MARION SAUVEBOIS sets off to redeem herself on a treasure hunt with a difference

THERE are setbacks you never truly recover from. One of my deepest shames to this day remains dropping the towel after just two search parties for the ever elusive Gromit fibreglass statues peppered around Bristol two wretched years.

I would never stoop to pointing fingers but there were extenuating circumstances.

In our defence the heat was stifling as we dawdled around the city, liquefying a little more with each step.

As for the Gromit finder app, which we had downloaded in our zeal to spot each and every one of the 80 landmarks, it sent us about 100 metres off track. Every time we bounced round a corner ready to witness the wonder of a new multicoloured Gromit, we more often than not ended up in a cul-de-sac facing a row of wheelie bins. In this heat, it was not a gift. After hours of hard graft we eventually located seven but eventually admitted defeated and hopped on a muggy train back home.

With a renewed sense of optimism we returned for a second - relatively successful all things considered - excursion the following week. A trusty map in hand, the app had been duly deleted, we ticked another 14 off the list in just under four hours. Our holy grail, Gromberry, carefully concealed in a beer garden by the waterfront was eventually uncovered. So with a measly 21 under our belt on the final day of the Gromit trail we called it a day, not without a pang of disappointment.

Our effort seemed even more abysmal the next day as my colleagues tallied up their ‘Gromitting’ gains. I stopped listening at 45.

Thankfully, the gods felt my distress and sent me the Shaun in the City trail to redeem myself (and get a grip).

So off we went on Sunday on our merry way to Bristol. In our forgiving bounty, we downloaded the app once more praying that two years of lessons learnt would have somewhat improved its ‘finder’ system, which it had. Luckily the Shaun the Sheep trail followed almost to the yard the Gromit route, except for a few exceptions (don’t bother popping in the M Shed anymore) making it much easier for hapless wanderers such as us. From the Beatles-inspired Sgt. Shepherd to the bewigged judge Justice Lamb, not to mention a ‘yarn bombed’ incarnation covered with intricately weaved knitted flowers and frilly leg warmers, the artists certainly redoubled in ingenuity to surpass their forebears’ creative efforts two years previously.

Wading through the crowds of children claiming their territory was as tricky as ever. Who wants to be chased by a mob of raging parents for shoving their toddler out of the way to get a photo next to Shaun? Not me, though I wish one could explain the concept of a queue to the little rug rats. How would they feel if a grown-up hopped on the sheep and started coiling themselves around one of its legs refusing to budge? No great I am sure.

Little monsters aside, a stroll along the waterfront under the rows of rainbow-hued terraces overlooking the old shipyard certainly restored our spirits. As did a few more Shauns spied along the way. This search was definitely an improvement. I can happily report no wheelie bins were encountered although we did lose our way and inadvertently wound up in a cul-de-sac, once.

By close of play we had notched up a reasonable 17 – which in light of our pitiable seven many moons ago was a small yet deeply felt victory.

With one month and 53 to go we have our work cut out for us but we shall persevere. There will be no hanging our heads in shame this time.

The Shaun in the City trail runs until August 31. To find out more go to shauninthecity.org.uk.