Put it down to experience

Well, that was interesting! At least we learned something from it and I'll eventually figure out what that is, I guess.

On Friday, as planned, we left The Sidings before dawn, travelling to Taunton in order to receive our beautiful camper. It was parked up ready for us, paid for and insured. We climbed in and waited for someone to come and take us through everything and to hand over. Meanwhile we checked it over, and made sure the things that had been promised had been done; and that's when things started to go downhill.

My first disappointment was with the shower floor repair. The tiny nick that simply needed a touch of filler had certainly been filled, but with a dirty finger that left an unsightly smudge of resin. It was worse than the original problem! Gareth had found that a door catch hadn't been replaced as promised and it was clear that the van hadn't been fully valeted, as evidenced by the dead flies falling out of the skylights. When our displeasure was communicated a number of grease monkeys appeared with spray bottles and rags to put things right. As I showed one of them the dead flies in a skylight, water dripped and alarm bells rang! No amount of reassurance from the salesman that it was a fixable problem would convince Gareth that the seals hadn't been compromised, either by weathering or the pressure wash we were told was probably the culprit (who pressure washes rubber seals and skylights anyway? It's bound to create problems!). Our confidence in the vehicle was shattered, Gareth said we'd have our money back and we drove away again with me in tears. 

Being neither of us in any state to think what we should do next other than find somewhere to stay, we booked a room at a quirky little BnB called the Fitzhead Inn and drove around in circles trying to find it. It proved to be cosy, with friendly company in the bar and a nice meal. As I snuggled into bed, determined not to think about the “what next” Gareth busied himself on the laptop. Gently he mentioned that the night before, he had come across another camper - same model, a bit younger but with a higher mileage. It was for sale privately in the Peak District. Did we have anything to lose by going up to see it? The seller’s emailed response was positive, so off we went again in our little Berlingo van full of dogs and the worldly goods we were carrying with us. 

The M5 in pouring rain is no fun, and made worse by lane closures and crawling traffic. Rain became snow by the time we got onto the M6 and we began to wonder about the road conditions on the way to Buxton where we had booked into the Palace Hotel for the night. A cuppa for us at Richard and Libby’s and a run in Fenton Park for the dogs was a nice break, giving me the opportunity of some cuddles with Margot and a rare calling-by chat with my eldest and his lady. We missed Seb though, who’d been delivered to his other grannie for a sleep over. 

We arrived in a Christmas-card Buxton in the dark. The Peaks were white and the camper van seller was questioning the possibility of our being able to see the vehicle, parked as it was in a barn in a remote high-up farm. We picnicked that night in our dog-friendly room, bathed and watched a film, hoping that the weather would be ok in the morning. It wasn't, but the seller was happy to oblige us with a viewing if we could get there and so we did.

The van was no match for one we'd left behind in Taunton, at least in terms of its interior. This one has been used but it has been loved, and being a Hymer, has withstood being lived in and everything works. We've been back at The Sidings for a few days until the camper is ready for us on Thursday. Wish us luck that we are luckier this time.

Reflecting on the experience of dealing with a dealer, particularly after hearing other tales of dodgy dealerships I am dismayed that quality control and apprenticeship training is not up to scratch. Obviously it's a risk buying secondhand, but we are finding that a good honest private seller inspires more confidence than a dealership where guarantees mean nothing at all.

Living lightly?

It's just four and a half days until we get our motorhome! We've been idling here at “The Sidings”, enjoying the time with my sister and her Wayne and doing the research needed to make our new lifestyle plan a do-able one. Also…… we've had an offer accepted on the little house we viewed before we came up north. So, that's another piece of the jigsaw falling into place.  

My youngest, Owen, seems especially happy with the prospect of us buying the place in question, possibly because it isn't far from him and he sees the advantage of having child-minding facilities on his doorstep, or he's glad that his strange mother is now putting money back into bricks and mortar. As far as being a convenient grandchildren drop off is concerned, that is at least a couple of years off, as we intend putting a tenant in as soon as possible. 

A niggle in the back of my mind is that my attraction to the property is in fact, because of its proximity to Owen, Jess and the children. I can't deny that an alternative retirement dream of mine was of a future with grandkids coming to tea, helping me plant flowers, make cakes and having a stay-over room just for them. I’ve wrestled with these conflicting desires and know that when travelling I will miss the regular and close contact I have had with the little ones, Reuben and Ivy. However, now that we are relieved of the chores of running a BnB and have a home to carry on our backs, I might also get to spend a bit more time with Richard, Libby, Seb and Margot. 

