Mornings

There is something magical about mornings in Agy. I’ve always been one of those people who is awake at the first crack of dawn, a chink of light and I’m wide awake, and however little sleep I’ve had, there is no chance of a snooze. So it has been blackout blinds, eye mask and occasionally ear plugs for much of my life to have any hope of sleeping past dawn.  

And yet, I find this has changed. Somehow Agy has shown me a new wakening, a more gentle, and for me, magical awakening. This isn’t just since I stopped work. Let’s face it, a busy commute (have I mentioned that at one point I had years of a 5 hr daily commute?) and working life, however much you love it and look forward to heading into the office, doesn’t make for a slow lazy morning; but no, even at some of the most stressful work periods, when we were away in Agy for a much needed weekend by the sea, my mornings were different.  

I love the view as I slowly wake up.  There is a roof vent above our bed that unless it is really cold,  windy or it’s raining heavily, is usually open. I no longer wake at dawn in the summer, I frequently make it to 7 or 8 am (unheard of in my non Agy life). When I do wake up this is what I see, the sky through the roof vent. 

It isn’t the clearest image, because it’s plastic, and let’s face it could do with a wash, but I’m not getting up on the roof on a campsite, and the special mop is in storage. But, it’s not a curtain, or blind, or hotel room; I spent far too many nights in hotel rooms in my last job. It was a fabulous job, I was honoured to have it and those hotel rooms meant I got to spend time with amazing colleagues and the community I worked alongside and became friends with from across the world. But this isn’t just a view, it is also a hint at the world outside. I can’t see out of a window from the bed, so this is my widow to the world outside. The quality of the light and the sounds I hear give a taste of what’s out there. There’s been baaing (is that a word?), mooing, birdsong, silence, traffic, tractors, heavy rain (I love that sound when warm and cosy in bed), whatever it is, it’s a hint of my day to come.   

And then there’s this.

The cosy nook we sleep in at the back of Agy, We were absolutely right to pick a van with a fixed bed, none of this making up a bed from a sofa each night, a proper comfy bed with Ian sleeping beside me. It feels so safe and is perfect. Ian and I couldn’t be more different in our sleeping habits. I’m a morning person and am often ready to sleep hours before Ian. He somehow wakes up about 11pm and (when not in Agy) would often not be ready to sleep until 3am if he let his natural body clock dictate his sleep pattern, but although Agy hasn’t transformed him into an early morning person, Ian too sleeps well and has a different sleep pattern in Agy. We may be an hour or so out now, but nothing like the 4-5 hrs we used to be. 

It is always me that needs to get up first, so Ian scoots forward hopefully avoiding head butting the TV and depending on how flexible I am, I wiggle round and out I get, popping the kettle on while I head to the loo – sometimes in Agy, sometimes on site.

And then there’s that luxurious first cup of coffee, it has to be coffee – I can only manage tea in the afternoons – I know unbelievable for an English Woman, but it’s always been like that! In Agy there is no hastily downed far too hot cup. We are never in a rush; we can take our time, open the door, look out the window and enjoy the moment. 

    

Going to Gurnard

 It’s hot, really hot, but the walking boots are on and we are off. Our campsite is actually part of the coastal path, so we head to the beach and turn right. The path takes us across the stony bay and into a field, as we climb up the cliff path, the views are stunning.  It’s hard to believe this may well be our home soon. We hardly meet anyone on our way, so no problems with social distancing, We spot another site a bit further up the path, and are thankful for ours, it’s basic to say the least. As we climb, we go from bright open sunshine to darker, and thankfully, cooler woodland. I’m so tempted to pick a blackberry, but Ian would think I had lost the plot; he’s not one for eating foraged foods!   

