Pembrokeshire, Puffins and Perfect Pizza's

For a change we are taking a UK trip. Since the departure of Nessa the campervan, we have ventured more overseas. One part of Britain we didn't get to in Nessa, was Wales. I cant explain that, it's just the way things worked out. I'm sure Nessa would have found Wales bang tidy. So we are off to Pembrokeshire, not Barry Island, the car loaded and Reggie the dog securely bedded down in the back.

It's not that I have any particular bias against Wales, in fact I quite like a Welshy. I've a friend or two from there, and in general I have no truck with Ann Robinson or her views. But maybe, as she suggested, they are a little pleased with themselves. And, rather than knock them for that, I applaud their national smugness. Rugby aside, they have much to be smug about. Pembrokeshire tourist website states clearly that this is where 'adventure begins'. Bring it on.

A night in Skenfrith on the Anglo Welsh borders to start with. Feeling that ploughing too deep into Wales with its high octane offerings of adventure might be a little too much for our aged coronaries, we decided we should break ourselves in gently.

We certainly chose well. The only tiny excitement we had was that all the locals had broad Herefordshire farmer accents. There was nothing remotely Welsh to be seen except one solitary home with a tatty Welsh flag in its front garden and a deeply unfriendly sign telling us to 'keep going'.

The hotel was wonderfully positioned on the River Monnow, a fine trout stream just next to its old stone bridge. Nestling in the shelter of Skenfrith Castle.

Dinner, was truly delicious, but not big on atmosphere. We had opted, because they offered, to have Reg join us for supper. Not, as you may picture in a doggie dinnerjacket, highchair and extra sausages, just lying under the table comatose from his sheep worrying antics of the afternoon.

Of course in hindsight this was a mistake. How were we to know that the dog friendly table would be around its own solitary private corner of the restaurant? Silent, save for a Grandfather clock ticking ominously, and the occasional dog fart cracking the air. Safe from any wanted or unwanted attentions including the waiting staff. Luckily the 15* proof Californian Zinfandel was so potent that after one glass each, we were both in floods of tears. How on earth this lovely dinner came to feel like our first every therapy session beats me, but the privacy was much appreciated.

We would discover our front door key some hours later under the hat

Onwards to Pembrokeshire, 'where adventure begins'.

Our first adventure was however, significantly more mundane than those promised by the tourist board. We lost our Airbnb front door key. I say lost, we searched ourselves, the car, the driveway for nearly an hour, before calling the owner. He drove 40 minutes to reach us with a spare. Louise leapt up to thank him, and took off her cap. In slow motion the key flew out from under her cap, we watched in stunned silence as it sliced through the air. Thankfully missing the owner, who looked at us with a benign benelovance reserved usually for those with advanced dementia.

After three days walking circular stages of the incredible Pembrokeshire coastal path, our legs are turned to jelly and Reg is one happy canine. The coast line is rugged and the walking not for the faint hearted. We have been blessed with blue skies and light breezes making it a spectacular time to explore.

My favorite trip was a boat journey around Skomer Island, home to 42,000 beautiful orange beaked puffins, and thousands more Guillemot and RazorBills. As would be expected, as a former member of the Young Ornithologists Club I was twitching with joy.

Just to briefly pay lip service to the travel blog element, the food scene here is every bit as up and coming as Cornwall. We had cod and chips at The Shed in Porthgain which was the best I've ever had. Incidentally, I was offered breaded coley for a not inconsiderable £19.50 (more than the cod) but the waitress lost me at "the healthy option"! Next, the most wonderfully delicious Pizza at 'Grain' in St David's, which is worthy of a trip alone. And, a lobster roll from Lobster and Mor in Little Haven which if anyone ever did anymore, would definitely be worth writing home about.

St David's cathedral in the sunshine was genuinely stunning. Newgale beach was clearly a surfing Mecca and glorious. Lush.

There were many spots along our walks where I found myself jealously eyeing up the eminently Instagramable campervan fields, with their views over the coastline. There were an exactly equal number of times when we met a bus hurtling in the opposite direction along narrow country lanes when I was so glad I was not in Nessa. Our ability to take quick trips into town in the car, and the ease of parking, were justification alone to have parted company, but sun out and roof off made it absolutely clear we have made the right decision.

For our final day we moved to Tenby, enjoying further walks along the estuary and beach. Tenby is a classic Victorian British seaside town. Still sporting amusement arcades and hand written cardboard BnB vacancy signs. In time honoured fashion we had lunch in a pub that promised olde worlde charm from outside and Sarsans vinegar sachets and sticky tables inside while several screens showed us The Premiership league table. At least our baked potatos provided light relief by allowing us to coin the term Cremato.

It's now an NHSontheRun tradition to find the finest hotel in town, forget that it's a midweek night in a country riven by the cost of living crisis, and find ourselves the only guests in the dining room. Penally Abbey was our latest attempt to enjoy a meal to its full when the only other people around are the waiting staff. We were glad we hadn't committed to the seven course tasting menu. The scallop, singular, was delicious but lonely. The rump of lamb accompanied by a single deep fried jersey royal and pea puree was a real picture. Rather than a real meal. Delicious taste. We pushed the boat out and had the Petit Four, accurate again in one respect only, it was Petite. Better named Petit Two, the square of soft fudge and fruit pastel sent us to our beautifully appointed room looking forward to breakfast. Or hungry as it's traditionally known.

We set off for home having had a very British seaside holiday. Fresh air, fish and chips, and fabulous scenery. Our quest to find "where adventure begins" must continue however. Maybe that's the point of a slogan? We must come back.

If you get to read this sentence, thanks! Also if you could "like" that would be great. I've no idea what subscribe means in this context but if you do know, maybe do that too? Comments gratefully received, even if it's to suggest we 'keep going'.