I am the egg man They are the egg men I am the walrus

Of course, popularity for local politicians is a matter of personal choice. After weeks of pounding the streets like erstwhile con-men, knocking on doors and talking bullshit, frightening the farlies out of little old ladies and children in prams the population of Wales picked up their pencils and went to the polling booths. It was pretty much a done deal but as far as numbers went and despite his enormous following, Wally the Welsh Walrus didn’t get any votes.

Pembroke

Now Wally, who resides on the launching ramp of the Tenby Lifeboat station said......

“There’s something fishy about this and I’m sure I could do a better job than Mark Dickford.” With that and a flip of his flipper he swam off down the Bristol Channel to Cornwall.

Well... He’s probably right. He’s certainly filled Tenby with much needed tourism cash and now a whole industry of “Wally goods” has started to spring up.

Pembroke mill pond

Good luck to all those producing pictures and cartoons of this rather strange creature that swam down from Greenland. Sad to see him go.

Heacham Beach

For the first time since we returned from Spain in 2017 we fired up the Quattro (aka The Dacia Turd) and headed east. We got to the bad-lands of England and kept heading east until we met the sea on the other side of GB. A slight culture shock indeed. The land of Essex man, Beamers with personalised plates and no indicators. And The land of jet-skis and Hobby caravans populated by middle aged, pot-bellied men in cut off nylon trousers.

Sandringham woods

With jab number 1 in my left arm and jab number 2 in my right we decided it was safe to travel for a flying visit to see my big sister to a land that we once knew. First time we’d met since 2019 and our first return to Norfolk since that awful year in 2008. A few nights in a mobile home and back to the land of the red dragon and the world beating rugby team.

Hunstanton beach

With clouds and showers we braved the empty beaches and huge skies and we managed to spend the days walking and talking and the evenings drinking wine. Moy Bien.

Hunstanton beach huts

Max pretty much thought that one beach was the same as another and wondered why he had to spend seven hours locked in the boot of the car. Poor sausage!

Brancaster Staith

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the return journey was as long but he’s been quite funny. Almost homesick. So a jumble of photos west and east and now a long rest to get over plodding down motorways. 

Pembroke Castle

Nice to be home surrounded by familiar junk, farmyard smells and tractors and nice to have a break. Next one......The Lakes.....can’t wait.

Well, the return journey took over 9 hours thanks to Dickford and his “oh let’s just have a cart-track” policy where slower is faster. Wally could have walked faster than the traffic on the bloody M4. 

Heacham beach

It was worth it though and nice to meet Seb (Jenny’s dog) and see my big sister. Now.....Dacia Logan lag and sleep. Night all.