Dear Angharad-Bronwyn,

I just thought I would drop you a line to thank you for the experience of a lifetime that Trevor and I had in your bijou pod in the depths of the beautiful Wales countryside.

I’m sitting on our patio back in Essex, enjoying a glass (or three – naughty I know!) of Sauvignon Blanc – which reminds me, thanks so much for the welcoming bottle of Lambrini that you left for us. Where did you find such a dinky bottle? I think they would be great as a starter drink for the grandchildren.

Speaking of the grandchildren, it was them that encouraged us to consider glamping. To be fair, when we mentioned it to the kids, they thought we were mental at our age. ‘Go for comfort!’ they said but the grandkids said it would be an adventure and something to tick off the bucket list. To be fair, a weekend at the Ritz was what was on my list, but Trev said, ‘We’ll show them we’re not past it!’ so we booked up a glamping tent for one week and your pod for the next.

The bell tent we had for the first week was enormous with a four-poster bed, and luxury memory foam mattress as its central feature, plus a wood burning stove and a comfy settee made for two. There were fairy lights strung around the bedhead giving it a magical charm in the evening. But was it really ‘slumming it’ we asked ourselves? The answer came in the numerous nocturnal visits Trev needs to make each night. You see the toilet and shower block was 200 yards across the field. Not too onerous a task in the middle of a summers night until you count the number of zips involved – zipping up his trousers, unzipping the tent, rezipping the tent, unzipping the tent, rezipping the tent, unzipping the trousers, not to mention dropping the trousers along with its hefty belt onto the floor. He sounded like a swarm of angry bees being finally beaten to death! The toilet and shower were exclusive to us and just like home.

So, we were really looking forward to enjoying the beauty of Wales and communing with nature more fully than the sissy glamping experience. To be fair, we missed your lane the first time; the bushes on either side are really dense and the lane is very narrow. You had kindly warned us that the driveway was quite steep but there was an area of hard standing at the top that we could park on.

I think it was ingenious of you to use clinker from the slag heaps of the abandoned coalmines to create your driveway and hardstanding for the pod! Trev was a bit worried that the drive was loose and feared that gravity and rain would soon move it into the lane below. And when you said ‘steep’ what you really meant was ‘REALLY STEEP’.

Trev used to watch Grandstand on a Saturday afternoon and he loved that thing that Murray Walker commentated on where couples drove mini cars up a dirt track with mud and bullets flying in all directions? Remember Murray saying ‘George has drilled holes in his windscreen so that he can get better visibility’ as poor George careered into a tree? Hilarious!

Your driveway wasn’t like that of course – no trees! We decided that we would reverse up and that I would guide Trev back to the flat area at the top. At one point he only had three wheels on terra firma – I didn’t even know that he knew how to drive like that. With the car at that angle I was sure my vertigo would kick in bigtime! Three attempts and we sort of abandoned the motor half on and half off the flat area.

We looked at our home for the next week. It looked really homely, perched on the top of the slagheap, but, I have to confess that this was the point at which we had our first fall out, Angharad-Bronwyn, as we argued about whether Trevor, with his false knee and hip or me with my arthritic wrists should carry our luggage up the rope ladder to the balcony outside the pod.

Trevor projected his alpha male image and climbed the swaying ladder with our Samsonite roped to his back. I knew he could do it. I had no doubt, but I was not ready for him vomiting when he got to the top. Not sure if it was the exertion, altitude sickness or a dodgy prawn at lunch? He soon recovered albeit still looking a bit green as he winched me up to the balcony.

I couldn’t wait to see inside, Angharad-Bronwyn, you know what us girls are like. I think this second bottle of Sauvignon is going to my head, cos I’ve just had a thought – I bet your parents were Scrabble players. A triple word score of your name must be worth ninety points or more! Lovely name. Mind you and so is your husband’s name, Geraint! Pity we never met him! You used to send the ten-year-old twins up to the pod with any messages. Trev said he thought Geraint was probably a paraplegic or just has no head for heights. He can be so cruel, Trevor.

The pod, inside, is beautiful. Like the upside-down hull of a boat with a home built inside of it. The sloping roof and walls caught us out a few times. I laughed when Trev banged his head putting on the kettle and he roared when I head-butted the wall as I sat down on the wooden bench that served as our seating area. Trevor couldn’t wait to put on the TV but was a bit disappointed that he could only get the Shopping Channel selling a rowing machine to build up your core strength. ‘I think I’ve proved my core strength is ok on that rope ladder’ he complained. Word of advice, Angharad-Bronwyn. The TV is fixed to the wall, but the wall mount is not mobile so the only place you can watch the telly is by leaning over the sink. It got Trev washing up quite a lot, but the lack of oven or hob meant that we didn’t do much cooking and he only had a couple of cups to do at any time – not even enough to cover the adverts. Get one of those brackets that you can pull out and swivel, love.

