THE DRUIDS' STONE HAVEN

We parked up at the Druidstone Hotel, overlooking the cliffs. White water rushed in below, pounding and crashing the rocks as the tide blew towards the shore. It was a murky, spray-filled afternoon, perfect for walking. So that's exactly what my Dad and I did - we clambered down the steep stony paths, across the rock-filled stream and over the pebbles, to Druidstone Haven.

"Plenty of room for druiding down here!" I joked as we dropped onto the flat beach. It was enormous with the tide out. A couple of dogs bounced around at the water's edge, a hiker sat on a rock eating sandwiches, gazing far out to sea. My Dad clutched his binoculars and wandered out to meet the waves, which looked like they were half a mile across the wet sand. I bent down and started drawing with my finger.

I don't know what druids do at the beach. I imagined them chanting in a circle perhaps, thanking the sky for sending them the ocean. Perhaps though, they flipped back their cowls and monks' hoods and skimmed stones across the sea. Whatever it was, this place had ultimately become known as the druids' stone haven, and it certainly did feel ancient and sort of magical.

Oh don't worry. I'm not championing Druidism. Unless of course, it was just skimming stones at the edge of the sand! It just felt tingly, standing there on that massive reflective beach among the jagged boulders and slanted cliffs. If a great Welsh dragon had slunk from one of the caves, flapped open its gigantic wings and powered over the sea, I would probably have said that that felt about right for the place.

My Mum had been reading her book in the car. We got back, piled in and then headed back to Broad Haven to fly the kite. Well, at least we tried. It was so windy that the kite just circled in the air for a while and then nose-dived into the sand. In the end, it started raining so we rolled up the kite. For some reason, the Intrepids wanted to walk from one end of the beach to the other in the rain.

"I tell you what," I said, "Why don't you two do that and I'll meet you in the coffee shop?"

Moments later, I was drinking tea behind a rain-spattered window, reading Sherlock Holmes in the warm and the dry. This, I supposed to myself, is why I'm only really an Honorary Intrepid.

And so, just like that, it's time to go home. Today, we stuff the car with our things.... "Your mother doesn't 'stuff'," said my Dad, reminding me that my Mum is a bit more meticulous about packing than I am... and we head for the East, for England, for normality and for home.

So, two great castles, lots of sunny beaches, some walking, some reading, some eating; a lot of driving around the narrow lanes of West Wales, loads of sea birds and seals, some beautiful gardens, a couple of games of Scrabble, of Pit and Who Knows Where; some chat, some flowers, some wave-watching, and some sunsets.

It's been grand. I'm ready to go though. But perhaps there'll just be time for one last hurrah, hood-up as the wind blusters in, rounded stones in hand, skimming them across the water like the best of the druids. Though of course, thanking the Creator and not the creation.