Returning from the Hebrides, I chose the longer sailing (but shorter overall journey) via Oban, which passed without event bar the world's worst vegetable curry courtesy of CalMac. It really was the utter pits, but there wasn't a lot else available, and five hours is a long time…
Still, it was a beautiful afternoon. Although this has to go down as the saddest view in the world in my book:
At least afterwards we were rewarded with liquid fire in the sky over Mull:
I made it as far as the Lake District before pulling over at a Caravan Club Site and passing out gently in the Late Night Arrivals area.
The plan for the next day was to head to Burrs Country Park to stay the night and visit a Manchester friend, but the Universe conspired against it and I ended up parking the Airstream outside the lovely house of some friends in Hereford who had kindly offered an open invite for many months.
I had a lovely stay with M&G, both of whom work as long-haul cabin crew for my favourite airline. Nothing strange about that, but they had three dogs, two horses, and a plethora of rescue ex-battery hens.
It intrigued me how they managed to look after the animals while having such jobs, but they worked it well and on the very few occasions they are both away, there is a support network to take on the animals.
As I left the following day, M told me that I really should get a dog. It's something I've always wanted, but as I still 'do the day job' twice a week, it was something that was always going to have to wait till retirement.
Or was it?