I remember the wonderful feeling that came with the arrival of Sebastian, my first grandchild. I'd had to make all sorts of care arrangements for my (now dear departed) mother in order to get to see him and hold him. We are four grandchildren in now, and lives being so busy, regular visits to and between my sons’ families have become more difficult. Now that Gareth and I have un-busied ourselves though and put our home on wheels we can ‘live local’ wherever we want! ….. but only if we have a tenanted property providing us with some income. 

I'm hoping, of course, that things work out in such a way that I'll also be able to visit my far-away-in-Canada son, William and Izzy, his lady. They have cats instead of children, and while Skype is a great facility, it isn't the same as a proper visit. We can't, unfortunately, stretch to getting an amphibious motorhome in order to get out to family across the Pond and beyond so flying out is the only option and then we’d have to kennel the dogs.

Dogs. Last night we compiled an order from Amazon (yes, I know! convenience and price wins over ethics…..again!). It's for stuff to equip the motorhome and includes a rather expensive rechargeable vacuum cleaner. Why an expensive one? Well, our two springer spaniels shed like mad and with blown air heating I don't fancy having dog hair drifting in our air like dandelion fluff. The next issue is how to restrain them while travelling and how to keep them from getting underfoot. Then, how do we de-muddy them after soggy walks without having to redecorate each time? This will be fun 🙄. As I say, the success of this venture depends very much on how it works out with the dogs.

As I sit here writing this at past 9.00 am, Gareth languishes in bed still, and the dogs wait patiently for him to take them out. I could take them out myself, as I often do, but I prefer to write when the mood takes me and in any case they are HIS dogs! Ok, I love them too, but I do get irritated by the intrusion of their needs into ours. Nevertheless, I believe that having a pet is to have it for life, and one way or another, they will be accommodated.

And speaking of ethics (was I?), I have been pondering how this plan of ours fits with my wish to live more lightly on this earth. I do all of the usual things, like recycling and up-cycling where I can. However, I am painfully aware of the need we all have to do more; to question the provenance of the things we buy, to reduce our waste and our use of plastics, but, Gareth and I are about to spend lots of time travelling about in an aluminium box spewing diesel fumes into the countryside and consuming fossil fuel to keep us warm. I console myself that it is at least a second-hand vehicle (is it therefore recycled?) with a solar panel and that the little house we are buying is also old (it could be about 150 years old), so also recycled…..in a way.

Anyway, there’s the question: How do we find a way to reduce our carbon footprint while living this little dream of ours? All sensible suggestions welcome.

Pastures new

Ok, then, here it is and here is Gareth, imagining himself off in some remote place, with all that he needs packed into the tin can that will soon be ours:

That’s the first piece of our ‘living differently’ picture. Believe it or not, it's a 17 year old vehicle in mint condition - less than 900 miles on the clock. The story is that it was bought with loads of extras but the guy’s wife wasn't keen on motorhoming so it sat on the driveway for years. 

There is a little snag - it's left hand drive. Mind you, that will be an advantage when we finally get to travel abroad. We pick it up in a couple of weeks and then who knows where we might show up!

You'd think that having finally found this key to freedom we'd be excitedly planning our adventures and rubbing our arthritic fingers together with glee. Instead we are fretting over whether we've made the right decision! It's another item of stuff requiring practical and financial upkeep. I'm tempted to paint birds and daisies on the outside but Gareth is conscious of the need to keep it in good resale condition. Sigh! He's right, of course. After a bit of travelling in it with two dogs under foot we might decide it's not for us after all, and it would be nice to get some of our money back.

Anyway, that's one decision made. The next is to find a house and we are very likely to repeat the process of buying something that didn't fit the criteria we shortlisted (we never intended buying an old van, or one that is LH drive…..or one that isn't automatic……) House hunting today turned up an interesting little property that we are very tempted to put an offer in on. Again, you'll have to wait and see what comes of it.

Our time in Mumbles is coming to an end as we head up to Lincolnshire on Saturday. My sister Jen and her partner Wayne live in a converted railway carriage on what is now a hobby railway sidings. They run a little motorhome park business and also have a cabin that will be our home for a couple of weeks. They have a small motorhome too so you can guess what the topic of most conversations will be when we're with them. “The Sidings”, Ludborough is a fab little place just below the Wolds. Jen and Wayne have done a lovely job of converting their railway carriage and the site is gorgeous. We are looking forward to our annual visit and so are the dogs, Bess and Pwdin. There are lots of rabbits there while there aren't many in Mumbles. They are certainly not the sedate sort of dogs that happily abide in apartments!

