When I woke to the sound of drumming on Basil’s roof, like Keith Moon on acid (look it up kids), I knew we were not going to the Cinque Terre today. It was raining – heavily.

Rain, rain go away

A day of persistent rain in Basil means twenty-four hours of confinement. I have a deeply ingrained memories of such days from my childhood caravan holidays in Scotland and Wales. Endless reading, board games and cards. My Uncle Lesley, with whose family my parents holidayed, wasn’t one for sitting around and so a swim in the sea or a long walk was often added, irrespective of the weather.

We’re up for a walk in the rain, but to be frank there is nowhere to go from this campsite, other than to totter down to the only shop in the area, all of 500 metres away and we’ve done that twice today.

No, today was for indoor activities. For instance I decided that the beard I have been growing since retirement had got too unruly and so I took my new beard trimmers for a test drive. It’s the first time I’ve done such a thing in my life and there was some small pleasure to be derived from this simple task.

Before – Peak Beard

After

Sarah attempted to get the laundry done, but with one broken machine and an overloaded drum, it is now 6.30 pm and the washing is still whizzing around.

We attempted to watch a film together, but Sarah decided she had read the book and got bored. It’s been one of those days, of which I’m sure there will be many, where we have to just entertain ourselves.

I have reacquainted myself with the rules of cribbage: a game I played hundreds of times with Sarah’s step father, but which Sarah and I have never played together. On our next rainy day I am now positioned to introduce her to the best two handed card game every devised.

We could have watched some television, but thereby hangs a tale. When we bought Basil I got carried away and ordered a ridiculously expensive automatic satellite system to go on his roof. It seemed a great idea at the time – it was not. Initially it was my favourite part of Basil as I demonstrated it to everyone I could. Just press a button on a panel and the satellite dish twirled round like a demented Darlek until it locked onto the Astra 2 satellite and hey presto TV to watch inside Basil.

In practise we have virtually never watched television when in Basil. Now we are in the south of Europe, we can no longer get most English TV channels, but on Astra 1 we could get BBC World and other English language news channels. Two days ago, I triumphantly announced to Sarah that I had got the system working with Astra 1 and we spent a happy 45 minutes watching the World Business Report, a programme which in any other circumstances would have had us running for the off button.

The next morning Sarah excitedly suggested we watch the news while breakfasting. In her enthusiasm to swing the TV into a position we could watch while eating, she pulled too hard and one of the electrical connectors parted company with the TV! The satellite system is now completely useless unless or until we find someone to fix the TV.

We have decided tomorrow to go to the Cinque Terre come what may. Sitting in a pretty but wet valley, in the middle of nowhere is not an option. The forecast is better tomorrow, but if it is miserable again we will just have to put on our waterproofs and pretend it’s Caernarfon in August.