When we first purchased our motor-home I had a few misgivings, wondering if we were to us it as a base in the Costa Brava, we might encounter a noisy campsite in Tamariu with late-night revellers disturbing the peace, but in fact it is extremely peaceful.

The gates shut at 11.00, allowing only pedestrians to return to the site and it is extremely tranquil. The Spanish from Gerona and Barcelona, put up their tents and caravans in April and spend their weekends there through to late September, enjoying the luxuries such as freezers, fridges and cookers. So a hefty percentage of the camp only comes to life at the weekend or when the Dutch start to hit the coast towards the latter stages of July. I am guilty of generalising but the Dutch seem to find it is necessary to talk at a higher volume than most.

There are people of various nationalities who are regular July campers, just as there are regular apartment renters. In fact one year after our retirement, we dropped into Tamariu in September and I visited the late-night bar, exchanged some observations with Carlos, the owner, and was then accosted by a group of Englishmen. It transpired they realised Carlos knew me well but they had never seen me before.

“That is because I am part of the group that thinks it owns Tamariu in July, while you are part of the group that thinks it owns Tamariu in September, but in reality none of us do,” I replied.

I have always maintained after working all year, with a 60-hour week no stranger to me, I have relished the ability to fly or drive out to Tamariu, collect the rental apartment keys, take out my brain and put it in the charger for a fortnight and relax among familiar surroundings. Yet every year, Ellie and I would also spend a week or so touring in Europe and later further afield, so we balanced our holidays between discovery and relaxation.

This year the fourth eldest daughter, who lives in Dubai, celebrates her 40th birthday, so we popped down to Javea, where normally the weather is more reliable, and stayed with her for four days. Our daughter from Barcelona also came down with her family and we had a very pleasant reunion.

The first thing we noticed was that it was cooler than the Costa Brava and the second thing was that the sea was full of jellyfish. For only the second time in my life I was stung by one, which limited my swimming to the complex’s swimming pool. Javea is a resort with which we are very familiar as we visit former Watford icon Ross Jenkins and his wife Eve there every spring, and with the knowledge gleaned from previous visits, we were loaded with take-away curries in our cold box for our trip back to the Costa Brava.

It was a pleasant interlude, catching up with the grandchildren, but I was glad to be able to get back into the Med, for I love swimming in the sea.

Bob, who first visited Tamariu a year before me in 1964, kept an eye on our fridge while we were away, so all was well and there had not been any dramas in the campsite during our absence, although some more familiar faces had booked in over the weekend.

A Geordie couple, Tom and Pat, who I have sat near on the beach for some 20 years had arrived and told me of their friend who has an apartment on the top of the hill in the neighbouring Begur, which, on a clear day, enables them to see across the Bay of Rosas to France. Apparently this friend had looked after the house of a neighbour for many years, while the neighbour in South Shields travelled extensively in the USA then also spent two months in Spain.

This arrangement went on for many years and as a treat, the neighbour gave them access to the apartment in Begur free of charge. After a fortnight they returned delighted with the holiday, whereupon the lady who owned it, gave them the apartment in recognition for all their support and friendship down the years. She duly signed over the papers, donating the apartment.

A nice story.

No sooner than I had heard that when another regular couple, Robert and Lisa came over and Robert informed me that he still had my email address and was waiting to find out how he could download a recording of Tommy Steele talking about Buddy Holly, to send on to me.

“It was the result of a drunken conversation you possibly don’t recall,” he said but on the contrary I recalled it very well. I was wearing a Band t-shirt which he spotted on coming into the bar and duly enthused over his discovery of the seminal group’s music just a couple of years earlier.

Yet, while I was away, there had been a drama on the beach. Frank from the Wirral told me he had received a phone call from a Dutchman he knows. The man’s engine had conked out and he was stranded on a sand-bar out at sea. Frank is one of three families who come down every year with their outboards and large inflatable boats. They launched one, having received vague directions, and set out to sea. They journeyed on out from the Cap de Begur and eventually found themselves further from shore than they had ever been before. Normally they go round the coast, popping in to other resorts for a beer or gin and tonic, and exploring the small islands off Estartit.

By the time they were over three miles out from the coast they were getting a little concerned. Then on the horizon, they spotted this dot and made for it. There is a sandbar out there. It is far too deep below the surface to be able to walk on it but it does attract a multitude of fish. That is where the Dutchman and his family had become stranded.

A good anecdote and something different from the usual moans such as: “They obviously do not check these apartments. We do not have any spoons or forks and by the time we discovered it, the rental office was closed.”

Holidays never go smoothly but it is reassuring to hear you are not alone.

But there was a bonus for the boat rescuers. For the first time in their nautical travels round the coast, they journeyed sufficiently far from the coast to find themselves accompanied by dolphins.

The sun continued to shine constantly as never before but while the temperatures were exceptional, the lazy days of summer gradually trickled away. One by one the familiar faces departed the beach.

“Take care of yourself, Oli, and I’ll bring that Tommy Steele interview down on a stick next July,” said Robert.

I have no idea where he or many others actually live but holidays are like that, but it will be nice to see them next year. There is something reassuring about that.