It's been a while since I wrote a blog. You may have noticed this, you may not have. You may run, dressing gowned to the computer every morning at 6am, desperate for more whimsical anecdotes about vegetables. "But how ARE they going to figure out how to keep their tomatoes alive this time?" you may ask yourself.
(We will water them. That's what we will do)
The lack of recent blogging can be blamed on puppets. Yes, you heard.
I've been performing a puppetry version of the 3 Little Pigs at the Albany Theatre in Deptford all month, wearing a tank top and having at least one pig on my hand at all times. It has been a brilliant, fun month, allowing me to perform with my ace husband (we figured that husband and wife puppetry isn't sinister unless we brought the puppets home and called them our children) It was an exhausting month, doing 2 or 3 shows a day, dealing with heckles like 'We want Tom- Tom is BETTER THAN YOU' and, inexplicably, one child shouted 'SPIDERWOLF' at me every time I came on stage. Time at home has been limited and has mainly been spent nursing our limbs (I don't know if 'puppeteer's forearm' is a real medical term, but it should be) and, well, talking about puppets. I haven't been by the computer enough, and so blogging has taken a back seat. The pigs were in the front.
II have been inspired to blog again by my little brother. I say 'little.' He is 25 and significantly taller than me. He also has a proper job and a car. He also often marinades things.
My wonderful little brother is travelling solo around China. For 3 weeks. Over Christmas. I was in awe of him when I first heard this news. The most adventurous thing I've ever done over Christmas was going directly into the lounge to greet my parents after a heavy night at the pub on Christmas Eve.
In short, he is having a wonderful time. He is travelling to the known and the unknown, meeting new people, eating new food (with varying degrees of success) and attempting to communicate in mimes that often leave people frightened and confused.
Right now, he is my hero. His blog has made me think about having adventures. Yes, his stories make me want to travel to the unknown, they make me want to grab my passport and disappear for a few weeks, and they make me want to embrace those parts of the world that currently only exist for me on Google Earth.
But they also make me excited for my own adventure, the one that I am on right now. (well, not RIGHT NOW- right now I am in my dressing gown, wondering whether or not to have jam or marmite on my crumpets- I will probably go for one of each, so it feels like a full meal)
As I sit here in my little spot by the window, watching the constant drizzle hit the garden and the cat sheltering uncomfortably under a bush (it hasn't yet occurred to her that she can just come inside) I am filled with anticipation and excitement about the year to come. I am going on tour around the UK with my show 'Running on Air' for a large portion of the Spring and Summer of 2011 and I cannot wait. It feels as though this has been a long time coming, and Joni and I are ready for it. Well, she needs to pop to the garage first for a check that she'll not only make it to the end of our road, but also to Glasgow, but we will be ready. We will. I am looking forward to be doing what I love every day, to meeting new people in the show, to convincing people it's OK to use a biscuit tin as a drum in front of complete strangers.
I am looking forward to making new work next year, to reading new books, making new meals and finding new songs that I want to listen to on repeat for hours (This is a trait I share with my brother who listened to 'I Try' by Macy Gray on constant repeat for roughly 4 months without a break back in 2001)
In short, I have decided that 2011 will be a year of adventures. Some of those will be in wellingtons, some of them will not.
Wednesday 29 December 2010
Thursday 11 November 2010
The Cold, The Pumpkin and the Halloween Tomatoes
So, here I am again, in my little corner of the study. The doors to the garden are NOT open today as it is unneccessarily chilly. I am being entertained by 2 things:
a) showtunes (currently on Chess- how I love Elaine Paige when I can't see her face)
b) the cat, who is chasing something invisible to everyone other than her and keeps leaping inexplicably into the air then looking disgruntled. Earlier she was eating some paper. She then moved on to tinfoil, at which point I intervened.
Through the window to the garden I can see the scarlet leaves of a *insert name of tree here* tree which is turning out to be very beautiful in autumn. I know I should know the names of things in the garden but I am giving myself small, manageable goals when it comes to that skill. I have spent the last few months focusing on vegetables. (I've done other things as well, I haven't just been sitting in the garden, staring intently at them)
In Vegetable World (that sounds like the best theme park EVER) the garden is looking a little less exciting as it was a few months ago. This is because the season changed (ah, nature) and also because we ate everything. We also assumed that as soon as it's not 30 degrees, tomatoes don't need water any more. This is NOT TRUE. Needless to say, our tomato plants now look like are dressed as dead zombie tomato plants, all ready for a late Halloween party. Imagine what tomato plants would look like if Tim Burton designed them. Welcome to our garden.
I have to admit that I have no idea what to do with any of our vegetables now we've eaten all the good bits. Do we dig them up? Do we leave them and wait for them to grow new good bits? I think a little bit of consultation with Mr Titchmarsh may be in order.
The pumpkins were particularly emotional to pick. We grew a great big one and a little one. They weren't orange, but a lovely deep yellow, the colour of the campervan. I chose to see this as a wonderful coincidence rather than seeing it as them not being ready yet. Unfortunately, we ate them the wrong way round. We picked the little one when we had 6 people round for lunch, resulting in everyone having ONE AND ONLY ONE tiny cube of pumpkin each, then the massive great big one when we had ONE person round for dinner, resulting in far too much pumpkin, far more than any of us could manage without feeling physically uncomfortable.
We will learn next year. That is, if we get any pumpkins next year. I really have no idea what happens now.
In campervan world, Joni is still bringing much needed sunshine to our street. The show will be going on tour in the Spring/Summer next year (when we may or may not have vegetables again) and we are all very excited. Well, I'm not sure that the cat is excited. When we came back from Edinburgh, it took her over a week to forgive us for going away and even then it was done with a look of 'well, we can all PRETEND that it didn't happen, but I have the RSPCA on speed dial..)
I can't wait to take Joni on the road. We are going to update the story that I tell and it will reflect the months between Edinburgh and the current day. Lots of adventures have been had and there are many more to be had. It's approaching the time of year when VWs don't like the weather (we learned that the hard way last year with an 11 hour journey between Edinburgh and Preston) so we know now that she needs to hide under a blanket until the Spring. What a wonderful idea.
a) showtunes (currently on Chess- how I love Elaine Paige when I can't see her face)
b) the cat, who is chasing something invisible to everyone other than her and keeps leaping inexplicably into the air then looking disgruntled. Earlier she was eating some paper. She then moved on to tinfoil, at which point I intervened.
Through the window to the garden I can see the scarlet leaves of a *insert name of tree here* tree which is turning out to be very beautiful in autumn. I know I should know the names of things in the garden but I am giving myself small, manageable goals when it comes to that skill. I have spent the last few months focusing on vegetables. (I've done other things as well, I haven't just been sitting in the garden, staring intently at them)
In Vegetable World (that sounds like the best theme park EVER) the garden is looking a little less exciting as it was a few months ago. This is because the season changed (ah, nature) and also because we ate everything. We also assumed that as soon as it's not 30 degrees, tomatoes don't need water any more. This is NOT TRUE. Needless to say, our tomato plants now look like are dressed as dead zombie tomato plants, all ready for a late Halloween party. Imagine what tomato plants would look like if Tim Burton designed them. Welcome to our garden.
I have to admit that I have no idea what to do with any of our vegetables now we've eaten all the good bits. Do we dig them up? Do we leave them and wait for them to grow new good bits? I think a little bit of consultation with Mr Titchmarsh may be in order.
The pumpkins were particularly emotional to pick. We grew a great big one and a little one. They weren't orange, but a lovely deep yellow, the colour of the campervan. I chose to see this as a wonderful coincidence rather than seeing it as them not being ready yet. Unfortunately, we ate them the wrong way round. We picked the little one when we had 6 people round for lunch, resulting in everyone having ONE AND ONLY ONE tiny cube of pumpkin each, then the massive great big one when we had ONE person round for dinner, resulting in far too much pumpkin, far more than any of us could manage without feeling physically uncomfortable.
We will learn next year. That is, if we get any pumpkins next year. I really have no idea what happens now.
In campervan world, Joni is still bringing much needed sunshine to our street. The show will be going on tour in the Spring/Summer next year (when we may or may not have vegetables again) and we are all very excited. Well, I'm not sure that the cat is excited. When we came back from Edinburgh, it took her over a week to forgive us for going away and even then it was done with a look of 'well, we can all PRETEND that it didn't happen, but I have the RSPCA on speed dial..)
I can't wait to take Joni on the road. We are going to update the story that I tell and it will reflect the months between Edinburgh and the current day. Lots of adventures have been had and there are many more to be had. It's approaching the time of year when VWs don't like the weather (we learned that the hard way last year with an 11 hour journey between Edinburgh and Preston) so we know now that she needs to hide under a blanket until the Spring. What a wonderful idea.
Monday 4 October 2010
The Rain, the Punch and the Parade
This weekend, Tom and I tried something new. We were, I admit, a little nervous about it. Neither of us knew how it would go, we felt a mix of adrenalin and nerves, but both suspected that as soon as we'd done it once, we would want to do it a lot more.
Yes, you've guessed it. This weekend we went on our first VW adventure with the London Thames Valley VW club.
