It is Sunday lunchtime in sunny Cardigan Car-Park. We are sitting enjoying the wildlife and watching folk potter on their boats, some venturing off into the wild blue yonder. A car pulls up nearby and four folk, clearly retired and out for a run (In the car, in the car) get out and stroll over to look at the scenery (and who could blame them). For a little while they nattered and snapped photographs of each other in various poses.
Then the man in the ‘hat’ announces. “Time to go and get out of this gentleman’s way.”
“Worry not!” Say I. “You are not in my way at all.”
Now we all exchanged the usual pleasantries, are you local, come far blah bla bla? They were on holiday from Evesham in their mobile homes and were staying sixteen miles up the coast for some extortionate amount. The other chap was staring into our van and looked astounded as he said to his wife. “Look at this. They have a 365.”
Debbie and I looked at each other perplexed, if not a little confused, wondering what in the name of ‘Crach Ffinnant’ is he going on about. He continued to point and was quickly joined by his wife who also looked amazed.
“Does it have an electric flush?” He asks, and obviously we realised he was referring to our porta-potty, clearly visible under the bed (seat down, seat down).
“No!” Replied Debbie. “Its manual.”
“But its got a green light.” Came the response.
“It’s a colour gauge!” Said Debbie.
“We have a 264. It does not have that and its much lower than yours.” He said.
As I looked at this man, who stood over six feet tall in his sandals and thought. His knees must be under his chin when he sits down. Well I could not resist my next comment. So I said. “Goodness me, that must be difficult to sit down on?”
“Not at all!” He said. “But its a bugger to stand up once you are sitting and its electric.”
Debbie and I, relieved we seemed to have a sought after porta-potty, more by good luck than intention, bade them a fond farewell as they wandered off muttering about toilets. What a rich tapestry of life we weave.