And then, all we can hear is bbbbuuzzzzzzzzz.  It’s loud, the path is narrow, there is only one path and it’s a swarm of wasps (or at least we think it is, we didn’t stop to check).  Before we know it we are running (yes running) to get away, sweating, backpack bouncing, uneven ground, a narrow path, heavy walking boots on. I’m in front and Ian is shouting, “faster, move, run!” How I didn’t fall and break a bone (something I am an absolute expert at), I will never know. I’m not sure I have ever seen Ian run so fast, clearly his flight or fight response, has a strong flight bias! We made it, unharmed, but breathless. The next stile took a bit more ‘oomph’ to get over as my legs were still complaining, but we were soon heading downhill and into Gurnard, a beautiful village on the coast.

Now, you may know Ian has a sixth sense for a fabulous pub. Neither of us drink much, although we do seem to take a lot of drinking photos, but he’s spotted one on the map. “It’s just up here,” he says,”….. yes, up, and up, and up, and not just here… maybe another mile up here.”  By the time we arrive at The Portland Inn, we are dishevelled, probably a bit ripe, and certainly ‘moist’. I used to hate the word moist, but as any Miranda Hart fan will know, she reclaimed it, and made it fabulous, so we are absolutely moist, not damp. After a very slow pint (and agreement to return to this lovely pub in a more respectable guise) we head to the local shop for BBQ supplies.  Choices are limited, so steak and sausages it is! That’s normal BBQ food, isn’t it?  I do manage to find coleslaw, so at least there are some veggies in today’s meat feast.     

As we head back, I brace myself for the run of survival, but what’s this? “You braved a pint”, my bladder says, “You stupid woman!  No self respecting menopausal woman would have done this knowing you have a decent walk back.”  But I’m not stupid, oh no, I have a ShePee, and I have it with me. OK, it was a whim, I wasn’t planning on using it, but it’s there for wee-based emergencies.  So now is the moment to shine ShePee. Save me!

Now, I have used it in the privacy of Agy’s bathroom (yes, she has a bathroom) and I had plenty of practice in the shower at home before we left (a very good idea if you are thinking of getting one), but I have never, never ever, used it in public. However, I have to go. I absolutely have to go, NOW!  I won’t make it back.  Ian helps me find a suitable spot – men are much better at finding a good location for a standing up pee it seems, can’t think why. He keeps lookout and I prepare for… well, a public pee. It is perfectly possible to do this with dignity in tact, so the You Tube videos suggest, but this is my first attempt. None of this squatting, all you have exposed, stinging nettle/ bramble attack of many a woman’s fate, no..not me, I manage to keep my shorts on, ‘arrange’ my equipment and Ta Da!!  Oh my word, it’s liberating, so easy and nobody could see a thing. 

Yep, you guessed it, our ‘not seen anyone for hours’ walk did produce fellow walkers whilst I performed, but all they could see was a fully dressed woman looking inexplicably out into the woods while her forever patient husband stood on the path and said good afternoon to passers by. Ladies (apologies to my former BCC colleague, I know you hate that word) but you NEED one of these. Be you a young (or even old) festival go-er, a pregnant or breast feeding woman (I seem to remember them complaining about always needing to go at inopportune moments), or like me now have a bladder the size of a gnats. This contraption is for you! Apologies if this is a bit TMI, I can feel one of my fabulous friends (who loves walking) blushing, despite his nursing background, but it has to be said. I used to worry about what people thought, I now worry about not saying what I think, and I think every woman needs to know this.

Property and Post office

 

We’ve had enough! We started trying to buy our new home in June, it’s September, and it feels as if we are no further on than we were then. We need to know, “do they want to sell, or not?”  So we brace ourselves and knock on the door. The seller was lovely when we looked around way back, but we just can’t understand what the problem is, she was desperate to move, she’d been waiting since February!

We decide I’ll start the conversation and see where we go from there. I can’t say I’m not nervous. If this all goes wrong, we have no home and as much as I love Agy, I don’t want another 6-8 months in her, with no prospect of a home. I ring the bell and step well back – we have masks on so it’s going to be harder than normal to have this type of conversation. Our seller opens the door and she knows who we are, in fact she says, “I’ve been expecting you.” How? All she knew was we lived in London and nobody here knows we are on the island. We haven’t even told the estate agent!  

