I've never met a lane . . .

How can you not love a holiday destination that's less than ninety minutes away, with no queuing or waiting or passport control?

Especially when it's as beautiful as west Wales.

We were home by 11.30 this morning and a) because I decided I'm on holiday until tomorrow, and b) I didn't have a single ice cream when away, we went to Verdi's this afternoon. A perfect way to round it off.

It was only three nights but we crammed in plenty - including relaxing and reading!

Our cottage was in a little village, Jameston, just to the west of Tenby. It was one of several beautifully converted barns.

Warning: this post could go on for a bit!

As we arrived early on Sunday afternoon we took a short drive down the road to Manorbier beach. A problem we discovered at this point was that the car park machine only accepted cash and didn't give change. So we had a quick wander on the beach and returned within our thirty minutes allotted free time. (This proved to be the case at lots of car parks - no internet signal I assume. So I had to pay several visits to shops to buy the cheapest thing I could find to get change for a £10 note.)

"Okay," says I. "I know where we can park for free and it happens to be one of the main reasons I wanted to come to this area." So we set off again and drove west and to the coast to find St. Govan's Chapel.

It's a tiny chapel built into the edge of the cliff. Legend has it that Govan, who was a sixth-century Irish monk, was being chased by pirates when he found himself on this cliff. The rocks opened up to allow him to hide inside, and closed behind him. When the pirates had gone he emerged and founded a chapel there. 

To get to the chapel you have to go down roughly seventy steps. Again legend has it that it's never the same number down and back

This chapel, probably about 800 years old, is built from local limestone but the bare altar you see in the photo is much older than the rest of the building. Go through that doorway and you find a tiny cave, which was Govan's original hermit's cell.

As we came back up and walked along the cliffside on a glorious afternoon it seemed impossible to believe that we were in an army firing range. This might have been a clue though? I don't know. It may just be a hobbit retreat.

(The road out to the chapel is closed and red flags fly if the range is being used. They don't like to get caught using members of the public as target practice.)

So that was Sunday. 

The title of this post, I've never met a lane . . ., is intended to go on to say, that Ms SatNav doesn't like. She had a great fondness for sending us down lanes, usually bendy single vehicle lanes. On our first attempt to get to St Govan's she told us to, "Turn right."

Looking right all we could see was a stony, watery, horse track. So we ignored her and carried on, much to her annoyance. "Please make a u-turn." Eventually we reached . . . a dead end. We made a u-turn and, again Ms Sat Nav insisted, "In 300 yards turn left." "Turn left now."

We declined her suggestion, drove back to what passed as a main road, and followed signs instead. Still don't know where she was trying to take us.

Husband suggested that, maybe, her insistence on us taking narrow lanes was based on the speed limits on different roads. She registered a road that had a 60 mph speed limit and thought it sounded like a good bet.

You've got to love Welsh speed limits. A lane, grass growing down the middle, just wide enough for a mini, has a 60 mph limit. The road just down from our house is 20 mph.

Much more to come!