The longest week

We were due to exchange on our new home purchase 5 days ago but we didn’t; completion is due in 2 working days. We have been on the phone several times a day to the solicitor, seller, estate agent and nobody seems to know what is wrong – except…. the sellers solicitor isn’t responding to anyone, and is clearly the block. Its one of the big, very well known firms, that estate agent’s often recommend and they have a terrible reputation, they aren’t responding to anyone, nothing, not a dicky-bird. 

It’s really frustrating, we can’t stay on a campsite forever (many close for the winter), places are going into lockdown each week and we are stuck. We’ve been told everything is OK but it clearly isn’t! 

We go shopping for food and come home with more snacks and beer than meal components  (never go food shopping when anxious) and talk about what our options might be. We can push hard, pull out of the purchase and start looking again, or pull out and not bother. Living in Agy has been great, easy, relaxed and not at all stressful, so maybe we just stay in her – somewhere warmer than the UK in winter – and start looking again in the spring. House prices may drop, can we risk starting now and in 4 months time potentially end up ready to move but lockdown and in limbo again?   

We talk a lot, research long-term UK winter pitches; where can we go that is warmer and not on the Foreign Office list of no go areas? We had hoped for Spain, we have a booking for the Tunnel and campsite that was postponed from the summer we could use, but that’s on the ‘essential travel only’ list, so not an option. 

In the end, we decide we need to be honest and say we can’t keep waiting; we need to know so we can make an informed decision and manage our blood pressure. The unknown is always more stressful than the known, however bad, so we take a deep breath, make a call and follow up by email. If we haven’t exchanged by the end of today we will have to pull out of the purchase. Maybe this will make the sellers solicitor actually respond to their client or our solicitor. We need to know, our stress levels are through the roof. We go for a walk on the beach to try and calm our minds and wait. 

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.

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.  

The Oak tree and the Octopus.

Some days we just stay on site, we don’t need to be anywhere we are trying to keep our distance from most people, so we stay. It’s a lovely place to be. There are lots of oak trees here, but one is a constant in our daily lives. I think of it as the oak tree of opportunity, in fact that was the alternative name for this blog, you can decide if it would have been more inviting.

The oak tree of opportunity you ask? Why? Because it brings the opportunity for a hot shower, the beach, the laundry (it has to be done), we pass it to access all of these. When the site is quiet, we see the local wildlife: a pheasant a badger (it was 1am and Ian thoughtless didn’t take his camera on his late night loo trip) and less positively, a potential thump on the head from a falling acorn. It’s a beautiful tree and it makes me smile. To date, I have not been thumped, but there have been a few near misses.   

But what about the octopus? Well that’s a whole different subject. When you spend this long on the road, you need to do the washing. You can’t carry many clothes. So you need to wash them. There is a launderette on site, but it isn’t cheap and we only need a few things rinsing, so out comes the collapsible bucket. Who doesn’t wash out their smalls while chatting to the neighbours? They are scousers (new left hand neighbours) and he has a fabulous story for every occasion. I wash, we chat, beer is consumed, a less stressful wash-day has never been had. And the Octopus? She helps us dry it all. I love her… she’s practical, cute, folds up small and fun. Whoever thought about putting eyes on her was a genius! Ikea style in action.

The coast-less coastal path

It’s another sunny day, but it’s Sunday and parking Agy on a sunny day at the seaside isn’t always easy, so we decided to do a bit more coastal path, this time in the other direction. The path cuts straight through the campsite not far behind our pitch, in fact it goes directly behind the posh pitches. The flat gravel, with all your services on hand: water, waste disposal and your own electric point pitches, not this shared facility on grass with a slight slope that we have (to be fair we have our own electric hook up, but we share the post). I think I’d rather have ours, away from the fairly frequent walkers.

So off we go, away from the coast, but following the signs, down the lane and over the first stile. It’s a really rutted route from the tractor tracks, and on a rainy day this would be a quagmire, for us it’s just a potential ankle breaker. One again we are all alone except for the swifts. They are dancing, circling, sweeping down to drink from the puddles, calling to each other.  It’s years since I've seen them and it’s a wonderful sight. However, every so often we hear another sound – gunfire!

