Sally - Part 3. THE SEARCH AND THE FLOOD!

It will quickly become obvious that I am technically incompetent. Last night's blog has disappeared! So here I go again.

Before I return to "Sally" this is what sort of happened.

We had recently returned from three weeks in the Canaries. See photo below. As if you weren't already staring at it, men in envy, women in rapture!

" NO SIXTY TWO YEAR OLD MAN HAS THE RIGHT TO HAVE SUCH A MAGNIFICENT BODY!" THIS QUOTE WRITTEN BY SHIRLEY IS CARVED INTO THIS PHOTO'S FRAME WHICH SHE KEEPS ON HER BEDSIDE CABINET. SHE TOOK THIS SHOT ON TENERIFE THIS JANUARY WHERE SHE TOOK ME TO A PRIVATE MEDICAL CLINIC TO GET MY 'CONKERS' BOTOXED ! THIS 'AFTER' SHOT DEMONSTRATES THE FOLLY OF SEEKING MEDICAL PROCEDURES ABROAD !

Shirley needed a break before leaving home for a six month rest in our static caravan set, south facing over the ocean, high on a hillside in Dumfries and Galloway, so she set to on her laptop ( I now have her old one to write this on as I never got a look-in before because she spent approximately from dawn til dusk following Josh Groban and weather forecasts and live web-cams in obscure places, though occasionally allowing me to reply to an e-mail, which if I took more than seven seconds resulted in great huffs of contempt and  "Are you going to take much longer? I've got things to do!" )

Eventually after two weeks of searching, comparing, re-searching, tripadvising, and re-researching she called me through to ask for my approval or suggestions. I would always approve whatever she suggested, adding my own suggestions which would generally be immediately de-suggested. So as The Boar's Head in Ripley met all the criteria of ancient coaching inn, heavily discounted and with breakfast, evening meal,  free entry to the castle grounds and teasmaid in the small double for only slightly more  than a fortnight's full board in Mauritius we decided to book, ignoring the fact that of the 40,000 guests who had written about their stay one had complained to reception that she had been woken by what she suspected had been a cyclist passing the end of the street, moaning that the receptionist, a lovely patient Madeiran, had not responded with sufficient empathy!

The sun had shone ceaselessly during the search period but the forecast warned of heavy rain and storm force winds through our intended route via the Dales but dry pleasent weather if we drove down the east coast, so obviously I recommended east only to be de-recommended.

We set out, heading ever closer to a darkening sky that swiftly became a deluge of biblical proportions, unable to see more than a few yards in front with howling winds trying to force us off the bleak moorland roads.The tarmac was awash with abandondoned Range Rovers, tractors and hovercraft. But with my manhood called into question and veiled promises of nightly pleasures to come rescinded I plunged onward.