I looked at the bathroom first, as the bed was ‘just there’. Sink, toilet and shower cubicle all present and correct. The mirror was on the back of the door behind the sink, so Trev had fun shaving with his back to the sink so he could see his face. I made the joke that, at his age, he should remember where everything is on his face, but he didn’t see the joke. Another tip, love. As there is no natural light in the bathroom a bulb in the only light fitting is an asset. No, I’ll go further – it’s almost essential.

 The shower was a hoot! At home, sometimes when Trev feels a little, shall I say, touchy-feely, he will creep into the shower cubicle while I’m washing my hair and surprise me with his loofah! We have such fun. Our shower at home is comfortable for the two of us but we were not expecting anything of that size in the pod. We were not disappointed!

If shower cubicles are measured in dress sizes, I would guess yours is about a Size 8. Unfortunately, I think I’m probably a comfortable Size 16 and poor old Trev is probably a Size 20. This only caused a problem if one of us dropped the shampoo bottle as there was not enough room to bend over and pick it up. Trev tried it and headbutted the taps! We laughed! We got around to washing our top half and letting gravity take care of the bottom half. Not sure where that scores on the hygiene scale? Lucky my Mum didn’t come on the holiday with us, she’s a Size 28 – even the ladder would have been a challenge and she would have had to shower in quarters: front top, front bottom, back top and back bottom! Trevor wonders whether that’s why you removed the bulb from the bathroom; to cover people’s embarrassment?

This wine is starting to make me feel really chilled, Angharad-Bronwyn, can I just call you A-B from here on? I just Googled the name Angharad. Did you know it means ‘Shameless’? Do you think your parents knew something?

The maximum use of all available space in the pod was clearly demonstrated with the bed. It fitted flush between the bathroom wall and the outer wall, which bowed inwards so we tossed a coin to see who would be banging their head all night. I lost!

Trev checked the bedsprings (he’s very sensitive to such things since he had his hip replacement surgery – it’s very sensitive to hard surfaces. He was pleased to discover that the bed was just a piece of hardboard slung across two supports. He reckoned that it would perform like Rolf Harris’ wobble board but without the sound, hopefully. He was a bit surprised at the biscuit sized mattress. Reminded him of the mattresses he had when he was doing six months in Pentonville. He was innocent by the way – the other guy ran into the hammer.

We looked at the various options available for getting into bed. As there were no sides it had to be from the bottom of the bed. We considered doing a flying leap towards the top of the bed, but we were not sure if the wobble board would survive impact. If my wrists were sound, I could have crawled up on my hands and knees. If Trev’s knees were his own, he could have done the same. In the end we crawled up on our bellies like a pair of SAS snipers. I wish I’d brought my camouflage onesie with me – it would have looked hysterical!

When we finally laid down, we noticed, for the first time, that there were no curtains at the window. We looked out and in the dark all we could see was that very thick bush that obscured a view of the beautiful Welsh countryside. This was not entirely accurate as we discovered the next morning. We slept fitfully and Trev had to ‘play soldiers’ several times during the night, so we slept late in the morning until the sun cascaded through the un-curtained window. Trev took a peek out and we realised we could see you, A-B, sunbathing on the lounger situated in your garden behind our pod. I looked up your other name, ‘Bronwyn’. Did you know that it means ‘Fair Breasted’? Trev said you won’t live up to that name if you keep sunbathing topless in front of our window. I found it a bit uncomfortable, A-B, but Trev was more concerned about whether you could see his meat-and-two-veg while he was sleeping. I was worried too that you might think I’d only married him for his money, if you know what I mean?

We were sorry we only stayed two nights. If I’m honest, Trev wanted to leave that first morning but we needed to go out and buy some rope so we could winch down the Samsonite case and having been down the ladder once and back up it, we had to get our energy back for the drive home.

Wow, A-B, we certainly have some stories the tell the grandkids about our adventures, but we may need to save them for a year or so to avoid the kids saying ‘Told You So’ in that patronising way they have!

Thank you for letting us enjoy your pod, which, for the right person, must be a wonderful experience. But that right person has to be a Size 6 gymnast or contortionist, I reckon.

I think your parents knew a thing or two when they named you!

He Ho!

Yours inebriately……. Inebriate….. Pissed

Angie