That is a tad concerning as we are trotting across the fields, but this is definitely the path. We pray they aren’t shooting at us and keep going. Several fields and lots of tempting blackberrys later we reach the road. This coastal path is a little deceitful.  As we head down the lane, criss-crossing to avoid certain death on the tight blind corners, we meet fellow walkers who overtake. They seem to be on a mission, rather than our amble. About half way to our final destination on the planned walk we come across the Sportsman’s rest. A pub, with inviting outside tables and it would be rude not to support the local economy, so in we go, masks on.

Why we hadn’t thought about it, I have no idea, but they are serving Sunday lunch and lots of locals are in… a good sign. Roast it is then!

We decide to sit outside and our fellow walkers are at the adjacent table. As always seems to happen, we get chatting, they are here on holiday walking the coastal path, the whole thing in a week, so yes, on a mission. They have a destination much further than ours and a cab waiting to take them to a B&B, so they just have a drink and on they go. Full of absolutely delicious lunch there is no chance of going further, we are far too full to walk miles, may as well head back. Sorry, no photo, too busy eating and wasp wafting.  

On the way back we spot a windsock, just a windsock, in the middle of a field. Nothing else. On closer inspection there’s a grass strip mowed into the field, a very short one, so not for aircraft, but clearly a runway.

With the swifts gone and the gunshots ringing we arrive back at the final stile, spot a huge bird of prey, but have no idea what it is – I need my brother for that, he knows his birds (so to speak) and we are back, happy, full and curious.  A quick google later and we discover a Reserve Forces MOD 'Danger Area' with a light arms firing range explains the gunshots and lack of coast for this stretch of the path. 

We’re far too full for a proper tea, so as you do, I rustle up some home made brownies and serve them hot with a choc ice – don’t judge, it’s what we had available!  

Veggies and Ventnor

 After a few days just pootling around, doing everyday things, checking out the supermarkets, finding B&Q (oh, are we going to need it!), having BBQ veggies and generally doing not very much, we decide we need a seaside fix. Ventnor it is! 

Ventnor is about 30 minutes drive from where we are staying, in fact, everything seems to be about 30 minutes drive from everywhere else. I suppose that’s what comes of a diamond shaped island.

It’s a very different coast to the one we are staying on, it is the opposite side of the island. We are on The Solent side, it’s on The Channel side, not too far from where we hope to live - a couple of town’s along. It has high cliffs, a sandy beach and a very steep windy road down to the sea. We find a parking spot on the road near the top and down we go, there’s steps down between the houses, little alleyways taking you down shortcuts, but once you are there, it’s fabulous. A waterfall, a paddling pool, plenty of sand, and a chip shop. Perfect for a day at the beach. Unfortunately our swimming things are way up that hill, and there is no way I’m doing that climb twice. No swimming today, just salty chips and salty air.    

After that climb back up we are starving when we get back to camp, search the fridge and cupboards and get on with making pizza in the ridge monkey, everyone has home made pizza when camping don’t they? 

Crafty cooking

When it is cold and windy, Agy can have the odd draft, in fact there can be a draft even when it isn’t cold. Ian has done loads to reduce them. Extra seals, insulation, all sorts, but – the fridge fans (they help it stay cool) vent into the van, on hot days that’s fabulous, not so much when it is cold but not cold enough to put the heating on. We need a curtain to go across the bed nook. 

The fabric has arrived (that post office delivery system is working well) but oh my word, it stinks! Absolutely stinks! There is no way that can go anywhere near the van. Rotten fish is the odour of the day….. 2 days later, having aired it out on the table outside (it looked a bit like a table cloth, so we suspect our new left hand side neighbours probably think we are a bit odd, taking a table cloth camping) we set to work. We have basic equipment. In fact, what we have in terms of tools are more DIY/van repairs than craft/sewing supplies. But we are inventive. We have rip stop fabric (like the back door curtain we have to keep the bed dry when we have to open the back doors in poring rain) so glue, a picnic table, some potholders and a couple of jars will do the trick.

