One of my favourite songs is the Housemartins' 'Caravan of Love' but one of the least favourite holidays I've been on has been the past ten days worth of caravan dwelling. Mother thought that it would be a cheap and easy holiday to hire Mrs Hampstead-Hollingbourne's 3 berth carvan for this year's summer holiday so I, not having much else better to do, agreed. Now, I'm not sure if you've ever been to Seasalter on the Kent Coast, and if you haven't, don't bother, but sadly we did.
Mother was very excited to be staying some 9 miles along the coast from Reculver as she'd heard great things about Seasalte; sadly Mrs H-H's menopausal drugs must have kicked in when she bought the place, because it was truly vile. Seasalter lies on a swamp, populated mainly by sheep. The tide goes out, stays in for five minutes and then disappears for the next few hours or so. Mother was upset that she barely managed to get her new skirted swimsuit wet.
As for the carvan itself, well, it had seen better days. The fold down beds twanged when any weight was put on them, the cooker didn't work and the chemical toilet rumbled all night. There were also a bunch of hooligans staying next door who insisted on revving their motorbikes throughout the day.
Perhaps the highlight of the trip was journeying to neighbouring Whitstable, which I'll tell you more about in tomorrow's post.
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