My, my, do these Spaniards ever sleep? At 07:00 we were awoken by a ten minute bombardment of aerial bangers. They seemed too far away to be in Benicassim, so maybe they were being let off in Castellό de la Plana. Now here again is confusion, we have Castellό de la Plana, and we have Castellion. I'm beginning to think that a lot of these signs are posted in both Catalan and Spanish, hence the different spellings. Benicassim is spelt in two ways, one has just one 's' the other two. I suppose it's a bit like driving through Wales. There are two spellings of each place name. One everybody understands, and the other understood only by a number of sheep sh****rs. Anyhow, during the explosions nobody came out of their caravans or motorhomes with their hands in the air waving a white handkerchief, so we can assume there are no Italians on the campsite.
Once finally up and scrubbed after that very early morning call, I wandered down to the restaurant to buy a baguette. Not only that, I purchased a Saturday newspaper as I was informed during my purchase that they never have Sunday papers for sale. I felt like stuffing the paper up my shirt, just in case I bumped in to Mr & Mrs Guardian-Reader, as it was a copy of ''that certain paper' which they say, influenced those with no brains during the Brexit debacle.
Then it was across the road to the Reception to complain about the smooth-haired yapping rat behind us. They have taken down their awning, so presumably will be on the move very soon, but the yapping rat now sees everything that's going on and responds accordingly. The lass in Reception was really quite indifferent about dealing with it. So I told her that it may be me who is up here complaining (again), but lots of others are also complaining, but they don't come up here and say something - but I will. So what would she prefer, visitors who are unhappy about the behaviour of some dogs on the campsite, but say nothing, and never come back again, or visitors who say something, giving her and the management team the opportunity to put matters right. People do seem reluctant to deal with these mini four-legged schitzo cases.
Then it was off to the beach, something we kept meaning to do but never got around to. We took our lunch with us, the baguette, now filled and cut in two, together with a beer.
I also had to drag along a small plastic tarpaulin to put on the sand, topped with our beach towels.
The tarpaulin was purchased to lay on when working underneath the motorhome during a maintenance job, a lesson learned on the last trip whilst trying to fix the leaking grey water waste pipe which was damaged during our tour of Provence in France.
So the small tarpaulin has been a cheap, simple, but useful solution to a problem, a bit like the brown paper bag worn by Nicola Sturgeon on her wedding night.
We will be moving on from here next Monday. We feel the time is now right. We have to pop in to the office tomorrow to square them up for our first month, plus electricity, then we'll give them our new leaving date as they still think we are here for two months.
From here we shall be heading south. Hopefully plenty of campers will have left by now heading for home. It has been pretty busy in southern Spain this winter because following the many terrorist threats in mainland Europe this past year, our big brave allies, the French, who normally winter in Frog-speaking Morocco haven't gone there this winter, settling instead for southern Spain.
Tomorrow we shall be mooching about doing stuff and shopping before spending a couple of hours up at the Petanque pitches in the afternoon.