosy sleep. I recall waking to hear spots of rain on the tent and the wind now blowing hard enough to push the tent out of shape, but snuggled back into my sleeping bag. The wind, at times, was pushing the top of the pod into my face. I was being smothered by my accommodation and this confused the shit out of me since I was only half awake at the time.

It was at midnight that we were woken by an all-encompassing racket that almost made my ears bleed and made me exclaim"Jesus Christ!"involuntarily. Helen said something similar from the other side of the tent. Disorientated, heart pounding, I sat up - had world war broken out above Kidwelly? Lights strafed the sides of the tent! Were they after us? Something (possibly an alien craft) seemed to be hovering over us. Were they going to take us to their mothership? Wild thoughts raced as did my pulse.

"What the hell is it , Hel?"

"God knows! Have a look!"

Have a look? I sighed. I knew that of the two of us I found it easier to clamber out of my rucksack and get vaguely upright, having watched Helen try this earlier and laughed heartlessly at the sight. She can be callous on times. I crawled out of my sleeping bag and my pod, aircraft engines screaming around us in surround-sound and spotlights flashing across the campsite. I unzipped the door, peeking out, half expecting to see the SAS and snarling attack dogs approaching, or a luminescent quasi-human creature from Area 51, lost and trying to find its way home.

I saw, what seemed like ten feet above us, in the faint light of a cloud-covered moon, a bloody great helicopter. Its rotor blades added momentum and chaos to the wind that was blowing and the noise was incredible. At that moment it stopped hovering ( they probably saw the sheer terror on my face) and lifted off again into the sky, gradually disappearing into the dark. Was the pilot lost? Pendine RAF base wasn't too far away - perhaps they were trying to get there and Google Maps had misled them?

Whatever the case, the sheer terror had exhausted the both of us, and we slept the sleep of the grateful dead.