Back home, fast

March 25, 2012

DON’T quite know where to begin.

We are back in England, having rushed home from the Ebro Delta in three days flat, due to No.2 son’s admission to hospital.

Despite my claustrophobic tendencies, which are steadily getting worse, we even braved the Channel Tunnel. I have to say I’d only do it again in an emergency. The dog wasn’t mad keen on it, either. His eyebrows were going all over the place as the train clunked its way through the depths.

Our friends in the Dordogne fixed us a 9am appointment with a lovely local vet to sort out the dog’s paperwork, and David drove the whole way, except for about 50 miles when I took over. My intention was to give him a rest, but my lack of confidence meant he had to keep watching me like a hawk.

Still we got here in one piece, and fortunately the boy is showing signs of improvement. But that’s why the blog’s been quiet for a few days and why it may well proceed in fits and starts for a while to come ….

A grey day

March 21, 2012

HAVING dried out, we’re down on the Ebro Delta in the newly chilly weather. “Just like a summer holiday in England,” observes David as we sit looking out over a scene of unrelieved grey sky, beach and sea, all merging into one.

By way of compensation there are an awful lot of interesting birds, including flamingos, slender billed gulls, 20 or more Med gulls, Caspian tern and a marsh harrier hunting just 20 yards in front of us.

Having stocked up for a small siege at the Bonpreu supermarket in Deltebre, we park for the night alongside three or four other vans at a free aire outside a restaurant, looking out over reed beds and a lagoon – all a bit desolate, really, but it's cosy in the van and things are bound to improve.

Then comes a phone call that cuts short our trip.

Oh dear, who predicted a drought?

March 20, 2012

LAST night the much-needed rain in Spain fell mainly on the Hymer.

Along with hail, accompanied by thunder and lightning  - the full Hammer Horror works, in fact. How could we have a massive hailstorm after a hot day?

Glen assumed what is fast becoming his default position – cowering beneath the steering wheel – while David ventured out to shift chairs, tables and the dog’s blanket into the shelter of the awning. He came in cradling a hailstone the size of my little fingernail in his hand.

We’d been having such a lovely, relaxing time, too. Now I was hanging out of the window in the middle of the night photographing a torrent rushing under our van - which was parked on the lowest pitch on the site - and washing our doormat away. Then the awning collapsed under the weight of water.

Just as well that we’d invested in two pairs of crocs to splash about in, and that I hadn’t got round to doing any washing to hang out.

So much for my predictions of a drought.