For the last few months, Joni has been a huge focus in our lives. She is the only campervan on our street, lighting it up with a little burst of orangey sunshine, she had an incredibly exciting time in Edinburgh, welcoming 295 people through her doors, then she covered hundreds of miles around the beautiful Highlands, providing us with a lovely warm nest in which to sleep in the middle of nature, protecting us from both murderers and panthers. (NB- she did not protect us from midges, but that is only because they are basically evil) This weekend was the first time she would spend a significant amount with other campervans. It felt a bit like a beauty contest for children, but this time the children were massive, and on the motorway. The event in question was the Brighton Breeze, an annual event where 750 aircooled campervans drive in convoy from London to Brighton, then park up on the seafront, looking pretty and causing massive congestion problems. We were EXCITED.
On Friday night, the night before the big event, we planned to meet a few other members of the LTV (London Thames Valley, darling) club at a campsite called WoWo which is about a 40 minute drive out of London. As always, Tom and I left home slightly later than expected. This was mainly due to us dithering about and making sure we had the right books to take away with us, despite the knowledge that we would have absolutely no time to do any reading over the weekend. Now we have bookshelves in Joni, it would be wrong not to fill them up. Did I NEED to take a book of Victoria Wood scripts away with me? No. Did the very presence of that book somehow make me feel like Joni is a more well rounded campervan with a fundamental knowledge of the subtle nuances of northern comedy? Of course.
We had spoken to other members of the club on the forum, all of us communicating through the guises of our forum names. Tom, known for his trend of thinking outside of the box, chose a cryptic name for us, that was close to impossible for strangers to decipher. Our name: TomandLaura.
Without going into lots of emotional detail about the people that we met, which would be easy to do, everyone was ace. They made us feel welcome, they told us stories of past events, they greeted Joni with waves and with smiles, and they admired the fact that she has a special area for keeping wellies.
The Saturday was a very lovely day indeed, despite it being one of the wettest days I've ever seen in Brighton. We didn't want to admit to other members of the club that this was almost definitely our fault, that we attract extreme weather wherever we go, and that had we decided to stay at home and just read books at home, it would probably have been a glorious day, instead of something out of a Channel Five 'When Camping Goes Bad' documentary. It wasn't, however, bad in the slightest. It was brilliant. The sight of 750 gorgeous shiny campervans all lined up in a big wet parade was a total treat. Each one of them told a story and each of the owners was beaming, whilst wearing some sort of heavy duty waterproof jacket. Us VW owners know how to do this PROPERLY.
The evening event took place up at Brighton Racecourse, where we all camped, laughed at the fact that it was so foggy we couldn't actually see any of the other vehicles, then danced the night away to a Madness tribute band. After coming to terms with the fact that it is impossible to look demure whilst dancing to 'Baggy Trousers,' we had a very lovely evening. Highlights of the night were the sight of people wearing wellies, sitting on camping chairs and helping themselves to drinks out of their own coolboxes, whilst sitting in what can only be described as a massive Working Mens Club, a punch that contained so much alcohol I was worried about people smoking near it, and a poodle who was wearing a shellsuit with no irony whatsoever.
When it came to hometime on Sunday morning, we pulled away from our new friends with a sense of something that was just beginning. We also had massive hangovers, but chose not to focus on that. The best part of the weekend was spending time with people who know exactly what it's like to own a car that, at any point, may stop. That is surely part of the adventure- we all know that we could give it all up and get a 'normal car'- one that will drive from A to B without worry. But that's why we do it- it's the adventure that counts. An event from the weekend that sums this up was the awful experience of seeing the engine of a Beetle owned by a member of our group, go up in flames. It was a horrible few moments when time seemed to stand still, and we all felt our hearts wrench as it became harder to extinguish the flames. We all ran from our vehicles, and even when the fire was out, nobody could quite believe what had happened. I have no doubt that the beautiful Beetle will be back on the road though, soon, as its owners have such passion for it. There is a real sense of support that comes with being a member of the VW community. People know what it's like to see or hear something go wrong with their beloved bus, van or car. And it's always good to know that there will be someone else on the road, probably wearing a waterproof jacket, who will stop and offer their help.
Who wants to go straight from A to B, when you could go on a detour and find a poodle wearing a shellsuit...
Yes, you've guessed it. This weekend we went on our first VW adventure with the London Thames Valley VW club.
For the last few months, Joni has been a huge focus in our lives. She is the only campervan on our street, lighting it up with a little burst of orangey sunshine, she had an incredibly exciting time in Edinburgh, welcoming 295 people through her doors, then she covered hundreds of miles around the beautiful Highlands, providing us with a lovely warm nest in which to sleep in the middle of nature, protecting us from both murderers and panthers. (NB- she did not protect us from midges, but that is only because they are basically evil) This weekend was the first time she would spend a significant amount with other campervans. It felt a bit like a beauty contest for children, but this time the children were massive, and on the motorway. The event in question was the Brighton Breeze, an annual event where 750 aircooled campervans drive in convoy from London to Brighton, then park up on the seafront, looking pretty and causing massive congestion problems. We were EXCITED.
On Friday night, the night before the big event, we planned to meet a few other members of the LTV (London Thames Valley, darling) club at a campsite called WoWo which is about a 40 minute drive out of London. As always, Tom and I left home slightly later than expected. This was mainly due to us dithering about and making sure we had the right books to take away with us, despite the knowledge that we would have absolutely no time to do any reading over the weekend. Now we have bookshelves in Joni, it would be wrong not to fill them up. Did I NEED to take a book of Victoria Wood scripts away with me? No. Did the very presence of that book somehow make me feel like Joni is a more well rounded campervan with a fundamental knowledge of the subtle nuances of northern comedy? Of course.
We had spoken to other members of the club on the forum, all of us communicating through the guises of our forum names. Tom, known for his trend of thinking outside of the box, chose a cryptic name for us, that was close to impossible for strangers to decipher. Our name: TomandLaura.
Without going into lots of emotional detail about the people that we met, which would be easy to do, everyone was ace. They made us feel welcome, they told us stories of past events, they greeted Joni with waves and with smiles, and they admired the fact that she has a special area for keeping wellies.
The Saturday was a very lovely day indeed, despite it being one of the wettest days I've ever seen in Brighton. We didn't want to admit to other members of the club that this was almost definitely our fault, that we attract extreme weather wherever we go, and that had we decided to stay at home and just read books at home, it would probably have been a glorious day, instead of something out of a Channel Five 'When Camping Goes Bad' documentary. It wasn't, however, bad in the slightest. It was brilliant. The sight of 750 gorgeous shiny campervans all lined up in a big wet parade was a total treat. Each one of them told a story and each of the owners was beaming, whilst wearing some sort of heavy duty waterproof jacket. Us VW owners know how to do this PROPERLY.
The evening event took place up at Brighton Racecourse, where we all camped, laughed at the fact that it was so foggy we couldn't actually see any of the other vehicles, then danced the night away to a Madness tribute band. After coming to terms with the fact that it is impossible to look demure whilst dancing to 'Baggy Trousers,' we had a very lovely evening. Highlights of the night were the sight of people wearing wellies, sitting on camping chairs and helping themselves to drinks out of their own coolboxes, whilst sitting in what can only be described as a massive Working Mens Club, a punch that contained so much alcohol I was worried about people smoking near it, and a poodle who was wearing a shellsuit with no irony whatsoever.
When it came to hometime on Sunday morning, we pulled away from our new friends with a sense of something that was just beginning. We also had massive hangovers, but chose not to focus on that. The best part of the weekend was spending time with people who know exactly what it's like to own a car that, at any point, may stop. That is surely part of the adventure- we all know that we could give it all up and get a 'normal car'- one that will drive from A to B without worry. But that's why we do it- it's the adventure that counts. An event from the weekend that sums this up was the awful experience of seeing the engine of a Beetle owned by a member of our group, go up in flames. It was a horrible few moments when time seemed to stand still, and we all felt our hearts wrench as it became harder to extinguish the flames. We all ran from our vehicles, and even when the fire was out, nobody could quite believe what had happened. I have no doubt that the beautiful Beetle will be back on the road though, soon, as its owners have such passion for it. There is a real sense of support that comes with being a member of the VW community. People know what it's like to see or hear something go wrong with their beloved bus, van or car. And it's always good to know that there will be someone else on the road, probably wearing a waterproof jacket, who will stop and offer their help.
Who wants to go straight from A to B, when you could go on a detour and find a poodle wearing a shellsuit...
Friday 1 October 2010
A Macventure PART TWO
All I really did in my last post was to tell you about our fears of wild camping. That was very negative of me, wasn't it. Luckily, we didn't get mauled to death by an escaped panther or battered to a pulp by an axe murderer. We did get some pretty nasty midge bites, but good old Tom took most of the hit, much like a fleshy human shield. It turns out that midges are extremely clever and not only will they find the TINIEST of teeny TINY holes in insect-proof window netting stuff (not the official title for that, but I have no idea what it's actually called) but they will then find a comfortable little spot within your campervan, hang out there for over a week and continue to feast on your wrists/ankles/cheeks until you find yourself screaming WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME in the middle of the night.