Who knows what led her to think that, but here we all are wondering why things haven’t progressed. Neither of us can understand it, we are all people who get on and do things, so why the delay? “Last week”, she tells us, “I was ready to say forget it, it was taking too long.”  We were the same. It’s madness! We share phone numbers, and the details of what we are waiting for, from her, so we can proceed, and agree to speak – often!

The next day she calls to say she’s posted the paperwork we needed to her solicitor, and within a week it’s all moved forward. The survey is booked; we are discussing dates for exchange and completion. One quick chat and we’ve progressed more than we have in months – the power of a face-to-face conversation!   

Feeling much happier, we head to the local post office to sort out how we get our post delivered to us when we have no fixed abode (that still sounds a very odd thing to say about myself). Family have agreed for us to redirect and register important things at their address, but some things we actually need to have posted to us, so Ian in his usual very organised self has done the research. There is a service called Post Restante. Basically a nominated post office receives the mail for you and you go and pick it up. We decided to use the branch where we hope to live, as we want to ensure we have a local post office going forward, and they are so helpful! They even rang me one day, to say we’d had post delivered.

When you have lots of time, you don’t need to rush and do everything now; it’s something I need to get used to. After a few days of sitting around, and doing not much, we decide to have a day out. There’s a coastal path right round the island and lots of people come to walk it. We decide to do a little stretch, maybe at some point we will do the whole walk, in stages, but today we are going to walk to Gurnard.

Wacky Weekends

There is a rhythm to life on a site when you stay a long time out of season. Mornings are quiet, there are the early risers, the late sleepers, the wardens morning stroll to see all is well, the shower block rush (why does everyone need a shower at 8-9 am?) and the daily exodus for local attractions. In the evening there are BBQ’s, beers, neighbours catch up on the day, have a chat and settle in. Those in tents go to bed early – the snores are often heard by 9.30 pm, and the van folks watch TV or read. Generally it’s a quiet and gentle place. 

But Friday night all hell breaks loose. The weekender’s arrive. There’s a flurry of vans and cars arriving from about 3.30pm. Some tents go up some calmly, others not so much. Kids in school uniform are pouring out of cars and running around like crazed animals, followed by dogs galore! The noise level increases by about 90%. It isn’t bad noise and it’s great to see the kids having fun, but before you know it there are balls hitting Agy (that does not go down well) and we retreat to the safety of our home on wheels. Of course there are lots of beautifully behaved kids, like the little lad who came over very politely to ask if he could borrow a tin opener as his mum forgot theirs and they needed one to be able to have tea. How could we resist, despite being mid bed making at the time? If you haven’t put a fitted sheet on a bed that is chest height, with 2 corners located in a cosy nook that it impossible to reach without laying on the bed, then I suggest you think about wrestling a very heavy duvet into a cover one handed...it’s the closest I can get to describing it. Impossible to do with any dignity. Poor boy, I’m not sure how he survived the sight, but he did. 

However, weekends are crazy, they come with tents, gazebos, blow up sofas, kitchen work stations, flags, fairy lights, music and microwaves! Yes, microwaves – even we don’t have a microwave. They are here for 2 nights, eat out or have a BBQ, what is the microwave for? I’m flabbergasted. When we went camping it was nothing like this – and all for 2 nights. A 3-week stay, maybe I can understand, but not even 48 hours. There’s no slumming it on this site! 

We keep away, sticking to ourselves and await Sunday lunchtime. Sunday lunchtime is amazing, they all leave (have to be out by 11) and calm is restored! We catch the eye of our neighbours who have been here 2 weeks, smile and breath – we’ve survived another wacky weekend.

Washing and waiting (or the stuff shuffle)

And now we wait. We have no idea how long, we’ve discussed dates, but we can’t move forward. Something is holding the house move up again. We don’t know what and our solicitor is trying to find out, so we wait, and make daily calls to everyone we can to speed things up.

