First Kiss

Saundersfoot, near Tenby in Pembrokeshire, Wales.
We often visited there when we were kids. Dad driving us down there, mum map reading and then staying in a caravan and spending the day on the beach. Our summer holidays.
I remember it as a beautiful place. A beautiful time. Fish and chips by the sea – and ice creams aplenty.
It’s almost fifty years since I last went there but looking at photos on line it still looks a beautiful place.
But like everything when you’re a kid it soon becomes “boring”.
Everything eventually becomes “boring” when you’re a kid until you’re a teenager when it becomes “boring” with three exclamation marks after it.
Saundersfoot undoubtedly became “boring” before I entered my teens.
However that last time I went there it was lovely. I’m guessing I was 11 or 12 years of age. I’m guessing she was a similar age as well. Her name was Helen, she was in the caravan opposite. Blonde hair, golden tan and as stylish as a 12-year-old could be. She seemed far too glamorous for me. Far too posh.
Now thinking back I don’t think she was far too posh – as why would she be at the same caravan park as we were? She just talked differently. She was definitely far too glamorous. She from Weston-Super-Mare and was undoubtedly the first girl I’d spoken to that didn’t have a northern accent.
She was also the first girl I kissed properly. Thank you, Helen.


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