Friday, May 28, 2010

End of an Era

This morning we waved goodbye to Win. Here's her picture. Over the past three years we've had so many adventures in her and I started to write a book about them. The beginning was about how I won the money on Deal Or No Deal, after Colin's multiple heart attacks so I've cut that and gone on to the next bit. You can see it here.

TWO OLD CODGERS IN A CAMPERVAN
The whole winter lay ahead of us, plenty of time to plan our dream journey and search catalogues and websites for motor-homes which had everything we wanted in them. Now the money was in our bank account it was getting a bit scary.
Our only previous experience of camping had been when the kids were little. We’d borrowed a tent from neighbours and set off to Cornwall.

‘There’s always a Know-All around to give advice,’ the tent-owner had assured us, ‘so, if you’re stuck, don’t panic.’
We got stuck. Practising tent erecting on a flat lawn in the shelter of our back garden was slightly different to coaxing canvas into a recognisable structure in the middle of a sloping field in a Force 8 gale - until the Know-All turned up all togged out in green cagoule and matching wellies and a beard, which wasn’t green.
‘Easy,’ he announced as he kicked at a tent-peg. ‘My wife and I camped for years.’
‘Is she with you now?’ I remember asking, as I searched the field for a woman in matching gear.
‘Oh, no. We got divorced.’
It sounded like an omen to me.
Things got worse once the tent was up and we began organising dinner. We weren’t about to experiment with the camping stove because I’d sensibly brought salad, cold potatoes and a cooked chicken with us. Doing my Pollyanna stuff I announced brightly that dinner was imminent. A red gingham cloth had been placed over the dandelions and thistles. It looked really pretty with the white plates on it and the food laid out enticingly. (This was around the time I’d been reading Superwoman by Shirley Conran. The Waltons, a happy family who always seemed to be sitting around a large table covered in gingham, eating loads of interesting food, had also affected me.)
A solitary crow swaggered by. It reminded me of a tramp in top hat and tails. I smiled at it and, wishing I was the owner of a dinner gong, turned to shout the family.
‘Dinner!’
One second with my back to the feast. Maybe less. When I turned it was to see the ragged tramp hobbling along its grassy runway, trying to achieve take-off with our chicken in its beak. Like a Hercules transporter, one of those huge impossible flying machines, it finally left the ground and sailed into the sky. Twice the chicken attempted to escape and parachute down to the red gingham landing pad but the zealous crow pounced and retrieved it.
We ate salad and potatoes, filled up on bread and went to bed to discover that our son had a snoring problem. A full bladder woke me in the middle of the night. The toilets were miles away and Colin was called upon to do his dutiful husband bit and wait by the open tent flap, waving a lantern, so that I could find my way back to the right tent in the dark.
The next morning we packed up and set off in search of a caravan. It had to be an improvement. It was school holidays and the only cheap accommodation available was two delapidated caravans in a field. ‘The bedrooms,’ the farmer’s wife proclaimed before leading us, as she probably led lambs to the slaughter, into a dilapidated outbuilding housing a sink, an ancient cooker and a sagging sofa. ‘Living room cum kitchen. Three pounds, ten shillings for the week. All in.’
I wondered if that included the spiders dangling from the dusty beams, and the snails who were dawdling along a gulley which ran from the sink to the door and which was the only way for the water to escape once the plug was pulled.
Surely things had changed since then, I told myself. But even if they hadn’t we were committed. Colin had announced our intentions on television in front of millions of witnesses.
We had to do it.
And here endeth the first taster. More may follow depending on whether I can paste text into my blog. Thank you to Anita Loughrey for pasting this in for me and trying to explain, over the telephone, how she did it.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Did you miss me?

Apologies for being quiet for such a long time but I've been having fun. Now I'm back in Malvern I remember what life is all about. There's always so much going on and having stimulation makes me want to write. Take this caterpillar for example. It tells me I should be writing children's books.



On May Day there was a theme in the Winter Gardens. Alice. The LSO (Long Suffering One aka husband) was accosted by a white rabbit. And this wonderful caterpillar was reading from a book whilst smoking some dubious substance from a pipe.



On the same day the wells around Malvern were dressed. There are too many of them to count but the best known were allocated to different groups and individuals who dressed them and then they were blessed. You've all heard of Malvern water, haven't you? Apparently Madge has her cars washed in nothing else!


We drove around some of the wells and springs and spouts and took pictures. Next year I'll be organised and do them properly. This tells me I should be writing articles.



To the left is the spout in Malvern Link. And here's the one depicting Florence Nightingale. She used to come here for the water cure. This tells me I should be researching history.
And this is where we collect our drinking water. It's a spring on the West side of the hills, just above the Schweppes factory. They bottle the stuff and flog it. Locals know where to get it for free.
The girl guides did an amazing job dressing this one.
Now I've got almost used to having shops within walking distance, seeing lots of people, having a proper library and a theatre I must knuckle down to some work. Got a contract the other day so now I have to write a book on ghostwriting.
And for the ladies - I went to a play starring the wonderful Tom Conti. This tells me I should be writing erotica. Now to tell the LSO I'm only joking.