Poole, Dorset

This travelling is exhausting Marge. We'd not long been in bed last night when a third van arrived. Four times the side sliding door was opened and shut within a few minutes of its arrival. Oh no, not again! Vans like ours are not called 'slam and bangs' for nothing. But please, owners, don't overdo it. 

This morning a fair breeze blew down the canal. The revellers from the narrow boats, in bed by ten with not a note of loud music played, sat in their chairs, mugs in hand, dark glasses shielding their eyes. A pair of swans beat their wings noisily on the water as they clumsily took off, just what you need if you're hung over. 

Sometime today we must return home. We have a funeral to attend tomorrow, a French door being fitted Thursday and visitors for the weekend. No time for galivanting this week Marge.

But before leaving Devizes we walked into town to buy lunch which we we ate sat by the canal, watching the visitors and the world go by. Nearby a young man was fitting a window in his van conversion. When he'd finished, where would he travel we wondered.

Late afternoon soon came around and we took one last look at the little blue tit as it poked its head out of the cigarette waste box it had commandeered as its chosen nesting place.

Back at Poole, the Magic of Thailand Festival was over and the hasty packing up of stalls begun. We walked down to the quay hoping that all the rubbish left by the weekend revellers would be cleared away by the council workers in the morning. Open mic night was underway outside one of the bars and we stopped a while to listen. We have had an enjoyable time away in Marge this last week and realise how lucky we are to have the opportunity to go off in her when ever we choose. We hardly dare say it, but she's been on top form recently. 

Fox cubs spotted on our way home looking out from their den under someone's decking on our estate.