'Luckily' (you'll see why I have included the ' ' in a moment) Tom managed to find an incredible contraption in Boots before we left, which looks a bit like an asthma inhaler, but administers what can only be described as an electric shock to the midge or mosquito bite. It makes a funny snapping noise and is the equivalent of giving your bite a smack so it hurts a little bit for a moment then stops itching. I was understandably reluctant to use this, and chose instead to stick with the traditional system of getting cranky and rubbing the bite against a bit of velcro or across a pair of corduroy trousers until it gets really painful. Worryingly, Tom found that electrocuting a particular bite on the inside of his arm made his hand spasm. Even more worryingly, he seemed to be really enjoying himself, and had a proper big giggle every time it happened. You have to find your own fun in the wilderness. Tom's fun involved being bitten by a hungry Scottish insect, then electrocuting himself with a device available from a high street chemist.
Over the course of 8 days, we drove from Edinburgh, up to the most north-westerly point of the UK, then back again. I can honestly say that the Highlands are the most beautiful part of the world- with incredibly diverse landscapes, sights, hidden treats and surprises. One moment we were driving along the bluest of lochs, the sky a bright turquoise, the next we were engulfed in fog, not able to see 2 metres infront of us. The tip to drive up the south side of Loch Ness was a great piece of advice- it's a really gorgeous road, with lots of places to stop and spot the monster. We didn't see him, although Tom did confess to me that he has felt, from an early age, that he is going to be the one that does.
Wild camping was a learning experience, and I can truly say that weeing in a bucket became surprisingly mundane after the first two or three times. (I should point out that the bucket just cuts down on unwanted prickling from heather/thistles, and was not in any way of storing waste) There is something very primal about washing your hair in a carpark and a rite of passage I'm glad I have now experienced. Once we'd got over the fear of being approached by people asking us to move on, it became an adventure looking for somewhere to park up and spend the night, and each time we started to panic as it got dark, a perfect place would present itself and welcome us in. We stayed by the foot of Glen Coe, in a carpark on the edge of the sea, in a meadow-like field in a beautiful little fishermans village on the east coast, and in a national park that provided the beautiful backdrop in Monarch of the Glen.
One low point was a night spent on the edge of a cliff in Durness where we experienced the worst winds they had had for over 20 years. Once again, this could only really happen to the Franklands, and as we sat wide awake in Joni, not sleeping a wink, trying to drink from a miniature bottle of port, which turned out to be over 3 years out of date, therefore making us both feel queasy, it was ALMOST funny.
It's a shame that wild camping is not legal in England, although thinking about it more, there are fewer places where it would actually work. There is a lot more space in the Highlands, bigger areas of unadulterated nature. At first we were taken aback by the silence whenever we stopped (silence is not an option when we are driving- Joni's engine is working beautifully now but sneaking up on anyone without them hearing us would be like trying to smuggle King Kong silently through a cymbal factory.) The contrast of her whirring engine and the perfect, clear silence of an afternoon tea stop was one of the best bits of the journey. After the giddy madness of Edinburgh, being surrounded by peace and quiet was something we never took for granted.
The three of us can't wait to go back...
'Luckily' (you'll see why I have included the ' ' in a moment) Tom managed to find an incredible contraption in Boots before we left, which looks a bit like an asthma inhaler, but administers what can only be described as an electric shock to the midge or mosquito bite. It makes a funny snapping noise and is the equivalent of giving your bite a smack so it hurts a little bit for a moment then stops itching. I was understandably reluctant to use this, and chose instead to stick with the traditional system of getting cranky and rubbing the bite against a bit of velcro or across a pair of corduroy trousers until it gets really painful. Worryingly, Tom found that electrocuting a particular bite on the inside of his arm made his hand spasm. Even more worryingly, he seemed to be really enjoying himself, and had a proper big giggle every time it happened. You have to find your own fun in the wilderness. Tom's fun involved being bitten by a hungry Scottish insect, then electrocuting himself with a device available from a high street chemist.
Over the course of 8 days, we drove from Edinburgh, up to the most north-westerly point of the UK, then back again. I can honestly say that the Highlands are the most beautiful part of the world- with incredibly diverse landscapes, sights, hidden treats and surprises. One moment we were driving along the bluest of lochs, the sky a bright turquoise, the next we were engulfed in fog, not able to see 2 metres infront of us. The tip to drive up the south side of Loch Ness was a great piece of advice- it's a really gorgeous road, with lots of places to stop and spot the monster. We didn't see him, although Tom did confess to me that he has felt, from an early age, that he is going to be the one that does.
Wild camping was a learning experience, and I can truly say that weeing in a bucket became surprisingly mundane after the first two or three times. (I should point out that the bucket just cuts down on unwanted prickling from heather/thistles, and was not in any way of storing waste) There is something very primal about washing your hair in a carpark and a rite of passage I'm glad I have now experienced. Once we'd got over the fear of being approached by people asking us to move on, it became an adventure looking for somewhere to park up and spend the night, and each time we started to panic as it got dark, a perfect place would present itself and welcome us in. We stayed by the foot of Glen Coe, in a carpark on the edge of the sea, in a meadow-like field in a beautiful little fishermans village on the east coast, and in a national park that provided the beautiful backdrop in Monarch of the Glen.
One low point was a night spent on the edge of a cliff in Durness where we experienced the worst winds they had had for over 20 years. Once again, this could only really happen to the Franklands, and as we sat wide awake in Joni, not sleeping a wink, trying to drink from a miniature bottle of port, which turned out to be over 3 years out of date, therefore making us both feel queasy, it was ALMOST funny.
It's a shame that wild camping is not legal in England, although thinking about it more, there are fewer places where it would actually work. There is a lot more space in the Highlands, bigger areas of unadulterated nature. At first we were taken aback by the silence whenever we stopped (silence is not an option when we are driving- Joni's engine is working beautifully now but sneaking up on anyone without them hearing us would be like trying to smuggle King Kong silently through a cymbal factory.) The contrast of her whirring engine and the perfect, clear silence of an afternoon tea stop was one of the best bits of the journey. After the giddy madness of Edinburgh, being surrounded by peace and quiet was something we never took for granted.
The three of us can't wait to go back...
Monday 27 September 2010
A Macventure (see what I did there) PART ONE
Goodness me, this is a LOT later than I had expected. Since getting back from our jaunt around the Highlands, I have been swept up in a whirlwind of trying to figure out what my life is when it isn't doing 3 shows a day in Joni. This has involved an upsetting amount of admin, and, more worryingly, doing work that isn't that much fun.
I have been wanting to write about our Northern Adventure (so good I gave it capital letters) for a while but only today have I had a nice, quiet spot by the window, a cup of tea and a few hours free. I have scones to make today, but this feels more important, just for now.
The most exciting and daunting part of our adventure was the prospect of wild camping. In Scotland, it is legal to park up and camp by a mountain, or a loch, or any other kind of beautiful Scottish wonderfulness. You don't have to drive around in the dark, looking for a campsite that inevitably turns out to be slightly less nice than real nature and costs £28 for the pleasure of having a toilet block that plays Radio 2 all night. (*coughCARAVAN CLUB cough*)
This was a pretty exciting prospect, but also a slightly unnerving one, as it meant that we were completely in charge of our own nighttime destiny. If you have been following my blog from the beginning, you will know that Tom and I are not known for our organisational skills, especially when it comes to finding places. Any places at all.
During a conversation we had whilst heading north into the wilderness, it was revealed that Tom and I had 3 main fears regarding wild camping. These fears, in no particular order were:
a) midges
b) murderers
c) panthers
Now, let me explain this list. The first was Tom's fear, triggered by absolutely EVERYBODY we spoke to about the Highlands saying 'watch out for the midges, they will literally eat you alive.'
Personally, I have developed a no-fail system of avoiding midge and mosquito bites. It involves standing near Tom as they cannot get enough of that tasty Frankland morsel, but this did not seem to pacify Tom at all.
The second fear- murderers- was mainly mine. Thinking logically about it, the vast majority of murderers tend to crop up in urban areas and not loiter in the more uninhabited sections of northern Scotland, ready to pounce on tired Festival performers, but you can never be too careful. The last thing we wanted was for one of us to get attacked by an axe murderer just as we were getting really stuck in to a really meaty game of backgammon.
The third fear- panthers- was not something we had originally considered when planning our holiday. This brand new fear was triggered by a good friend of mine choosing a phone catch-up in a service station to announce the fact that there was in fact a panther on the loose in the Highlands. It seems to me that there is always some sort of wildcat on the loose at any given time, and that zoos should really learn to lock things, but as I am fundamentally against zoos, I was pleased that the little scamp was probably having a whale of a time, chasing sheep, hiding behind tufts of heather, pretending to be a rock, that sort of thing. It did, however, mean we were both slightly nervous about being ripped from the campervan then being mauled to death whilst having an afternoon nap or early evening game of Travel Scrabble. In this case, however, my fears were eased by the knowledge that the massive amount of midge repellent that Tom had applied was probably potent enough to deter significantly larger pests. Chances are, a panther would be knocked out before getting anywhere nearer than 20 metres. Job done.
As well as these 3 main fears, I also had several questions that were playing on my mind when it came to braving unknown countryside without the safety of a campsite at the end of a long day. These questions were
a) will we find somewhere to camp that is nice? (and safe from panthers/murderers/bloodthirsty midges)
b)are we REALLY allowed to just park wherever we like?
c) will Tom still love me once he has seen me wee in a bucket?
