Author: brian.sheasby@outlook.com

Now above our bed is a skylight. At precisely 5.50am a couple of early birds decided to perform a song and dance routine for us – how kind. Oblivious to the fact that they had an invisible audience just three feet below,  their routine started with a bit of a natter and light banter, then developed into an excited chatter while their feet padded up and down as if they were dancing on burning embers, to be followed by a lot of hyena like laughter (perhaps they did know we were below) until it culminated into a wierd sounding cacophony of siren like calls. (did you guess they were seagulls?) The sky above was steely grey, but the sleepy air below was as blue as saphire.

Still the upside of this was that our MOHO hadn’t shifted from its spot.

I have to sort out our MOHO satnav. It seems to think its last location was somewhere on the continent – probably because it was built and shipped from Italy. I heard somewhere that you’ll get a better destination fix if you enter latitude and longitude coordinates. Ha! So far it has always assumed we’re the other side of the channel and warns us that we need to take a ferry crossing, and be prepared for multiple tolls and gives us on average a choice of 19,000 plus routes to choose from!

With tom-tom on board, google maps on our phones, a road atlas of Great Britain plus written intructions in the club site book you’d have been forgiven for thinking that even Steveland Morris could have easily navigated to our next overnighter at Trewethett Farm site – with pitches enjoying spectacular views across to the nearest craggy headland.

We got to within 2 miles of the site, found ourselves confused and disorientated and considering whether it would simply be easier to phone the site, cancel and move on to our next stop.

We (me) can be extremely stubborn and 55 minutes later, the penny dropped, and we whooped with delight as the cliff top site sprang into view.

We could do with staying here a couple of days, but it’s not to be. However we relaxed (if that’s the right word), shook off our doubts and brought ourselves back to sanity by walking into Tintagel via the 2.5mile coastal path. Wonderfully refreshing, with a picture perfect delight around every turn.

Sleep came easily.

When picking up our four wheeled beast I was persuaded (cus I’m a newbie to this lark – surprise, surprise) to purchase a few “add-on” and most essential items. These included a piece of clear plastic 8ft piping with one of those old rubber tap adaptors on one end. The type I remember from the 60’s, before Hozelock came along. You know the perishing type, when not often used they’d go dry, flaky and crumbly. When I queried the wisdom of this, the answer came firmly back with a “this is all you’ll need to cope with all the different types of taps you’ll ever come across, here and on the continent”. So I duly parted with my twelve quid, confident I’d added another piece of valuable kit to our MOHO armoury.

That confidence was sadly eroded as we pulled in to the water fill up point on our departure today. The tap staring me in the face was fitted with a bog standard Hozelock clip-on attachment. Could I wrap our new and super stiff pipe onto it? No way. At first I tried the full wrap over technique and tightened my grip until my knuckles turned a deathly white and the veins on the back of my hand looked as if they were ready to pop at any second. This had the effect of creating a Geysir like gush, shooting what seemed like ten gallons of icy cold water up the length of my arm and drenching my armpit. The tube was transparent so we could see how far the water had managed to reach – about three foot short of the filler hole. Ah! then we noticed a couple of kinks. Even with sorting those out it was still like trying to suck up pop through a straw with a flattened end. A trickle was how Mary-Ann described it. However, with a little perserverance, a slight change of technique and a lot of time on our hands, we did (so we thought, but discovered later we hadn’t) fill the tank to its brim.

We loved this site and its location with so much to see and do that it’s on our “must visit again list” Beastie is parked high up to the left across Rocky Valley.

We are now feeling like seasoned MOHOers. There has been one curious side effect of travelling around Cornwall and now into Devon however.

And that’s that we now unwittingly converse to one another in super stylised accents that would convince even the likes of Josh Widdicombe that we were “locals” born and bred. (even if he wasn’t) Having been to France a few times, we have on occasion been subject to one or two spontaneous French lessons on the best way to pronounce certain words. And so it is down here. They have different rules about which is the best syllables to place the accents on and they don’t mind telling you. Tintagel being a typical example. They like you to pronounce it the way they do. So it’s not pronounced “TIntagel” but “TintAgel”. Comprends? So we now speak posh with a yokel slant – or rather slarnt. It is particularly effective with certain swear words.

Four nights on fully equipped sites to get us “broken in” to life on the road and now we’re enjoying a torrential downpour on the most amazing farm site just a hop, skip and jump west of Banwell, about 10 miles from Cheddar. We ate dinner while our eyes feasted on the stunning view over a very pituresque water scene.

On arrival, we’d stretched our legs with a short investigative walk into the village and on the way back been treated to a glimpse into the early life of eleven ducklings as they were being safely ushered  along by their guardian parents – dad up front leading the way, mum behind keeping a look out.

Woke up this morning with the realisation that I’ve been morphed. Transformed a la Tony Hart into a new being. A time warped state of evolution has kicked in.

After his change of heart, Darwin always looked backwards to where he thought we’d originated from, never daring to reconsider where we might be heading, for fear that the truth would be re-revealed.

Well Charles,  it’s all about being in the right place at the right time and you were born a century or two too early, for I can now reveal the truth you searched for.

Six days ago we set out on this trial trip (trial being the operative word) and I started this journey at what was then considered to be the very pinnacle of the evolutionery tree “HOMO Sapiens”, but this morning my discovery is plain to see and I can personally witness to the truth that man’s future is as MOHO Sapiens!

Say no more . . . . .

Beauty and the Beast below (which is which – answers on a post card please)

“Le Journey” continues 8th May (or should that be “La Journey”? – anyway, we’ll soon find out . . . .