Phew - I think we needed that!

As the last A level exam finished the bags were packed and we simply ran away for a week.

The sun shone down from a cloudless blue sky from dawn until dusk. Our 'home' a rustic cabin high above a wooded valley looking out to sea, silence surrounded us - we spoke in whispers and watched the birds sitting on the treetops below us. The sea was warm and inviting, gentle wavelets just crept onto the clean white sand. We wandered along clifftops for mile upon mile drinking in the scenery, marvelling at the perfumes of the wild flowers along the route, stopping to take pictures of pyramid orchids as we passed. A couple of old donkeys enjoyed some fuss, why do donkeys always look so melancholy?

When we ventured into the town (to buy thinner clothes - yes really!) the clinking of the masts on the boats in the harbour was matched only by the clinking of ice in the glasses of the beige and grey brigade sitting in the hotel gardens beneath gently waving palms as they awaited their call to lunch.

As soon as necessary purchases including gallons of sun cream we were off to find little villages that spilt fisherman's cottages down onto the tiny harbours all painted in the colours of sugared almonds with scarlet geraniums falling out of tubs and window boxes. Stone churches stood with their doors wide open a welcome few minutes away from the sun to read about fishermen and their dangerous lives.

As evening fell we found a gem, a hidden away hotel, perched on the side of a cliff with such an amazing relaxed atmosphere, room ran into room and nothing matched except the vases of wild flowers on the tables. It felt as though we had simply wandered into a large family home along a wood panelled hall a hotch potch of art works of every medium including beautiful stained glass looked down at us, the interlopers, a piano stood in the french windows - covered with sheet music and photographs and a muslin curtain billowed gently in the sea breeze hiding a big fat black cat fast asleep on the step.

We ate freshly caught and cooked sea food outside in the garden almost overcome with the heavy scents of pinks and roses, the sunsets over the sea were amazing and as we sat with other diners we realised that we could not understand any of the languages around us. We hazarded a guess at Scandanavian origins, Italian for others, definitely French in there somewhere.

Eventully replete we could be found wandering back along quiet lanes with high hedges full of honeysuckle, wild roses and fox gloves to our verandah above the woods for a last drink and to watch the owls and listen to the foxes far below along the rippling stream. As we sat there at peace with the world, the silence was only broken by the distant thud of tank fire and occasionally the stacatto sound of machine guns that would drift towards us on the breeze.

PS we were in Pembrokeshire, South Wales - just 139 miles from home! No - we couldn't believe it either.