Unreserved apology. I’d been unjustly grumpy the previous evening. Staggered to discover a pitch would cost me thirty two bucks – over twenty pounds. Soon dark. Moving on no option. Besides, the other two local sites belonged to the same owner. The State Government. Same prices.
Limp offerings doing little to lessen my frustrations. Cost based on two adults. And power was available at the pitch. Struggling to conceal my irritation at their absolute lack of flexibility. Eventually conceding I’d have to cough up. But I wanted a towel. WiFi. And if I’d had something hungry for electricity – a linear particle accelerator or similar – I’d have plugged it in.
Only consolation the generosity of other visitors. Two Lorraines, Reg and David inviting to join them for dinner in the camp kitchen. My offer to wash-up rejected lest it upset their system. Gary insisting I share a proper breakfast with him. Bacon, eggs and toast. Mug of tea.
