Cornwall for us, Leave Essex about 4 in the morning, bedded down in the back of old Ford Consul 375. Drive through London, heading out for the A30, the A303 yet to be trunked. Breakfast was cold toast and tea from a thermos. Little Chefs yet to be founded.
Ended up in a poxy 1950s style static blue caravan, with hissy gas lights, up a hill from Portreath. No tele, bog outside in cold brick hut full of spiders, with only jigsaws and a bush portable radio that mostly only got the home programe on long wave.
Hated cornwall ever since.
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