Well, there weren't any flies. But there were two burst pipes, and the gas didn't work. Oh, and the outside of the van was covered in green algae slime. Oh yes, and it took nearly five hours to get there, due to inexplicable sudden tailbacks on the M4 which run for three miles and then just evaporate, leaving you wondering: why? (In one case, near Bridgend, it turned out to be the remains of a small cardboard box in the slow lane.)
Of course, the caravan problems, or challenges, duly got sorted through the application of a bit of elbow grease, with help on the plumbing front from Chris, a salt-of-the-earth site neighbour who laboured for several hours with his head underneath the van to fix the leaks, while I passed him things when he asked. After it was fixed, I went up to his caravan, a solemn expression on my face. 'Oh no, it's not leaking again?' 'No', I said. 'You've actually fixed the gas boiler as well.'
Sunday was perfect. I drove up to Porthgain to visit my friends for lunch. We had a picnic on Traith Lyffn beach in glorious sunshine. To get to Traith Lyffn, you climb up the steps behind the old granite chutes by the harbour, then walk a mile across the cliffs, past the disused quarries and mysterious red brick industrial ruins, through flowering gorse and dizzying views down to the churning sea, and then down about 170 steps of an iron staircase to this splendid low tide beach. Then you drink champagne, eat prawn rolls and throw frisbees. Then you climb back up the 170 steps. Then you glue your legs back on.