Mumbling yet again

Ok, so that was Christmas 2017, over in a flash as usual but a very pleasant distraction from the business of trying to bring our lifestyle plan to fruition. There has been a development on that score, but more of that later.

Our stay at Belvedere cottage was quite delightful in spite of its quirks. Once the walls had warmed up and Gareth’s imagined ghost had accepted us, we were cosy and snug. Christmas Eve at the King Arthur was a mulled wine and festive nuts way to see us in to the Big Day which was a lovely family day of relaxing and playing with the children, topped off with Owen’s beautifully cooked goose dinner (and lots of wine of course). 

Boxing Day took us off for the obligatory post-Christmas walk to Oxwich. Being a little bit maverick, instead of walking the beach we took the dogs through the grassy dunes that are the nature reserve, thinking that we were away from the madding (“maddening” my Dad used to call it) crowd. Reaching the pill we then ventured onto the beach at its further end from the car park for our walk back. The shiny pewter tide was in and lapped gently at the wellied feet of the Tribes of Israel making their way towards us from the other end. New bobble hats bounced in time with babies on their carrier-wearing dads, the leaping, barking, pooing dogs and the over-sugared, in-need-of-a-post-Christmas-excitement-airing children. 

We pondered the fact that however differently we might think we are doing things; however different we feel we are from “others” there are a heck of a lot of others doing almost exactly the same things as us. In respect of our plan to live differently, a couple of hours on the iPad last night proved to me that there is a very large community of 60-somethings dreaming the same dreams as me and living the same lives that we are contemplating having. So much for original thought! 

We imagine that our bright ideas are our own, but in fact they have been infiltrated! Heaven forbid it's a case of being controlled by some other ‘Other’! I guess it would be quite convenient to have all our older folk migrating to Southern Europe for the winter instead of clogging up the NHS with their arthritic conditions, blood pressure and heart attacks. Just plant the idea in enough older minds, and Bob’s your uncle, the winter public service statistics look more manageable!

It could, however, be a devious plan by the anti-immigration lobby to thwart the northward migrations from the Far East and Africa with a wall of motor homes along the European coast of the Med! Although a flaw in that plan is to assume that those motorhomers are all Brexiteers, keen to keep Britain for the British, but to keep the Mediterranean resorts British too. Liberal travellers, on the other hand, might actually adopt a few itinerant foreigners or at least be so good as to share with them a few glasses of cheap French wine and a can of beans or two.

So, anyway, what next? What original thought can I come up with that is nevertheless rational? Consensus is appealing - there's security in knowing that an idea is tried and tested. Lying awake last night back at the Mumbles apartment and thinking through a decision we are about to make, the ‘what ifs’ multiplied. As I  said, more about that later, so watch this space, and a Happy New Year, too, readers!

Oh little town of Reynoldston, how still we see thee lie....

It's Christmas Eve, so I say it again - Merry Christmas!! 

And where are we? You may well ask! After loading up our camels (my old Honda and Gareth's Renault) we trekked across the hills of Gower, the only high point being the not-very-high-above-sea level hill that is Cefn Bryn, to our Christmas hovel. Gareth was so looking forward to it. Mumbles is really not his scene and the Bryn beckoned him with its muddy paths, dead bracken and spiky shrubs for the dogs to get entangled in. Each to their own, eh? The cottage sits on the south side of the Bryn looking out across the fields and the village of Reynoldston to the sea beyond; that's when it's not shrouded in a drizzly mist, of course. Its address is Belvedere, Applegrove; a curious name, I thought. Certainly “Applegrove”now refers to the estate of smart 60’s build homes rather than my picture of a field of apple trees thriving on the sometimes-sunny, temperate slopes of Gower. And the name Belvedere…..I'm thinking that it might be a connection with the Norman lordships of Gower; days long ago when the English (yes, you know who you are) were given bits of Gower as thanks for their support of the Norman kings (“bloody foreigners, coming over ‘ere” ref Stewart Lee)

We parked on the soggy grass driveway where someone had clearly bogged in before us and squished into the cottage ferrying our bags and boxes and fought the hounds to keep muddy paws from inside. It's an old house, for sure, but cosy in an old fashioned and energy INEFFICIENT way! The antiquated heating system was blasting to welcome us and was working hard to dry out the dampness that comes with our Airbnb package. The smell of age is strong - earthy mortar and old plaster infused with the smells of many lives lived here. The owner, who called by to check that all is ok (he must know that some things here are definitely not ok) told us that the house is 600 years old! I can believe it, from the smell, and the decor isn't much younger than that either! 

