On a bright, clear morning, we wandered aimlessly around Brixham, never far away from supervision. Ruth took lots of pictures of the colourful waterfront and the replica of the Golden Hind before we left for the short sail around Start Point to Dartmouth. Mrs G had phoned ahead to confirm there were berths on the visitors’ pontoon still available. Apparently, she had decided we would be mooring up, not in Dartmouth itself, but at Kingswear on the eastern side of the river. My father seemed disappointed, but I hoped it might turn out to be a blessing in disguise as far as getting away from watchful adults was concerned....read more
We had made good time to Chichester, turned off the main road and headed for Appledram Marina. Dad inserted his pass and up went the barrier in robotic salute.
There were few people about, but the clubhouse seemed to be well patronised. “Would you care for a snifter after your ordeal, Son?”
“I’m not really bothered about booze, Dad, but I could do with a cup of coffee. Don’t let me stop you though. I expect your ordeal was far worse than mine.”...read more
A short walk brought us to Room 7 and after the young woman pressed a button, Aunt Win’s Welsh companion answered, confirmed admission and the door opened automatically. Upon entering, dad and I paused in the entrance vestibule, shell-shocked by what was indeed a spacious fully furnished apartment
Aunt Winifred was barely visible at the far side of the room next to a panoramic window overlooking the rolling Sussex countryside and the Parish church nestling among lofty trees with their cavorting rooks... read more
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