Life in a van isn’t all about sunny days and beaches, everyday things continue. The shopping (OK, it is more interesting when you are trying out new supermarkets) and working out what you can cook in a small space on a 2 gas ring hob, and cleaning. I like a nice tidy space, neither of us like clutter and trinkets, the removal firm, while on a video walk round the house call to provide a quote, suggested we were minimalists. I’m not sure I agree, but we don’t have ‘stuff’ everywhere. Some people love having things around them and there is nothing wrong with that, but we don’t. Plus I would get sick of dusting, who wants to dust so many things? In the van, space is restricted. However much we try, there is always stuff. There is such a thing as a van shuffle. Not just to get past each other in the choreographed dance moves that allow us to get to the cupboard we need, but the stuff shuffle. There is always a pile of something that moves around the van depending on the part of the day. It’s on the sofa over night, the passenger chair in the day, or possibly the bed as we drive. It’s a random collection of things, hoodies, magazines, kindles, a phone and maybe the odd packet of biscuits. It drives me mad, but it is part of van life.

The other thing is in a small space we seem to produce huge amounts of dust, and however hard we try, grass and dust is ever present, so a daily sweep is required. This week I managed to both cut my finger, knocking it on the corner of the cupboard (not realising I was bleeding until I wondered where the trail of blood covering the floor and bed sheets came from), and bruise my thumb. No idea how that happened, but it hurts!

And then there’s the washing up. I hate washing up. When I was younger I did a lot! We would often have loads of people over for meals, whether family gatherings or things related to dad’s job, our house often had 30 people for a buffet. Mum was in her element. I was not. A stroppy 15 yr old does not love washing up, but it was my job and I may have argued, but I always lost. I remember saying to mum during on of the marathon events, “when I have my own home the first thing I buy will be a dishwasher,” and I did. OK, it wasn’t the first thing, that was a bed, but I got the dishwasher before the sofa. Old garden chairs would do to sit on until I could save up. I was not doing any more washing up than I needed to. I've had one ever since.  I can’t be sure, but I’m fairly certain Ian hates it even more than me.

But now we have been in the van for just over 5 weeks, with no dishwasher (obviously). We may be having one-pot meals, but we still seem to create far too much. So it’s gloves on, off to the pot wash room and get on with it. That was working fine until the mosquito's moved in – we have been bitten to XXXXXX and they love the washing up room. It’s a comedy battle of washing, drying, swatting, jumping, and generally swearing to get it done. Washing up has just got a whole lot worse.  

Cowes and Crows

We’ve never sailed into Cowes before, we’ve always come into Ryde via the hovercraft, on foot. This time we have our home with us, so Cowes it is. It’s such a calm ride over, it feels like we are sailing into the unknown, slightly (well, we are in fact doing just that), but it is beautiful. 

The island is full of beaches, hills, rural country lanes, small bungalows, posh mansions, tiny boats, and big yachts. It couldn’t be more different to the life we have left, and it’s inviting, sparkling, green and clean.

We’ve booked into a camp site for 3 weeks as wild camping doesn’t really work for this long on a small island, and as we have no idea how long we will need to wait, or even if the house purchase will proceeded (at the moment it is taking forever and seems to be going nowhere); it’s our best option. It’s off-season now and cheap as chips, despite the fact it’s perfect for our needs, and warm and sunny as can be.

There are 2 ‘sides’ to Cowes. Cowes, and East Cowes. It’s clear Cowes is THE Cowes; East Cowes is the poor relative. We sail into East Cowes, on the far side of the estuary from our campsite. Usually, it would be a 20 drive to our campsite, over the floating bridge, but it’s been out of action for months and there’s consternation across the island. For us it means a 40 minute drive, instead of a 20 minute one, into Newport and back out – we could wait 40 mins in a traffic jam to get to ASDA if the Blackwall tunnel was blocked and we used to walk there to in half an hour, so it’s no hardship. Our site is fab, it’s down a few country lanes, on a slight hill (there’s probably a whole blog, on the challenges of living on a slope in a van), but has all we need including it’s own beach. And our ferry queue neighbours are here, they spotted our ‘chimney’ and came to say hi. Van life is like that, people stop to chat, say pull up a chair, have a beer (currently they bring their own and sit at a distance), but it’s full of friendly folk who love to chat.  The site is fairly empty, but we do have lots of neighbours – of the Crow variety.