Nevertheless, it's another change of scenery and thereby a novelty. We have a log burner which is very seasonal and I have brought in our fibre-optic Christmas tree and some coloured lights, so we're good to go. 

Our first night followed our usual pattern. Gareth, with his bad hip, like Goldilocks tried every bed to find one that he was comfortable in (it’s Gareth who has the bad hip…I don't think it featured in the Goldilocks story). He failed, so yesterday we took a trip to the caravan to drag out our memory foam mattress topper. That first night for me was feeling my heat being sucked into the cold damp stone walls, and I vowed not to sleep in that room again. The following morning, Gareth, not a man given to fanciful imaginings (ever the rationalist in fact) reported that events in the night suggested we may have ghosts for company. I'm not sleeping anywhere now other than with him in whichever bed he chooses! So last night we shared the memory foam in the bedroom with fewer external stone walls to steal us of our body heat and after a while of keeping my eyes firmly shut for fear of spectral visits (ghosts of Christmas Past?) I fell into a dream state in which Gareth decided to do a charity walking marathon. 

While I sit here writing this, Gareth is singing Christmas jingles in the kitchen. A cheerful sound and one I love, since he has a lovely singing voice, rarely exercised, except on occasions such as this when he has his turkey cooking and a cupboard full of food and booze. He’d insisted on not over-buying this year, proclaiming that my habit of seeking out obscure ingredients for meals that don't ever see the light of day was to be firmly curbed. Nevertheless, the bank balance took a hit and we’ve had to be ingenious in finding ways to store our goodies in this not-so-well-designed kitchen. I won't be at all tempted to make fancy dinners though. Owen is cooking an over-large goose for us all at their place tomorrow and I have the excuse of being a vagrant to be less than the perfect hostess this year. But we do have turkey, and pickled onions, so I can always make sandwiches. Sorry, vegetarians; are pickled onion sandwiches acceptable? (I can't remember what else we've stuffed into these cupboards)

Today stretches out before me like an adventure. There's nothing I have to do, and being Christmas Eve, that is most unusual for me. Of course there's every possibility that when Owen starts preparing his goose-fest he may need another oven, or another kitchen even, and I will be called in as back up. For the meantime, though, I'm contemplating getting dressed in my cheapie sparkly jumper and heading to the King Arthur to sip away and slip into Christmas.

Have fun, everyone.

Happy Hangover

Hangover day. Christmas being a time to remember old friends (old in a couple of meanings of the word 😉) last night we revived a Christmas tradition of meeting up for a chinwag. Our old haunt for such an occasion used to be The Woodman in Blackpill, but this time, given that our rented apartment is within rolling distance down from the Newton Inn, we met there for drinks before a curry night at our place. Our little group filled the pub with chat and laughter, interspersed with sighs as we remembered dear departed friends and colleagues. Beer, gin and wine flowing the landlady was most appreciative of our presence, the reason being that we were the only people there! In the lounge at any rate. Not so very long ago, it seems, the Inn was a thriving place, but now it is going the same way as so many independent village pubs, fading, failing, falling and closing down. Sad. The same could be said about our little group, I guess; all of us now retired (except Gareth who's a bit too disabled to work right now), but we're still alive and kicking and making an effort to live large. We talked about bucket lists and today, in my hangover state, I'm still wondering what to add to mine. Hmmmmmm……..

Afterwards we all rolled down the wet and splashy road back to the apartment, and the hours flowed by as easily as the wine. The curry house, Chutneys, a few doors away, once a favourite with many, would have been a very convenient supplier of our supper, but sadly their Trip Advisor reviews don't favour it these days. My homemade curry was surprisingly edible, however, and to date no one has reported food poisoning, so all is good.

Sitting here as the post-party day drifts by, the rain is about as wet and non-Christmassy as it gets. The little Christmas trees pinned up above every shop are draped in raindrop garlands instead of frost or snow and the bright Christmas sweaters and new winter coats are hidden under raincoats. My new winter coat is a full length mustard yellow puffer style (so I can be seen in the dark….)  Gareth has a blue short one. They are light but warm, shower proof and with hoods. They’ll be great for travelling. Everywhere I look now, people are wearing the same sort of thing! In every clothes shop there is a selection of them and not having checked the maker’s origin before buying, I can see why the Chinese economy is set to take over the world. I am disturbed and feeling guilty about how the down for our coats has been acquired (look it up - I don't want to cast too big a shadow of gloom over your pre-Christmas feelings of goodwill). I'm also aware of how much plastic I'm gathering in this season of gift giving. I said I wouldn't cast any gloom, but did you watch Blue Planet 2?