Luckily, the answer to all three of these questions was 'yes.'
I have been wanting to write about our Northern Adventure (so good I gave it capital letters) for a while but only today have I had a nice, quiet spot by the window, a cup of tea and a few hours free. I have scones to make today, but this feels more important, just for now.
The most exciting and daunting part of our adventure was the prospect of wild camping. In Scotland, it is legal to park up and camp by a mountain, or a loch, or any other kind of beautiful Scottish wonderfulness. You don't have to drive around in the dark, looking for a campsite that inevitably turns out to be slightly less nice than real nature and costs £28 for the pleasure of having a toilet block that plays Radio 2 all night. (*coughCARAVAN CLUB cough*)
This was a pretty exciting prospect, but also a slightly unnerving one, as it meant that we were completely in charge of our own nighttime destiny. If you have been following my blog from the beginning, you will know that Tom and I are not known for our organisational skills, especially when it comes to finding places. Any places at all.
During a conversation we had whilst heading north into the wilderness, it was revealed that Tom and I had 3 main fears regarding wild camping. These fears, in no particular order were:
a) midges
b) murderers
c) panthers
Now, let me explain this list. The first was Tom's fear, triggered by absolutely EVERYBODY we spoke to about the Highlands saying 'watch out for the midges, they will literally eat you alive.'
Personally, I have developed a no-fail system of avoiding midge and mosquito bites. It involves standing near Tom as they cannot get enough of that tasty Frankland morsel, but this did not seem to pacify Tom at all.
The second fear- murderers- was mainly mine. Thinking logically about it, the vast majority of murderers tend to crop up in urban areas and not loiter in the more uninhabited sections of northern Scotland, ready to pounce on tired Festival performers, but you can never be too careful. The last thing we wanted was for one of us to get attacked by an axe murderer just as we were getting really stuck in to a really meaty game of backgammon.
The third fear- panthers- was not something we had originally considered when planning our holiday. This brand new fear was triggered by a good friend of mine choosing a phone catch-up in a service station to announce the fact that there was in fact a panther on the loose in the Highlands. It seems to me that there is always some sort of wildcat on the loose at any given time, and that zoos should really learn to lock things, but as I am fundamentally against zoos, I was pleased that the little scamp was probably having a whale of a time, chasing sheep, hiding behind tufts of heather, pretending to be a rock, that sort of thing. It did, however, mean we were both slightly nervous about being ripped from the campervan then being mauled to death whilst having an afternoon nap or early evening game of Travel Scrabble. In this case, however, my fears were eased by the knowledge that the massive amount of midge repellent that Tom had applied was probably potent enough to deter significantly larger pests. Chances are, a panther would be knocked out before getting anywhere nearer than 20 metres. Job done.
As well as these 3 main fears, I also had several questions that were playing on my mind when it came to braving unknown countryside without the safety of a campsite at the end of a long day. These questions were
a) will we find somewhere to camp that is nice? (and safe from panthers/murderers/bloodthirsty midges)
b)are we REALLY allowed to just park wherever we like?
c) will Tom still love me once he has seen me wee in a bucket?
Luckily, the answer to all three of these questions was 'yes.'
Tuesday 31 August 2010
Into the Wild...
And so, it's all done. The Festival is over. I am physically and mentally broken, but so very happy.
It's all been a bit of a whirlwind. 295 people have now seen my show- I had my last one yesterday at 1pm and managed to cry quite a lot at the end. I hope the audience knew that I was being weepy because it was my final show, and not that I manage to force tears out at the end of every performance. That would have made for a very draining month. After 59 shows in 26 days, I felt a mix of relief, adrenalin, joy, tears, exhilaration and exhaustion.
We were not allowed to leave the Pleasance Courtyard until 11.30pm because of site rules and so after the 1pm show, we felt in suspended in a strange state of waiting.. We had to load Joni up with all our stuff (us Franklands are not known for our skill of travelling light- our packing for a camping holiday involves a ukelele, at least 12 books and an 8ft surfboard.
At 11.30pm, we pulled away from our little corner of the Courtyard- we beeped the horn at the few people who were still there (incidentally, one of those people turned out to be Tim Vine) and we felt so proud of Joni. The triumphant departure was marred slightly when we had to stop and move some bins so we could get out without taking the wing mirrors off, but then we were DEFINITELY OFF, forging our way over the cobbles and out of the Courtyard Archway, headed for the unknown (well, our friend's house in Port Seton, but I was being poignantly metaphorical)
And here we are now in Port Seton, in a beautiful fisherman's cottage, getting Joni ready for her trip up to the Highlands. We are heading straight North, up to the very top, where I can't wait for 2 weeks of nothing- just beautiful peace and quiet, sea air and using Joni as a proper campervan once more. She has worked so hard over the last month, supporting me through my shows, staying sturdy and beautiful in the middle of the Pleasance, and welcoming all those lovely people in through her sliding door. I can't wait to go to sleep in her again and cook bacon on the stove in the morning. It's my birthday while we're away and I can't think of a nicer way to spend it.
I will update this when I get back, as I am turning my phone and computer well and truly OFF as from now. We are going to be wild camping (which is legal in Scotland, but not England) and so I apologise to anyone who sees me as soon as I get back. I am likely to look a bit like I've gone feral. Who knows, I may even grow a beard like Tom.
This is Joni and I signing off for now.
Until the next time...Happy Camping
x
It's all been a bit of a whirlwind. 295 people have now seen my show- I had my last one yesterday at 1pm and managed to cry quite a lot at the end. I hope the audience knew that I was being weepy because it was my final show, and not that I manage to force tears out at the end of every performance. That would have made for a very draining month. After 59 shows in 26 days, I felt a mix of relief, adrenalin, joy, tears, exhilaration and exhaustion.
We were not allowed to leave the Pleasance Courtyard until 11.30pm because of site rules and so after the 1pm show, we felt in suspended in a strange state of waiting.. We had to load Joni up with all our stuff (us Franklands are not known for our skill of travelling light- our packing for a camping holiday involves a ukelele, at least 12 books and an 8ft surfboard.
At 11.30pm, we pulled away from our little corner of the Courtyard- we beeped the horn at the few people who were still there (incidentally, one of those people turned out to be Tim Vine) and we felt so proud of Joni. The triumphant departure was marred slightly when we had to stop and move some bins so we could get out without taking the wing mirrors off, but then we were DEFINITELY OFF, forging our way over the cobbles and out of the Courtyard Archway, headed for the unknown (well, our friend's house in Port Seton, but I was being poignantly metaphorical)
And here we are now in Port Seton, in a beautiful fisherman's cottage, getting Joni ready for her trip up to the Highlands. We are heading straight North, up to the very top, where I can't wait for 2 weeks of nothing- just beautiful peace and quiet, sea air and using Joni as a proper campervan once more. She has worked so hard over the last month, supporting me through my shows, staying sturdy and beautiful in the middle of the Pleasance, and welcoming all those lovely people in through her sliding door. I can't wait to go to sleep in her again and cook bacon on the stove in the morning. It's my birthday while we're away and I can't think of a nicer way to spend it.
I will update this when I get back, as I am turning my phone and computer well and truly OFF as from now. We are going to be wild camping (which is legal in Scotland, but not England) and so I apologise to anyone who sees me as soon as I get back. I am likely to look a bit like I've gone feral. Who knows, I may even grow a beard like Tom.
This is Joni and I signing off for now.
Until the next time...Happy Camping
x
Tuesday 24 August 2010
The Final Week, the Visit from Preston and the City that Never Sleeps
Well, I certainly intended to update my blog much more than this.
But, this in Edinburgh. And in Edinburgh things are not normal, not as expected and almost never involve making sensible decisions.
I cannot believe I am saying this, but I am now 43 shows in. I have met some extremely lovely people, had a very exciting run of reviews, very unexpectedly won a Fringe First and, most importantly, am still having a lovely time. I know this sounds silly to say, but I have had emotional, awful Edinburghs in the past, where I have been both ill and fed up, often at the same time, and I am so pleased to say that neither of those things have happened yet.
I have met people who have surprised me, people who have made me laugh, people who have sung their hearts out and people who have nearly broken my tape recorder. My parents came to see the show on Friday last week and it was so lovely to have them sitting inside Joni. My dad was significantly less adept at operating a tape recorder than expected, and I think my mum felt a bit travel sick, but it was really nice to see them. Sometimes you need to see people from the normal world to remind you that this is all real
We are heading to the Highlands next Tuesday, and I know that Joni will need a holiday as much as Tom and I do. I am excited about the week to come but cannot wait to head out into nature, full of midges and fresh air and waking up to the sound of rain on the roof. Awesome.
Tonight I am going to see some comedy in the Courtyard and I am looking forward to it all. I had a day off yesterday and I need to get my momentum back.
I will write more tomorrow but I wanted to check in as I haven't managed to blog for ages.
Sorry if this all sounds a bit smug today- I'm just having fun. Happy days.
But, this in Edinburgh. And in Edinburgh things are not normal, not as expected and almost never involve making sensible decisions.