It’s only just begun

Today’s the day! Southampton here we come; the favourite trousers can be replaced. Only…. the shop has every size but the one we need. I fear we may need to find another favourite trouser. The good news is I got new trainers!  

Of course the real reason we are here is Red Funnel. We do love a boat, if you know us, you will know that we have spent many a happy hour on cruise ships, little dinghy’s, beautiful big yachts 

and  of course our very own little yacht, 

but today, we are heading for the ferry to the Isle of Wight, we have a one way ticket and no idea if we will be successful in buying our new home, but we’re going anyway. There’s chaos at the ferry terminal. Car’s, caravans, motorhomes, lorries everywhere, the main road is blocked with the queue and there doesn’t seem to be anyone to sort it out. 2 ferries are out of service and we’re not sure we will get on our booked slot. Eventually we manage to get the traffic light to turn into the dock gate, then we’re stuck. It seems a booking, isn’t actually a booking, when it all goes to pot. We knew there were problems, we’d seen it on the website, so we did as told and came later than usual, but now we are told, “oh, no, you need to go away and come back later”, but there’s nowhere to go and being in a van, you can’t just pop to a little spot on the front. The manager decides we can park in the spaces opposite and reassures us we won’t get a massive fine for parking there against the rules. We’ll see. However , we are parked next to another van, and as so often happens, we get chatting. “What’s that on your roof?” he says, “Is it a chimney?” We have another word for it, but you can make up your own mind on what that might be…….

The next half hour flies by talking about the Wi-Fi aerial (no it isn’t a chimney) and system we have, and before we know it, we spot a big gap in the ferry queue so race over before we get bumped from the ferry because they forgot us  And we’re off. Our new life has just begun.    

New Beginnings

For a long time we have been talking about, saving, and generally planning for a new and different life; 16 months ago we were on holiday with my sister, her family and dad. That in itself was momentous, I don’t think that had happened ever before – the last time I went on holiday with mum and dad I was probably 15 and although we have occasionally visited my sister at campsites for a night, this was the first time we had all been away together. 

We were on the south coast and had a trip planned to the Isle of Wight, so Ian and I took the chance to whizz around the island to check that the thought forming in our head. Was this the place for us? Could we, should we live here? 

 That holiday also gave us the chance to look at even more campervans; we’d been looking for a while and had a fair idea of what we wanted (it’s a complex world of fixed beds, rock and roll beds pop tops, high tops, winterised, the list goes on). There are lots of dealers on the south coast, so we took the opportunity to visit them all. And there she was. We didn’t expect to find her, we weren’t quite ready, but like pets when you first see them, they choose you – well that’s how it felt to me. Love at first sight?

We’d been out for the day and my sister and niece were in the car with us, so they too met Agy that day. Having had years of caravanning and camping experience, they knew the brand, very well in fact! We all knew it, she was the one for us, but we weren’t really ready to purchase. We drove away, excited, a bit dazed and not sure what to do. Neither of us are one’s to just rush into things, but she had all we wanted, and more. The rest as they say is history, and she finally came into our lives a month later. Ian picked her up as I couldn’t have the day off work, but I had to be there when he got home. The first time I had left the office at a ‘normal time’ for months. I just made it as he drove up the road for the first time. And there it was, we knew where we wanted to live and we had our van. The new beginning had begun.        

Watercress... Evil stuff

 When you don’t know an area, it isn’t always easy to know where to stay.  There are fabulous campsites, but post lockdown many are full due to reduced capacity, the need to get away, and everyone is still in the UK not headed off to people’s usual destinations of France or Spain in their van. When you are in a van for weeks or possibly months, it isn’t financially viable to spend your whole time on a site, so we use an app called ‘Search for Sites’. It’s great, for under £6 a year you get access to a community led map and reviews on places to stay in a motorhome (I think there is camping and caravan info too, but we only look at the motorhome ones). It’s how we found the Stonehenge site (and the fabulous YouTube vanlifers ‘John and Mandy on Tour’ recommended it in one of their Vlogs).The app also led us to our next stopover. We’ve stayed in a few pub car parks on this journey, and so far have served us well. After almost week being off grid, a pub meal appeals, as do the ‘posh loo’s’ as they have come to be known in my head. 