Our right hand neighbours are intrigued, we’ve got to know them, as we have both been here a week and we all like a good chat. They come over to see what we are up to (keeping their distance of course) offer some helpful advice and never questioning the table cloth, why would they? They have a table cloth and a fruit bowl. The hotel owner, chief instinct is strong, their camp is immaculate, just like them.

After a period of drying, net curtain wire installing and a bit of faffing, we have a curtain that will help when it’s draughty. Unsurprisingly a heat wave is on the way, so it won’t be tested for a while.

While Ian is sorting out things with solicitors and banking, I have an urge to bake. I’ve missed it, and I fancy scones. I can do this. I have flour, butter and sugar and an Omnia. I also have measuring cups. I’m not daft; I remembered to pack them in Agy, just in case. With a quick recipe conversion from grams to cups I’m ready. They look OK as I pop them in to cook. It takes longer than an oven, and things often don’t brown, but they do cook well. However, something is wrong, they are flat, in fact sort of melted, not pert and scone like. I’ve made many a scone and learnt from the best (mum) so what’s wrong? They taste OK, not great, but with plenty of butter and jam, they are fine. I ask on the Omnia Facebook group, but nobody is sure why, they should be OK. At about 10pm, I realise…. I forgot the baking powder, I don’t have self raising on board. I blame the menopausal brain, not being blond!

Sandown calling

We have important papers to pick up from the post office, the one’s that once signed can seal the deal on our new home, the transfer document and contract etc. – exciting papers! This might just happen. It has taken a while, but Sandown is calling.

The post office is about a 2 minute walk to the beach, but you can only stop outside for an hour, so we decide to park further up the bay in Yaverland (it is all one big bay and to me all looks like Sandown, but I am sure at some point we will understand the distinction). It’s hot, sunny and we are parked right next to the beach. I’m going in! I have never stood naked in a car park before and it does feel odd! I may be in a van with the blinds closed, but I am naked in the car park.

When I left my job, some of the incredible members of the community that I am proud to now call friends, sent me a gift to say thank you and good luck. It was the height of lockdown, many were shielding and shops were shut. A voucher worked well, and I enjoyed my online shopping. Their love and generosity made me cry and I wanted my gift to be something joyous, that would be with me in happy times. Today I get to use some of the items I chose for the first time. I chose a new swimming costume, beach towel, sunny day tops and a beautiful blue woollen poncho for cooler evenings following sunny days.

To save arrest and future embarrassment, if we do end up living here, I don my cozzie, wrap myself in my towel and step out into the car park. The bay is huge, sparking in the sun and it is calm, but it is mighty cold! Bracing, flipping freezing, but I’m in and once I’m properly in it’s fine. I adore swimming in the sea; since I shattered my shoulder, I struggle to swim well, but there is a huge shallow sandy shelf going out a long way, so I can stand up if needs be. I’m safe and in my element. Imagine being able to do this every day if I wanted to; I do want to… I may not however swim every day, but I like the idea of being able to. Ian isn’t so keen on the cold salty water. He does love swimming, and the sea, but not today.

A quick dry off in Agy and we are ready to explore more. We walk past dinosaur isle, the crazy golf, the beach huts, and try out a cafe in the high street, Kate’s cottage. It’s nothing to look at, but the locals are here, not in the beach front cafes, so we head in. £6.50 later we are stuffed (Ian an all day breakfast and me a ploughmans), £6.50, how can that be, food and drinks for less than some people pay for a coffee in London. I love a local cafe, and I love this one, we will be back.

After a stroll on the pier we decide it’s time for a drink, so head to one of the bars on the front. Honestly, we could be on the Med. It’s hot, a huge sandy beach, the dark wood, ceiling fans and a sparking sea. This might just be our home. I feel we have won the lottery.