I cannot believe I am saying this, but I am now 43 shows in. I have met some extremely lovely people, had a very exciting run of reviews, very unexpectedly won a Fringe First and, most importantly, am still having a lovely time. I know this sounds silly to say, but I have had emotional, awful Edinburghs in the past, where I have been both ill and fed up, often at the same time, and I am so pleased to say that neither of those things have happened yet.
I have met people who have surprised me, people who have made me laugh, people who have sung their hearts out and people who have nearly broken my tape recorder. My parents came to see the show on Friday last week and it was so lovely to have them sitting inside Joni. My dad was significantly less adept at operating a tape recorder than expected, and I think my mum felt a bit travel sick, but it was really nice to see them. Sometimes you need to see people from the normal world to remind you that this is all real
We are heading to the Highlands next Tuesday, and I know that Joni will need a holiday as much as Tom and I do. I am excited about the week to come but cannot wait to head out into nature, full of midges and fresh air and waking up to the sound of rain on the roof. Awesome.
Tonight I am going to see some comedy in the Courtyard and I am looking forward to it all. I had a day off yesterday and I need to get my momentum back.
I will write more tomorrow but I wanted to check in as I haven't managed to blog for ages.
Sorry if this all sounds a bit smug today- I'm just having fun. Happy days.
Friday 6 August 2010
The Rain, the Lawnmower Museum and the best campervan in the world
Greeting from Scotland!
And so, here we are, in amazing, consuming, beautiful, WET, whirlwind Edinburgh. I am already resigned to the fact that my wellies will now be my permanent shoes, that none of my summer dresses will make it out of my suitcase, and that getting trenchfoot is a very real possibility.
I am already 6 shows in, which feels crazy, as the festival only really started today. I am loving every minute of it. It is such a a treat to be doing what I love every day. Twice.
We have bought a cover for Joni as she is parked in such a prominent part of the Pleasance Courtyard. Tom and I have found it very difficult to sit having a post show cider, watching people leaning on her in a casual manner. I have branded these people 'VTs' - Van Touchers. I feel like getting myself a tuxedo and dark glasses, wrestling the VTs to the ground with the vicious cry of DON'T TOUCH MY VAAAAAAAAN..
But I won't.
Not now we've got the cover.
I am writing a column for Three Weeks newspaper, called 'Last Week in the Van' where I list 10 things that have happened in Joni so far. I'm not going to give it away, but am going to give you a current highlight.
Today, in my show I had a lovely couple called Brian and Sue, who turn out to be the owners of the Lawnmover Museum in Southport. I didn't know that such a place existed, but they proved it to me by giving me a leaflet. Their tag line is 'When the Growing Gets Tough, the Tough Get Mowing.'
This made me love them even more
And so, here we are, in amazing, consuming, beautiful, WET, whirlwind Edinburgh. I am already resigned to the fact that my wellies will now be my permanent shoes, that none of my summer dresses will make it out of my suitcase, and that getting trenchfoot is a very real possibility.
I am already 6 shows in, which feels crazy, as the festival only really started today. I am loving every minute of it. It is such a a treat to be doing what I love every day. Twice.
We have bought a cover for Joni as she is parked in such a prominent part of the Pleasance Courtyard. Tom and I have found it very difficult to sit having a post show cider, watching people leaning on her in a casual manner. I have branded these people 'VTs' - Van Touchers. I feel like getting myself a tuxedo and dark glasses, wrestling the VTs to the ground with the vicious cry of DON'T TOUCH MY VAAAAAAAAN..
But I won't.
Not now we've got the cover.
I am writing a column for Three Weeks newspaper, called 'Last Week in the Van' where I list 10 things that have happened in Joni so far. I'm not going to give it away, but am going to give you a current highlight.
Today, in my show I had a lovely couple called Brian and Sue, who turn out to be the owners of the Lawnmover Museum in Southport. I didn't know that such a place existed, but they proved it to me by giving me a leaflet. Their tag line is 'When the Growing Gets Tough, the Tough Get Mowing.'
This made me love them even more
Monday 26 July 2010
The Last Push, The Neighbours and the Pumpkin that took over the World..
Sorry you've had to wait a bit longer than normal than this one. It turns out that making a solo show and renovating a campervan at the same time is quite a lot of work.
Joni is still in the process of getting a makeover and although at the moment, she is looking worse each day, it's a bit like she is going through those few days after you do a facemask and your skin goes all bonkers. Pretty soon, she will be looking wonderful- she's got new cupboards going in, new fabric on her roof (the inside, not the outside, that'd be insane) and a carpet of gorgeous glossy astoturf carpet. (this does oddly smell of uncooked meat, but I'm hoping that's just a 'new smell' and doesn't indicate that it's been in a butcher's window with mince nestling on it for the last few months)
Making the show is going pretty well- I had a brief hiccup on Saturday when I had to go for a walk round the block in the middle of the runthrough to have a little cry, but then I threw some forks, punched the toilet door, and all was fine again.
We have been in Joni outside the house every day for a week and we keep sporadically frightening the neighbours by suddenly emerging onto the pavement in a kind of HA HA WE'VE BEEN HERE ALL ALONG sort or way. I suspect that some of them have started to think we've been kicked out of our house and are now sleeping in the van outside, but we are trying to convince them otherwise by wearing really different outfits every day and saying 'SO, the SHOW WE ARE DOING..' as loudly as possible.
I was interviewed for Radio 2 today which was extremely exciting. I was extremely nervous and for some reason decided that not having a kazoo was the main obstacle to the show not being ready yet. The interview will be played on the Claudia Winkleman show on Friday evening so I hope I come across as someone who is doing something interesting in a quirky space, rather than someone who is obsessed by old school comical instruments.
In other news, the garden is looking pretty wonderful. The pumpkin plant appears to be doing well on its mission to take over the world (it has now attached itself to most of the other plants and has grown quite a long way across the lawn) and we managed to have a courgette omelette with the most wonderful, green beautiful courgette there ever was. It did, however, feel a little strange eating vegetables in front of other vegetables, a bit like we were saying 'Ah ha ha, this is what will happen to you soon, GROW GROW MY PRETTIES..'
SO, all is growing. Vegetables are growing and the show is growing.
Come on August, I'm (almost) ready for you.
I just need that kazoo..
Joni is still in the process of getting a makeover and although at the moment, she is looking worse each day, it's a bit like she is going through those few days after you do a facemask and your skin goes all bonkers. Pretty soon, she will be looking wonderful- she's got new cupboards going in, new fabric on her roof (the inside, not the outside, that'd be insane) and a carpet of gorgeous glossy astoturf carpet. (this does oddly smell of uncooked meat, but I'm hoping that's just a 'new smell' and doesn't indicate that it's been in a butcher's window with mince nestling on it for the last few months)
Making the show is going pretty well- I had a brief hiccup on Saturday when I had to go for a walk round the block in the middle of the runthrough to have a little cry, but then I threw some forks, punched the toilet door, and all was fine again.
We have been in Joni outside the house every day for a week and we keep sporadically frightening the neighbours by suddenly emerging onto the pavement in a kind of HA HA WE'VE BEEN HERE ALL ALONG sort or way. I suspect that some of them have started to think we've been kicked out of our house and are now sleeping in the van outside, but we are trying to convince them otherwise by wearing really different outfits every day and saying 'SO, the SHOW WE ARE DOING..' as loudly as possible.
I was interviewed for Radio 2 today which was extremely exciting. I was extremely nervous and for some reason decided that not having a kazoo was the main obstacle to the show not being ready yet. The interview will be played on the Claudia Winkleman show on Friday evening so I hope I come across as someone who is doing something interesting in a quirky space, rather than someone who is obsessed by old school comical instruments.
In other news, the garden is looking pretty wonderful. The pumpkin plant appears to be doing well on its mission to take over the world (it has now attached itself to most of the other plants and has grown quite a long way across the lawn) and we managed to have a courgette omelette with the most wonderful, green beautiful courgette there ever was. It did, however, feel a little strange eating vegetables in front of other vegetables, a bit like we were saying 'Ah ha ha, this is what will happen to you soon, GROW GROW MY PRETTIES..'
SO, all is growing. Vegetables are growing and the show is growing.
Come on August, I'm (almost) ready for you.
I just need that kazoo..
Friday 16 July 2010
The Rain, the Unexpected Vegetable Forest and the Outdoor Makeover
And so, it rained.
Don't try and deny it, it's what everyone wanted (my dad was delighted)
We can all pretend that we like loads of sunshine but when push comes to shove, what we REALLY want is to have a great big massive moan about having to take our umbrellas out with us again.
I always feel a huge conflict during the event of heavy rain. There is a huge part of me that wants to run, freely and without inhibitions, into the street, dance in the rain and let the water soak me through in a joyous manner. There is, however, another part of me that imagines the inevitably irritating process afterwards, trying to get mud off the carpet, having to have a warm bath to avoid catching a chill, and generally feeling like a bit of a wally.
Chances are, if you pause to go and put an anorak on, the moment has passed.
The garden is looking, to quote Alan Titchmarsh, bloody amazing (I've never actually heard him say that but he's an enthusiastic fellow and I imagine he's said it at some point, possibly upon completing a brilliant patio)
Everything has grown a LOT. Except the grass seeds. They have all died a painful and crispy death. This is mainly because we both forgot about them and they have therefore had no water at all for about 2 weeks.