We headed to our first choice, it had great reviews and looked about right for us distance wise, so off we went. The roads were a bit narrow, but Ian is getting better and better at squeezing us down a country lane, so we made it, in we go to the car park. It’s a tight turn, but we’re in. As is everyone else in the local area! A smallish car park, a sunny Sunday, another motorhome beat us to it and there is no chance. A small car would fit in the final space, but not a hope for us. That’s OK, we have a reversing camera, beeping sensors and Ian is a dab hand at getting Agy out of tight spots.  Well, he is, unless little old ladies are out for lunch in the car and determined to get the last spot in the car park. There is no way we can get out with them so close behind, she’s going to have to reverse. You’d think a big van with reversing lights on in a small space would click, wouldn’t you? It took a while… but it did, eventually, with a lot of me running around and behind Agy saying “ no, we won’t get through there” 

A quick search and we have another option. Winchester Park and Ride seems to allow overnight motorhomes and we can head into town for a look around. We’re soon there, but no! The rules have changed and a £70 fine for sleeping overnight. So off we go, searching for another spot – I update the app so others don’t try it and get caught out. I  then find another option. It looks hopeful, so The Bush Inn, Ovington, Arlesford is our destination.

You know how sometimes things happen for a reason? Well I’m sure this was one of those moments. We have 2 night to stop before we head for Southampton, which is why we were planning to stay at Stonehenge another night before getting closer, but this, this is a gem. A big flat car park; that helps when you are living in a van – when your cups/pans/ bed slide up or downhill, it isn’t great! A beautiful setting and the most amazing welcome from Carlos and the team. “Of course you can stay! No pressure to book a table, but if you want to eat, book in, we’re busy”. Now I know why. They were fully booked that night, so we thought we’d have lunch the next day before moving on. A few beers and wine later with some Haloumi fries just to be polite (who can resist a Haloumi fry??), we head back to Agy for, you guessed it a toasty!

The bar staff recommend that we head along the path beside the pub as it’s a beautiful walk. In fact it’s part of the Watercress way. It’s stunningly beautiful; all we can hear are birds and crickets, crystal clear water full of fish and nobody in sight. 

We do a loop through a nearby village where the church has a fabulous roof before heading back. 

For some reason, I have a picture of my brother in my head saying, “watercress, evil stuff”. Now I know either my brother or sister used to work near here, they are both a fair bit older than me, so were working by the time I got to senior school, and I know we used to go to Alverstoke to see one of them, I thought it was my sister, but it is my brother’s voice in my head. It doesn’t make sense and why is it evil? Turns out they both had work connections near here and the evil watercress? That’s my brothers story to tell, but it seems it was a childhood thing (well before my time) and nothing to do with him working near the watercress beds of Hampshire, suffice to say, he still doesn’t enjoy a watercress sandwich.  

Ham in Hampshire

There’s something about a toasty. I think we may have become slightly obsessed with a ham and cheese toasty. We don’t eat loads of meat now, something we started about a year ago with a ‘let’s try to have two veggie days a week’ that rapidly progressed to meat maybe once a week. Lockdown (the early days of not leaving the house for a month) did impact that as we couldn’t get fresh veg, but in the main we have stuck to it and become more adventurous, cooking from scratch most of the time. 

One of the positive things that came out of stopping work and lockdown was time to rediscover my love of cooking, baking and bread making. I used to cook and bake a lot, my gift when going to friends for dinner used to be cake, not wine – not sure if that was appreciated, but it was made with love so I am sure it was. But life got in the way, so I stopped baking unless I needed to do something for a specific occasion - usually a fundraiser at work. Lordy, there were some decorating disasters, but they tasted good! 

