In Bristol

This weekend I will be mainly in Bristol, visiting Dad, so no gallivanting in the caravan this time. But, thinking back to last weekend's jaunt, I am reminded of an interesting little episode that I watched (being unashamedly nosy, of course) while I was sitting outside soaking a few rays (or whatever the phrase is) on the Sunday.
I heard a woman's voice, with a south Wales accent, effusively thanking someone and, on closer inspection, it seemed that she was thanking one of our male 'neighbours' who was ringing Tom, the site owner, on his mobile because the newly-arrived, forty-something lady in question apparently couldn't find her pitch, which was surprising really as they are all clearly marked.
Scene two:
Woman (henceforth to be called 'Pinkie' as she was wearing a pink top) and her pal in a leopardskin-print top (so we'll call her Leopard) went back to their car and Pinkie got in and pulled back onto the path and then went back and forth over the same few yards in a vain attempt to back into her spot.
By now, Tom had arrived and gallantly offered to back in for her, which was eagerly accepted with much giggling and simpering. As she was hovering around the car, another man had mysteriously appeared and retreated very reluctantly with numerous offers of help and 'If you need anything, you know where I am.'
At the same time, another woman's voice was heard (perhaps the wife of this man) saying, "You do need to learn to do it yourself, you know."
"Oh I can do it, I've done it hundreds of times," said Pinkie, "Just not this time."
Which seemed a little hard to believe as I watched the two of them struggling to lower the stabilisers by winding the brace the wrong way and searching vainly for the electric cable before plugging it in with great difficulty. How hard can it be? I hear you asking yourself. Yes, indeed!