We now have three strawberries. This is very exciting. Tom and I are both nervous about eating any of them, however, due to a fear that we have either accidentally spawned something poisonous, or that they are not ready yet, despite being the perfect size and colour.
We have teeny tiny courgettes. And we have learned from previous experience that we shouldn't pick them yet. This lesson was learned the hard way when we picked and ate some spring onions that actually turned out to be leeks that had been picked 6 months too early.
In the meantime, at the other side of the house, Joni the campervan is being fancied up and prepared for her journey up to Edinburgh in (gulp) two weeks time. After an hour's work on her interior, she is now looking significantly WORSE than she did before, but we keep telling ourselves that it has to get worse before it gets better. Tom did spend somewhere in the reason of 4 hours scratching the glue of a tiny patch of paintwork, and I have, of course, told him that he is my hero. This weekend will be mainly spent in Joni outside the house, trying not to electrocute ourselves on any loose wiring and talking about how excited we are to head up to Edinburgh in our beautiful orange bus. At the moment she is going through the campervan equivalent of getting a manicure, a pedicure, a facemask, a hairmask, a chemical peel and an eyebrow sort out. Unlike humans, however, poor Joni is getting all this in the street and is being left there overnight.
She seems to have created a bit of a buzz on our street, which is totally heartwarming. People keep stopping to say hello when we are near her, and neighbours are wishing us well for our month away.
It's very exciting indeed.
Don't try and deny it, it's what everyone wanted (my dad was delighted)
We can all pretend that we like loads of sunshine but when push comes to shove, what we REALLY want is to have a great big massive moan about having to take our umbrellas out with us again.
I always feel a huge conflict during the event of heavy rain. There is a huge part of me that wants to run, freely and without inhibitions, into the street, dance in the rain and let the water soak me through in a joyous manner. There is, however, another part of me that imagines the inevitably irritating process afterwards, trying to get mud off the carpet, having to have a warm bath to avoid catching a chill, and generally feeling like a bit of a wally.
Chances are, if you pause to go and put an anorak on, the moment has passed.
The garden is looking, to quote Alan Titchmarsh, bloody amazing (I've never actually heard him say that but he's an enthusiastic fellow and I imagine he's said it at some point, possibly upon completing a brilliant patio)
Everything has grown a LOT. Except the grass seeds. They have all died a painful and crispy death. This is mainly because we both forgot about them and they have therefore had no water at all for about 2 weeks.
We now have three strawberries. This is very exciting. Tom and I are both nervous about eating any of them, however, due to a fear that we have either accidentally spawned something poisonous, or that they are not ready yet, despite being the perfect size and colour.
We have teeny tiny courgettes. And we have learned from previous experience that we shouldn't pick them yet. This lesson was learned the hard way when we picked and ate some spring onions that actually turned out to be leeks that had been picked 6 months too early.
In the meantime, at the other side of the house, Joni the campervan is being fancied up and prepared for her journey up to Edinburgh in (gulp) two weeks time. After an hour's work on her interior, she is now looking significantly WORSE than she did before, but we keep telling ourselves that it has to get worse before it gets better. Tom did spend somewhere in the reason of 4 hours scratching the glue of a tiny patch of paintwork, and I have, of course, told him that he is my hero. This weekend will be mainly spent in Joni outside the house, trying not to electrocute ourselves on any loose wiring and talking about how excited we are to head up to Edinburgh in our beautiful orange bus. At the moment she is going through the campervan equivalent of getting a manicure, a pedicure, a facemask, a hairmask, a chemical peel and an eyebrow sort out. Unlike humans, however, poor Joni is getting all this in the street and is being left there overnight.
She seems to have created a bit of a buzz on our street, which is totally heartwarming. People keep stopping to say hello when we are near her, and neighbours are wishing us well for our month away.
It's very exciting indeed.
Saturday 3 July 2010
The Sun, The Tiny Strawberry and the Tomato Mirage.
Goodness me it's a bit hot isn't it. I am not complaining- I like having problems sleeping and having a purple face, but I don't think the garden is particularly enjoying it. Everything is looking a bit crispy and despite my attempts to keep it watered as much as I can, this is proving to be quite tricky when all we have is a watering can that holds about as much water as my own hands, and has a broken spraying bit that keeps falling off, unleashing an impromptu gush at any given moment.
Someone mentioned earlier in the week that it might rain overnight, and I actually found myself saying 'well, the garden needs it.'
It was at that point that I actually became my dad.
It feels too grown up to buy a hosepipe. I can't support that sort of lavish water spraying. Although I am tempted to get a sprinkler, then Tom and I can put our swimming costumes on in the early evening, dare each other to run through it, then have an ice lolly. It'd be like we were 8.
On a positive note, we have successfully produced ONE STRAWBERRY. It's little, it's alone. It's perfect. I can't bring myself to pick it until it has friends, but let's just say that in a few weeks time, it's very possible that Tom and I will be having a TINY Wimbledon party dessert. Maybe we can drink a thimble of champagne each and call it a 'micro- soiree.' I'm sure it's been done in Hoxton.
It also turns out that both Tom and I, independently of each other, have become VERY excited about seeing the several tomatoes that the plant has produced, had a little celebration in our own heads, then realised that it was actually the picture of some tomatoes on the seed packet. I love the fact that we BOTH did this, and am amused by the idea that Juniper the cat knew all along, and sat looking at us with veiled embarrassment for her gullible parents.
In other news, it's full steam ahead for my show Running on Air at the Fringe Festival this year. Joni is getting pimped up, I found the best curtain material in the entire world (yes, that's right) in a charity shop in Orpington, and as I was frighteningly informed earlier this week, it's 33 days until the beginning of the festival. Time to start taking those multi-vitamins.
I am, in equal measures, incredibly excited and terrifyingly nervous- this is my first solo show and, as it is so autobiographical, I have at times found it difficult to articulate how I feel and how I want this to manifest itself in the show. Earlier this week I got a little lost. I was unable to see the path ahead and had a bit of a panic. Actually it was a huge panic. I threw a notebook at a chest of drawers. It was tough.
I never thought I'd write this, but 24 hours in Stafford sorted me right out.
I have realised the power of being up high. I sat alone up a little hill by the castle for a few hours and found inspiration again, like a new breeze.
I'm back.
And I'm excited.
Someone mentioned earlier in the week that it might rain overnight, and I actually found myself saying 'well, the garden needs it.'
It was at that point that I actually became my dad.
It feels too grown up to buy a hosepipe. I can't support that sort of lavish water spraying. Although I am tempted to get a sprinkler, then Tom and I can put our swimming costumes on in the early evening, dare each other to run through it, then have an ice lolly. It'd be like we were 8.
On a positive note, we have successfully produced ONE STRAWBERRY. It's little, it's alone. It's perfect. I can't bring myself to pick it until it has friends, but let's just say that in a few weeks time, it's very possible that Tom and I will be having a TINY Wimbledon party dessert. Maybe we can drink a thimble of champagne each and call it a 'micro- soiree.' I'm sure it's been done in Hoxton.
It also turns out that both Tom and I, independently of each other, have become VERY excited about seeing the several tomatoes that the plant has produced, had a little celebration in our own heads, then realised that it was actually the picture of some tomatoes on the seed packet. I love the fact that we BOTH did this, and am amused by the idea that Juniper the cat knew all along, and sat looking at us with veiled embarrassment for her gullible parents.
In other news, it's full steam ahead for my show Running on Air at the Fringe Festival this year. Joni is getting pimped up, I found the best curtain material in the entire world (yes, that's right) in a charity shop in Orpington, and as I was frighteningly informed earlier this week, it's 33 days until the beginning of the festival. Time to start taking those multi-vitamins.
I am, in equal measures, incredibly excited and terrifyingly nervous- this is my first solo show and, as it is so autobiographical, I have at times found it difficult to articulate how I feel and how I want this to manifest itself in the show. Earlier this week I got a little lost. I was unable to see the path ahead and had a bit of a panic. Actually it was a huge panic. I threw a notebook at a chest of drawers. It was tough.
I never thought I'd write this, but 24 hours in Stafford sorted me right out.
I have realised the power of being up high. I sat alone up a little hill by the castle for a few hours and found inspiration again, like a new breeze.
I'm back.
And I'm excited.
Tuesday 22 June 2010
The Flags, The Pigeons and the out of town adventure
And so, last night we used Joni the beautiful camper van for the thing she is truly made for.
No, not that.
We went on an adventure.
Now, there is a difference between an adventure and an 'adventure'- the latter being the way in which Tom brands horrendous experiences where we drive round in the dark a lot, looking for somewhere to sleep.
Last night was somewhere inbetween.
As a reaction to doing lots of things all at once and being very busy all of the time, we decided to disappear for the night and go somewhere really peaceful, somewhere we could wake up in the morning and be aware of...nothing. It was going to be heaven.
After a brief chat with a friend recently who mentioned a lovely deserted beach in Kent, we decided to head there. In typical Frankland style, we didn't check the map VERY carefully, we didn't note down the address of any campsites and I didn't pack any socks.
We did, however, remember to roast a selection of vegetables to have with our camping cous cous.
