Day 13 – A good turn for the worst . . .

Life is full of little twists and turns. Some foreseen. Some not. Some more significant than others. A fraction of a second can sometimes be the difference between a good outcome, or not.

Although aware of the idiom, measure twice, cut once, Mr S has often omitted to pause and think for just one second in order to employ that wise principle. Likewise, when assistance for a stranger is required, Mr S (as Mrs S describes) behaves like a little yappy dog. Enthusiastically eager to please and perform. Do his master’s bidding. Tail frantically wagging like a demented metronome. Ears on starters orders. Listening for the magic word – “fetch!”

We’re currently pitched up on a bland, but necessary ‘Camping-Car Park’ site. On the edge of the ancient Roman city of Augusta Emerita. Present day Mérida.

The forced increase in worldwide oil prices, have been offset by the Spanish government (how wise), reducing tax on fuel by 11%. In France, every litre that Beastie guzzled cost around €2.20; whereas in Spain around €1.70.

A pre-dinner amble to view what remains of the once six kilometre aquaduct, the perfect way to stretch off the monotonous motorway journey south-west.

At 23 meres high – precision is key in negotiating the terrain to maintain a gentle downward slope towards the city. Quite the miracle of its time.

Back at camp, Mr S needs to attend to emptying the chemical toilet. Not the most salubrious of tasks. At the barriered entrance a German couple are looking bewildered. First timers to this new type of ‘entry by app’ site.

Every web designer on planet earth, seems to adopt their own unique set of procedures to accomplish, quite often, the same result. So, when the woman approaches Mr S for assistance, he sympathetically tries to help. Having ‘been there, done that’ some eighteen months previous. However, after fifteen unsuccessful minutes of trying to talk her through the process on her phone, I suggest she pays me in cash and I’ll use my access card to get them in.

It’s at this point Mr S’s tail wags fervently. He turns and jogs away “Don’t run” she shouts. Ha! Mr S is in his element. But. He’s wearing flip-flops. Twenty yards later and ‘ping’ – right calf muscle tears.

The hobbled walk back to the couple exacerbated by the fact that in just four minutes her hubby has used his phone to crack the entrance system and has their camper sitting pretty this side of the barrier.

Having performed the same trick in Sweden, almost 12 months to the day Mr S has come prepared.

5 Stink Bugs delimited

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