David was from the Welsh Valleys. Decades in Australia hadn’t diminished his distinct lilt. I’d learnt a little Welsh at school. Grew up in Pembrokeshire I explained. But hadn’t used it for over a quarter of a century. He laughed. Adding it’d been over half a century for him.
He’d greeted me as dusk fell. Some sharp pulls to reach his small camp site five miles or so south of Kenilworth. Seemed I was the solitary camper. Could make myself at home in the covered kitchen. Pitch indoors. Even a clean towel to be found in the laundry. Left behind in the Easter rush.
Tags: camping, Kenilworth, Wales
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