Milford on Sea

 This morning we were all a little sad. This is it Marge, time to return home. We know, we don't want too either. Let's not then. What are you like Marge. Behave while we go into the Go Outdoors shop opposite to buy John some new walking boots. By eleven thirty we were on our way, Marge bowling happily along the A34, a road she and us have travelled many times. Stopping at the Sutton Scotney service area we discussed trying to fit in another trip before Christmas. Enough of that, you need to sort out your new house. Oh, Marge that can wait. Time to go.

Follow those soldiers driving the tank transporters. Where to? Milford-on-Sea, who wants to go home. Just one more night away, then back to Poole. 

Amazingly there is free overnight van parking right near the seafront at Milford, alongside the road to Keyhaven.

Marge meet Maureen, she's a nice little auto sleeper. Maureen meet Marge. Play nice you two while we take a walk.

Our feet slipped on the loose shifting shingle as we crunched along the path above the beach towards the Lighthouse restaurant where our brother-in-law held his sixtieth birthday a few years ago now. The temperature 18c. We of course were wrapped up in a warm coat with base layer leggings under our trousers.

We'd found summer. Where's the rain? The views across a sea of blue grey to the Isle of Wight was clear. We could easily see the chalk stacks of the needles and the red and white banded lighthouse standing proudly at the end of them.

At the last count there were seven other vans parked alongside Marge tonight. Not expecting to be away another night, a tin of curry was cracked open for dinner. It's going to be windy tonight. We know Marge around 25 mph, at least we're not high above the sea. Angela, Please make sure you're happy to be here buffeted by the strong wind. I don't want to be woken in the night to be moved to somewhere more sheltered. 

Early night tonight, Marge, we'll probably be home by tomorrow lunchtime. Why don't I believe that. I'm sure you'll want to stop off somewhere en-route. You know us too well Marge.