On arriving on Sheppey Island, about 90 minutes away from home, we were surprised to find that it was a little bit like going on holiday in Croydon. Now, don't get me wrong, I like Croydon- it has a very nice if massively confusing shopping centre and I often end up meeting old friends unexpectedly at the train station. But it is not my first choice for a holiday destination.
If it wasn't for the football, I'd be very nervous about the sheer volume of England flags on the island, and there were lots of people shouting at each other in the car park at Tesco. It is fair to say that we were feeling a little nervous about finding somewhere to sleep.
After stopping in at various holiday parks, we once again fell victim to not driving a static caravan. It was reminiscent of a trip to Brighton during which we met the rudest woman IN THE WORLD EVER who was very mean about Joni as she didn't have Broadband or armchairs. When looking through campsite reviews, we tend to look for reviews that criticise the site for being 'a bit basic.' Not for the ones where the toilets have underfloor heating and Radio 2 piped into the shower block. (that was an actual place. Never, I repeat NEVER, go camping in Taunton)
As it began to get dark, and I began to lose my sense of humour (and the comfort of my feet due to the lack of socks) we eventually found a campsite with a little corner, just for us. It wasn't picturesque (although I THINK I could see the sea through some brambles, through the hedge, through some barbed wire, and through a line of static caravans) but it was just what we needed. A little corner, just for us.
When we go anywhere at all, I often imagine an aerial view. Last night I imagined in the aerial view that on the other side of the hedge there was the most beautiful campsite, a lush green field, apple trees, little pond,perfect sea view, deers wandering through the grass, free wine, fresh croissants for breakfast..that sort of thing. And there we were, on the other side of the hedge, parked very close to a bush that seemed to be producing mosquitos at an alarming rate, a toilet with no locks on and a skip that pigeons kept flying out of.
And you know what..
It was perfect.
No, not that.
We went on an adventure.
Now, there is a difference between an adventure and an 'adventure'- the latter being the way in which Tom brands horrendous experiences where we drive round in the dark a lot, looking for somewhere to sleep.
Last night was somewhere inbetween.
As a reaction to doing lots of things all at once and being very busy all of the time, we decided to disappear for the night and go somewhere really peaceful, somewhere we could wake up in the morning and be aware of...nothing. It was going to be heaven.
After a brief chat with a friend recently who mentioned a lovely deserted beach in Kent, we decided to head there. In typical Frankland style, we didn't check the map VERY carefully, we didn't note down the address of any campsites and I didn't pack any socks.
We did, however, remember to roast a selection of vegetables to have with our camping cous cous.
On arriving on Sheppey Island, about 90 minutes away from home, we were surprised to find that it was a little bit like going on holiday in Croydon. Now, don't get me wrong, I like Croydon- it has a very nice if massively confusing shopping centre and I often end up meeting old friends unexpectedly at the train station. But it is not my first choice for a holiday destination.
If it wasn't for the football, I'd be very nervous about the sheer volume of England flags on the island, and there were lots of people shouting at each other in the car park at Tesco. It is fair to say that we were feeling a little nervous about finding somewhere to sleep.
After stopping in at various holiday parks, we once again fell victim to not driving a static caravan. It was reminiscent of a trip to Brighton during which we met the rudest woman IN THE WORLD EVER who was very mean about Joni as she didn't have Broadband or armchairs. When looking through campsite reviews, we tend to look for reviews that criticise the site for being 'a bit basic.' Not for the ones where the toilets have underfloor heating and Radio 2 piped into the shower block. (that was an actual place. Never, I repeat NEVER, go camping in Taunton)
As it began to get dark, and I began to lose my sense of humour (and the comfort of my feet due to the lack of socks) we eventually found a campsite with a little corner, just for us. It wasn't picturesque (although I THINK I could see the sea through some brambles, through the hedge, through some barbed wire, and through a line of static caravans) but it was just what we needed. A little corner, just for us.
When we go anywhere at all, I often imagine an aerial view. Last night I imagined in the aerial view that on the other side of the hedge there was the most beautiful campsite, a lush green field, apple trees, little pond,perfect sea view, deers wandering through the grass, free wine, fresh croissants for breakfast..that sort of thing. And there we were, on the other side of the hedge, parked very close to a bush that seemed to be producing mosquitos at an alarming rate, a toilet with no locks on and a skip that pigeons kept flying out of.
And you know what..
It was perfect.
Sunday 13 June 2010
The Patch of Madness, the Cat Temple and the Upside Down Courgette
Hello campers (sorry, I just had to do that once, I won't do it again, I promise)
Despite the massive patch of overgrown madness and the fact that the shed that is leaning so much to the left I am nervous to even touch it for fear of being flattened, the garden is looking pretty wonderful at the moment.
The matchsticks seem to be deterring the cat from using the seedling area as the toilet, the spinach plant is now taller than Tom (yes, I know that's weird, and we're not entirely sure it's actually spinach, but we are eating it anyway) and the courgette that we accidentally grew upside down is flourishing beautifully, despite being the courgette equivalent of a hunchback.
The huge patch of flowery madness is in desperate need of an afternoon's attention-I KNOW there are some actual plants in there but at the moment they are difficult to spot amongst a frightening number of what I can only describe as 'unwanted weedy type green things.'
The biggest surprise of the last week was revealed when Tom cut back the ivy on the wall by the kitchen door. I love the ivy, but if we left it any longer, we wouldn't be able to get out of the kitchen. On cutting it back, Tom has uncovered a stone plaque on the wall, adorned with the facade of a house, with a cat on the steps to the door. Also on the facade, on either side of the door, are 2 areas for candles.
It is fair to say that this was the LEAST expected thing to find on a wall. It made me wonder if that is why our garden is attracting the evil cat from next door. Perhaps it has been lured there by some sort of cat spirit? If we light candles on it, will we attract cats from all of south east London? It's tempting to give it a whirl. Watch this space. And, watch your cat.
Despite the massive patch of overgrown madness and the fact that the shed that is leaning so much to the left I am nervous to even touch it for fear of being flattened, the garden is looking pretty wonderful at the moment.
The matchsticks seem to be deterring the cat from using the seedling area as the toilet, the spinach plant is now taller than Tom (yes, I know that's weird, and we're not entirely sure it's actually spinach, but we are eating it anyway) and the courgette that we accidentally grew upside down is flourishing beautifully, despite being the courgette equivalent of a hunchback.
The huge patch of flowery madness is in desperate need of an afternoon's attention-I KNOW there are some actual plants in there but at the moment they are difficult to spot amongst a frightening number of what I can only describe as 'unwanted weedy type green things.'
The biggest surprise of the last week was revealed when Tom cut back the ivy on the wall by the kitchen door. I love the ivy, but if we left it any longer, we wouldn't be able to get out of the kitchen. On cutting it back, Tom has uncovered a stone plaque on the wall, adorned with the facade of a house, with a cat on the steps to the door. Also on the facade, on either side of the door, are 2 areas for candles.
It is fair to say that this was the LEAST expected thing to find on a wall. It made me wonder if that is why our garden is attracting the evil cat from next door. Perhaps it has been lured there by some sort of cat spirit? If we light candles on it, will we attract cats from all of south east London? It's tempting to give it a whirl. Watch this space. And, watch your cat.
Sunday 6 June 2010
Work in Progress, Matchstick Deterrents and a Beautiful Blue Bike
And so, you may have noticed that I haven't blogged for a while. WHY WHY? I hear you ask. Calm down, I will tell you.
Well, it's because I have been making my first solo show- it's called 'Running on Air' and it's being premiered at the Edinburgh Fringe in August.
I am very excited about it. So very excited. It's being performed to 5 people at once, who will be joining me in Joni, the most beautiful yellow camper van. I think she is excited too, although it is harder to tell.
Tom and I are making the show together, which is very lovely. And so, we spent 6 days in a windowless basement and emerged, blinking, like little moles from a burrow, with an idea of the show and how it works. It was the most wonderful of weeks.
During the week, in the brief, fleeting time we spent at home, we managed to get the vegetables into the garden. No longer will our bathroom be filled with containers full of soil. We set them free into the wilds of the garden, like taking our children to primary school for the first time.
Hopefully when we do take our children to primary school for the first time, we won't have to worry about cats defecating on them. Which is where the similarity ends.
Poor Juniper. Just as she's learned that we don't want her to use the lounge carpet as a toilet, we start being fussy about where she goes in the garden. Instead of
a) sitting in the garden all day and all night to stop her from going or
b) hiring someone to do this for us
we decided to adorn the garden with matchsticks. I honestly have no idea if this will work but it makes me feel better. Who wants to go to the toilet on something that has sharp sticks pointing out of it? Not me.
In other news, I bought my first bike as a grown up. I'd had enough of watching Tom sail off into the distance, pedalling like a smug, happy free spirit whilst I waited for the 343 for about an hour, getting more and more cross.
And so I bought Hercules. He is a blue 1960s pushbike and I love him. He is just shiny enough to be beautiful, and just battered enough to deter thieves. I am so very excited about spending the summer whistling my way down country lanes, feeling like I'm in a French film and laughing at people who are still waiting for the 343. Ah Ha ha ha ha...fools..
And as soon as I pluck up enough courage to actually go out on the bike, I'm sure this will all be very pleasant indeed.