Anyway, I've wrapped some presents and stuffed my face some more (Gareth just suggested that I do some exercise 😉🙄) and tomorrow we have to pack up our stuff, including our Christmas tree and pretty lights, as we're moving out for a week. Yes, I know! What a palaver! The apartment was already booked out for Christmas when we moved in here so we will be in yet another very different home in Reynoldston, on the edge of Cefn Bryn (great for the dogs…….and Gareth) and within staggering distance of the King Arthur hotel. The advantage of itinerant living is that the scene changes, and the disadvantage is having to cart one’s stuff around as well. Living it large is a nice idea, but in our case we need to find a way of living large and keeping our baggage small. If only!!!

Mumbles muchness

Christmas approaches quickly. I haven't given it much thought yet, being so itinerant. We've been in this apartment for a week now though, and we're a bit more settled. Time for some serious shopping, then! And where better to get into the Christmas shopping, eating and drinking spirit than Mumbles!

After a walk around the headland at Langland with the dogs yesterday, I thought I’d persuade Gareth to come with me on a Mumbles shopping expedition. He graciously agreed after he'd had some lunch (stomach being the way to a man’s heart and all that) but was determined not to change out of his “I'm a man of the countryside” garb. In Mumbles, I'm attending to my personal grooming more carefully, wearing make-up before I set out, and wearing tidy shoes. Next it will be fancy knickers, in case I get knocked down. I couldn't bear the shame of being seen legs akimbo with sad pants in front of a bus in Mumbles! Heaven forbid!

Earlier, after the dog-walking, we had stopped at Peg 2 for coffee and the best Chai Latte I've ever had, both of us in our fleeces and walking boots, only to “bump” into an ex-colleague of mine whose own get-up was “smart-but-I'm-not trying”. Being herself a Mumble-er she proudly told us how she herself has now downsized without losing a view of the bay and having space for parking too! She also enjoyed telling us that she was here in the coffee shop to meet the local MP. Tonia, the MP, arrived and soon spotted Gareth, who had been her campaign photographer. Clearly pleased to see him, she engaged in friendly chat with us about life in London and the Commons. If my glam aunt were still alive, I'd be able to dine out on that one with her for sure.

Anyway, lunch over and Gareth still smarting for having paid £10 for a bag of coffee beans at Peg 2 (tee hee, it's not just my bad) he gritted his teeth to come shopping (browsing, I called it) and we started off in the Gower Gallery. I oohed and aahed at the lovely things there, the skill of the painters and sculptors, the delightful little things that presented themselves to me as potential Christmas presents, and Gareth didn't say a word. I believe I heard him sigh with relief when we left the shop empty handed but he knew that wasn't the end of our venture.

Next stop was Cover to Cover, a business now owned by my book-expert cousin, Tim. To chat with him was to interrupt the healthy sales that were going on, so we said we'd come back in the week. I'll probably need a week in there anyway, with the mouthwatering (should I say page-turner-finger-tickling) choice of reads on offer there.

From there we browsed around a display of ‘Affordable Art’ in one of the chapels (sorry, I didn't note the name, but it's just opposite the bridal shop). Clearly there are Mumblers around who are looking for the trappings and trimmings for their homes that the wealthier patrons of art are better able to afford. Some of the work on display in the chapel was very good, but those running the event were a bit scary. Show any interest in a piece and you'd be swooped upon. I left a pound in the collection box and left ungenerously.

In the Ostreme Centre a craft fair was bustling with trinket makers and gift seekers. Lovely stuff to my eyes, but Gareth couldn't see the attraction. Bored and irritated with my inability to decide what to buy from the smorgasbord before me I found him outside staring vacantly into the glittery street.

After that I went alone into one of the dress shops, so I could finger at leisure the things that I would never dream of wearing myself while he went for a chat with the butcher next door (Tuckers, from Penclawdd; so we know him) and bought some bones for the dogs.

Not even Coakley Green’s fish perked his interest in our continuing shopping event, so after a trip to the ATM and a bag of fruit and veg from the greengrocer, we headed to the Alehouse. Whiling away a couple of hours there softened his mood for a while and we topped off the day with a meal at Mumtaz. Forgetting that spicy food doesn't agree with him, he was at least fed, watered and ready for a sprawl on the big leather couches back at the apartment. 

Tomorrow we have another house viewing. We can't get overly excited about it as there is very little on offer. Maybe it's just the time of year. What the heck, live and love life, eh?