My love of cooking, and particularly baking came from mum, she was a brilliant baker, there were always scones in the freezer and cake in a tin, particularly once she retired, but I have so many happy memories of mum and I making 6 dozen mince pies, or Christmas cake that would feed 50. One dish that was very special and holds so many memories is Snowball, well, that’s what we called it. It only ever appeared once a year on Christmas day and mum and I made it together, in fact it didn’t need baking; the tradition passed on when I stared to make it each year with my niece. Now she makes it (or possibly my sister does) for family Christmas gatherings. I don’t, as it is full of nuts and Ian and nuts do not get along, but baking, along with mum’s Kenwood Chief that I inherited, became part of lockdown life. 

Ian used to do most of the cooking as I often wasn’t home until 7 or 8pm. He’s very good and we had fab meals, but when we were both working it was often quick pasta or sausages and we did love a bacon sarnie while watching the Formula 1 (what am I saying, we still do!). However our new life has renewed our love of a toasty. One of our best buys for Agy is a RidgeMonkey, it’s promoted as a toasty maker originally for anglers I think, and it does that brilliantly, but it is so much more than that! It’s a non stick, double sided pan, that goes on our gas hob, or is it a mini oven, or a frying pan?  It’s all of those things and fabulous. A toasty in the RidgeMonkey is delicious, quick, easy and oh so scrumptious and it’s become our go to lunch. I know, we could have a veggie one, but the ham is so yummy in it.

We have to go out, as we need a new step (if you haven’t read why, then head to Stranded in Stonehenge). Warminister is our town of choice and serves us well, a new step and more muffins to feed our addiction!

By now, the loo issue is looming again too, it has to be done, so we head off with every intention of returning to our spot at Stonehenge, but by the time we’ve done the deed – who am I kidding, I have done the deed, we are a fair way towards our eventual destination in two days time, so we decided to keep going. Heading to Hampshire with a fridge stocked with ham.

Stranded in Stonehenge

 

We’ve watched some TV, celebrated some good news on the house purchase and are ready to sleep, but this menopausal (more perimenopausal  but what’s ‘peri’ between friends) woman knows there’s no rest without the loo before bed. It will be fine with no step I can slide down, and I can clamber up, no problem, the bed may be chest height, but I can do this! I’m on the back door side of the bed, so for me to get out, Ian has to too, no problem he’s taller than me so if I can, he can manage.

Some 50th birthday gin gift consumption may have impacted the decision making process!

Down I go easy as anything, but what was I thinking? That bed is like a slippery sheer cliff face. Well above any possible step up, no handholds, and a duvet that is happy to engulf me as I grapple with how to master the assent. Ian is laughing away behind me forgetting he too has to climb this beast. Before I know it, I’m giggling away, weakening my abilities even further, Ian has hold of a leg, a buttock we’re both laughing and I’m going nowhere! I attempt to use the shower tray to launch me (it’s 3 cm high at best) but Ian protests I’ll break the lip and then where will we be?  

                                

Now, neither of us are slim, or agile and we both need some sleep, so I have no idea how but somehow I am launched into bed with an almighty shove from Ian. I almost launch straight through the back door, but I’m in. Ian has much longer legs than me and doesn’t have a dodgy, previously surgically reinforced arm and hip. He will get in no problem, Punch and Judy comes to mind

                                                     “Oh no he didn’t” 

He too grapples with a slippery duvet and grabs hold of me. Why he picked my dodgy arm I have no idea, but I guess in a frantic beached whale like attempt, it’s what he found. Why I put that arm out is a mystery too! Before I know it I’m heading towards the edge of the bed headfirst. This can’t happen, I can’t decent this mountain, I will never return!

It all becomes a bit of a blur, laughing, heaving, grasping, a breathless, absolutely not sleep enducing athletic endeavour, and he’s in! By God if I need a wee later, I’m holding it!

After all that, we have the best sleep we've had for ages and wake up, open the door and feel like we've found the pot of gold. Maybe we have.