A Womb with a View…..

Last night we decided to try our luck in the pub again. Added to that it is the only source of entertainment near the campsite. So off we trotted, stopping to take a photo.

There are literally no children on the campsite. It’s like a scene from Chatty Chitty Bang Bang. So as a result I get full dibs on things like this around the campsite.

The pub was empty albeit for three locals in a corner. Pete went to get the drinks. I could hear him asking if they had wifi in the pub. No, the landlady said, we haven’t got any. The WiFi here is rubbish as all the tourists take it, she proceeded to say. Having no filter that she was saying this to a bona fide tourist. Now, I’m not very scientific but I am not certain that’s how it works. Fully expect headline news in the local paper…’Tourist steals local WiFi.’ Anyway the landlady said all this with the broadest of Birmingham accents. Oh the irony!

Meanwhile the locals in the corner were getting louder and louder. A woman and two men, possibly a couple with their twenty something son. You see, the woman shrieked, you see, I haven’t got anything down there. Nothing, absolutely nothing, it’s basically a womb with a view. You know, she repeated, now for the third or fourth time, it’s a womb with a view! She then went on to ask the men when they stopped liking sex. It was all a bit too Vagina Monologues for me.

On reflection this morning over breakfast Pete pondered whether this had been a ploy to get rid of the WiFi stealing tourists. Think it worked. But maybe if that is the case they pick the most gynaecological topics to discuss when the WiFi stealing tourists are present and then when they are left they can get on with their normal conversations about the merits of Chekhov and the finer points of Nietzsche. Then if they spy a WiFi stealing tourist they can start chatting loudly about the finer points of genital herpes or the best place locally for colonic irrigation.

Not certain if the tables had been cleaned. When I tried to pick up my mug off the table it was so stuck on it that I nearly spilt my tea. Perhaps they are too busy keeping their WiFi safe from WiFi stealing tourists to take any notice of a global pandemic.

We had a nail biting game of Carcassonne. Pete whooped me so wish I hadn’t re explained the rules to him. I also blame the lady who has a womb with a view!

Anyway, it is now official we are the only campers here in a huge area. Although very strange, it is actually rather lovely. Had a bath/shower in the toilet tent, which was rather pleasant. Probably even more pleasant for anyone we come across.

Ilfracombe isn’t too far from the site, maybe a mile and a half. On the way I saw a few things that interested me.

We passed this too… Having problems with my tablet so the picture doesn’t directly follow.

Someone had scratched underneath ‘no water’ -which was obvious as there was none. The council hadn’t done a good job repairing or God may not be praising Hele anymore. Or maybe travellers don’t deserve water when they pass as they may have stolen some wifi. When we reached Ilfracombe and went to a cafe called Annie and the Flint. We opted for it because I reckoned if it was called Annie it would be good. Had a refreshing pot of herbal tea as I watched the world go by. At one point a woman walked past wearing a batman suit, high black boots and a batman mask. The place is tiny, so it seemed odd we didn’t bump into her again. Pete said he has also seen Wonder woman but I am not convinced.

We went to a couple of second hand shops. Which reminds me of one we went into in Barnstaple. It was open but you couldn’t go into the shop. You could stand by till and point out what you wanted. It was like a Where’s Wally version of a second shop. They should have lined up binoculars on the counter as I can’t believe anyone would have been able to make anything out!

The two we went into in Ilfracombe were equally interesting. At the first one Pete had to wait outside until a woman customer had left. So I went in fully expecting her to leave fairly quickly as she had been round it already. But round again she went. She was well dressed and tastefully so it seemed perverse that she decided to go round again and pick up lots of tat inspecting it closely. She didn’t seem the person who would want or need Welsh lady shit glasses or a or a Hello Kitty money box, but asses them carefully, intently, for an inordinate amount of time. All the while Pete was waiting and had to put up with a couple who had decided to stop next to him and have an almighty argument. Pete had said to look out for something that he would like so I got a metal fish with a gurning face.

The second shop let us both in. I spotted a coat and was trying it on when a man came in and asked how much the L’Oréal blonde hair dye was. £1.50 the shop assistant said. The man, who had long, dark hair and a really long, dark beard said, I really fancy a change and maybe blonde may suit me. Well says the shop assistant, you wouldn’t be able to do it as it wouldn’t go blonde. So he replies, well if I couldn’t do it I could get one of those whatsernames, hairdressers who come to the house, they could use it and it would go blonde. They continued explaining the finer points of dying your hair as we left.

We headed to the harbour as I had booked a boat trip. Before we boarded we had time to look at Damien Hirst’s 64,foot sculpture in the harbour, Verity. He lives or used to live in Combe Martin which is nearby. Hirst donated it to Ilfracombe to help with tourists, it divided opinion from the outset.

Verity represents Truth and Justice. It was interesting to comments people were making, lots of divided opinion. A little girl asked her mum, mummy why is the skin only falling off one leg? I slowed down as I wanted to know that but her mum distracted her by asking her to look at the boats.

I forgot about another shop we went into on the way down to the harbour. It was brilliant, Ilfracombe Arts shop, representing arts and crafts from the town. I took photos surreptitiously of the ones I liked. I am sure they must have been out up that morning as so precious were they that they couldn’t have been in the shop long.

No home should be without one of these knitted dolls, a reminder of times gone by, predominantly the 1970s.

We boarded the Sea Princess for a two hour trip, beguiled by the promise of plenty of views of seals and other wildlife. As it turned out we saw a couple of grey seals bobbing really far from the boat. A little boy shouted, I can see a lobster, I can see a whale. And another child said, I can see the sheep mummy. To which she witheringly replied, we are here to concentrate on the seals.

The captain of the boat floundered, how disappointing it all was, they were there this morning, he was baffled. So we treated to the captain on full throttle, as he went into full on details about every miniscule thing. No salty old sea dog stories for us, no, we were regaled about things like how car parks were in different places. It was all made worse by a strange speech impediment, after every sentence or two he would make an odd clicking notice.

Added to that he would say, that’s a lighthouse that is and it’s got a name. That’s an outcrop of rock and it’s got a name. That’s a cave there and it’s got a name. I started to feel soporific. Pete said he was like an energy vampire (you need to see What We Do In The Shadows) and he really was. Monotone albeit for the clicks. The scenery was beautiful.

On the way back we passed another place that has caused division in Ilfracombe. The theatre. The locals call it Madonna’s bra.

It has been an interesting day. The sea air is doing me good.