Thursday 21 April

​The facilities at Bath Marina are more rudimentary than the Caravan Club sites, but ample for our needs although I (Ray) had my customary tussle with the shower which seemed to have two settings, face melting scald or Arctic blast. Eventually I found a delicate position where the two merged and thus enjoyed temperate ablutions while pondering how long I'd have left it before asking for assistance. About 10 years I decided. As a bloke asking for help doesn't come naturally, or indeed at all. I could cheerfully set off from Colchester to East Mersea, a journey shy of 10 minutes and be somewhere around Bristol ring road before asking a stranger for directions; and only then if there was a reasonable chance I could abduct them and leave their remains at a remote spot so word didn't leak out. 

Alison suffers no such insecurities, she will leap out of the vehicle all smiles, and happily enquire about the route and return 15 minutes later knowing not only the way but also where's a good place for a meal, the exact ages and idiosyncrasies of their children, their favourite brand of oven chip and what their Doris said about our Bob at Julie's wedding. Addresses will have been exchanged and promises of Christmas cards and talk of a reunion. In the middle of a crowded concert many miles from home Alison will spy someone she met while waiting for the bus in Beeston in 1996 and dart off to catch up where they left off 20 years ago. Meanwhile her husband and I will exchange nods and maybe venture an embarrassed grunt or two about the inclemency or otherwise of the weather. 

Maybe somewhere in men's evolution the gifts of introspection and meaningful communication were less essential than naked bravado. Preparation for raiding your neighbour's settlement for a few bushels of corn, a couple of oxen and maybe a new wife or two, wasn't helped by reflections on mortality or a fostering a deep understanding of your neighbour's hopes, fears and anxieties. Meanwhile the women of both sides would probably be sitting down together sharing a brew and letting their men folk get it out of their system. Anyhow it's a talent I greatly envy. 

Anyway with such thoughts out of the way we packed up and enjoyed a grand journey out of Bath and onto the A4 through the city where the traffic was obligingly slow enough to let us enjoy the grand splendour of Bath's historic buildings. Thus our journey took us away from the crinkly bits of the West and onto smooth Cambridgeshire where we've pitched up in Comberton on the outskirts of Cambridge. The site is lovely with slight overtones of a particular Roald Dahl book.