Well, it's because I have been making my first solo show- it's called 'Running on Air' and it's being premiered at the Edinburgh Fringe in August.
I am very excited about it. So very excited. It's being performed to 5 people at once, who will be joining me in Joni, the most beautiful yellow camper van. I think she is excited too, although it is harder to tell.
Tom and I are making the show together, which is very lovely. And so, we spent 6 days in a windowless basement and emerged, blinking, like little moles from a burrow, with an idea of the show and how it works. It was the most wonderful of weeks.
During the week, in the brief, fleeting time we spent at home, we managed to get the vegetables into the garden. No longer will our bathroom be filled with containers full of soil. We set them free into the wilds of the garden, like taking our children to primary school for the first time.
Hopefully when we do take our children to primary school for the first time, we won't have to worry about cats defecating on them. Which is where the similarity ends.
Poor Juniper. Just as she's learned that we don't want her to use the lounge carpet as a toilet, we start being fussy about where she goes in the garden. Instead of
a) sitting in the garden all day and all night to stop her from going or
b) hiring someone to do this for us
we decided to adorn the garden with matchsticks. I honestly have no idea if this will work but it makes me feel better. Who wants to go to the toilet on something that has sharp sticks pointing out of it? Not me.
In other news, I bought my first bike as a grown up. I'd had enough of watching Tom sail off into the distance, pedalling like a smug, happy free spirit whilst I waited for the 343 for about an hour, getting more and more cross.
And so I bought Hercules. He is a blue 1960s pushbike and I love him. He is just shiny enough to be beautiful, and just battered enough to deter thieves. I am so very excited about spending the summer whistling my way down country lanes, feeling like I'm in a French film and laughing at people who are still waiting for the 343. Ah Ha ha ha ha...fools..
And as soon as I pluck up enough courage to actually go out on the bike, I'm sure this will all be very pleasant indeed.
Wednesday 19 May 2010
Beauty Contests, Rain and Simon Callow
I am fundamentally against beauty contests- watching trussed up entrants being paraded about in their finery, being judged by the public purely on their physical attributes and being expected to be perfect, beautiful, silent objects
This, however, goes out of the window when it comes to campervans.
On Sunday, Tom and I took Joni to her first beauty contest. OK, so they call it an 'event' or 'fair' or whatever, but it is basically a chance to parade your VW in front of loads of strangers and invite people to tell you how beautiful and shiny she is. Certain categories would simply not be acceptable for a human beauty contest ('Best Dent' being one of those)
And she was, so very beautiful and so very, very shiny. We felt like new parents, displaying our offspring to the world and generally being all proud of Joni and wanting to stand next to her saying 'yes, I know, she IS beautiful, isn't she' in a slightly smug manner. We got to see lots of really beautiful VWs, all looking gorgeous and shiny and awesome, even in the rain.
The event was in Berkshire and was hosted by the Thames Valley VW Owners Club (yes, we are members, I have never seen Tom so excited as when he received his membership card) and it was one of the most entertaining experiences I've ever had on a Sunday. Despite it raining dramatically for quite a long time, we had a lovely time. Highlights include a group of grown men, all drunk, all with their faces painted like tigers or Spiderman, and a dog that looked like Simon Callow.
Although Joni did not win any awards (my theory is that she was parked too far away from the ice cream van and not enough people were able to appreciate her properly) we were both warmed by how cool she looked. It made me even happier to know that we have her, and that there are many more adventures to be had.
In other news, I accidentally sprayed our courgettes with kitchen cleaner today. This could result in one of two things:
1) They die instantly
2)In a year's time, we have a very foamy, but very clean, soup.
This, however, goes out of the window when it comes to campervans.
On Sunday, Tom and I took Joni to her first beauty contest. OK, so they call it an 'event' or 'fair' or whatever, but it is basically a chance to parade your VW in front of loads of strangers and invite people to tell you how beautiful and shiny she is. Certain categories would simply not be acceptable for a human beauty contest ('Best Dent' being one of those)
And she was, so very beautiful and so very, very shiny. We felt like new parents, displaying our offspring to the world and generally being all proud of Joni and wanting to stand next to her saying 'yes, I know, she IS beautiful, isn't she' in a slightly smug manner. We got to see lots of really beautiful VWs, all looking gorgeous and shiny and awesome, even in the rain.
The event was in Berkshire and was hosted by the Thames Valley VW Owners Club (yes, we are members, I have never seen Tom so excited as when he received his membership card) and it was one of the most entertaining experiences I've ever had on a Sunday. Despite it raining dramatically for quite a long time, we had a lovely time. Highlights include a group of grown men, all drunk, all with their faces painted like tigers or Spiderman, and a dog that looked like Simon Callow.
Although Joni did not win any awards (my theory is that she was parked too far away from the ice cream van and not enough people were able to appreciate her properly) we were both warmed by how cool she looked. It made me even happier to know that we have her, and that there are many more adventures to be had.
In other news, I accidentally sprayed our courgettes with kitchen cleaner today. This could result in one of two things:
1) They die instantly
2)In a year's time, we have a very foamy, but very clean, soup.
Tuesday 11 May 2010
Bluebells, Rejection and Watering Wilf
And so, the sunflowers are definitely dead. But, in true Norman Bates style, they are still in their pots, still in the kitchen by the window, and I am still watering them. Despite their limp, brown floppy appearance, I cannot accept that they are really gone. I can sense that gardening is going to be quite an emotional hobby for me. The Gardeners World magazine makes it look so jolly. The truth is that it is filled with rejection and loss.
The garden now seems to be full of bluebells which are giving it a wild appearance that I am claiming all credit for. There is so much to do but I need to figure out what those things are before I start blindly waving a spade around.
On the plus side, I am not frightened of the compost bin anymore. Admittedly, my first visit to it was in the dark, and as someone who has never been that close to rotting things before, I was nervous that I would be attacked by worms, or bitten by angry sleeping badgers. As neither of those things happened, I am now feeling much more relaxed about it. I am also now making meals where I KNOW there will be raw leftovers so I can go and add to the compost. I like the feeling of popping my wellies on and spending a few tiny moments walking to the back of the garden, especially after the sun goes down and I can enjoy a little moment of rural peace.
Another element of our new garden that has provoked much discussion is our new gnome.
Now, I have always wondered if I would, upon acquiring a garden, get a gnome. There seems to be a lot of them about, not all of whom are displayed ironically. Once I had decided that yes, we should have one, and no, I wasn't going to involve Tom in the decision, the purchase was done extremely quickly. It was almost as though thinking about it too much would, inevitably, end up in no gnome at all.
And so, we are now the proud parents of Watering Wilf. He came from Amazon. (no, not THE Amazon, that would be ridiculous) In turns out, you can buy gnomes on the internet. Welcome to 2010.
On the negative side, when he turned up, he was significantly less classy than he had looked in his photo. I felt cheated, like someone who has signed up to Guardian Soulmates then been disappointed to meet their date. Except in this case, the date was standing in my garden wearing a pointy green hat and carrying a watering can.
On the plus side, he was MUCH smaller than I was expecting.
You win some, you lose some.
In this case, I have gained a gnome, but lost a little bit of class.
It's a decision I can live with.
The garden now seems to be full of bluebells which are giving it a wild appearance that I am claiming all credit for. There is so much to do but I need to figure out what those things are before I start blindly waving a spade around.
On the plus side, I am not frightened of the compost bin anymore. Admittedly, my first visit to it was in the dark, and as someone who has never been that close to rotting things before, I was nervous that I would be attacked by worms, or bitten by angry sleeping badgers. As neither of those things happened, I am now feeling much more relaxed about it. I am also now making meals where I KNOW there will be raw leftovers so I can go and add to the compost. I like the feeling of popping my wellies on and spending a few tiny moments walking to the back of the garden, especially after the sun goes down and I can enjoy a little moment of rural peace.
Another element of our new garden that has provoked much discussion is our new gnome.
Now, I have always wondered if I would, upon acquiring a garden, get a gnome. There seems to be a lot of them about, not all of whom are displayed ironically. Once I had decided that yes, we should have one, and no, I wasn't going to involve Tom in the decision, the purchase was done extremely quickly. It was almost as though thinking about it too much would, inevitably, end up in no gnome at all.
And so, we are now the proud parents of Watering Wilf. He came from Amazon. (no, not THE Amazon, that would be ridiculous) In turns out, you can buy gnomes on the internet. Welcome to 2010.
On the negative side, when he turned up, he was significantly less classy than he had looked in his photo. I felt cheated, like someone who has signed up to Guardian Soulmates then been disappointed to meet their date. Except in this case, the date was standing in my garden wearing a pointy green hat and carrying a watering can.
On the plus side, he was MUCH smaller than I was expecting.
You win some, you lose some.
In this case, I have gained a gnome, but lost a little bit of class.
It's a decision I can live with.
Thursday 6 May 2010
Sunflowers, pumpkins and emotional rollercoasters
And so, my friends, I have sad news.
Margot and Jerry, the only 2 entrants in the sunflower growing competition, are not looking well. Not well at all.
At first, it was Jerry who fell. Naturally, I was filled with glee, as this was not my entrant. Margot was still doing well. Yes, she was a little droopy, but wouldn't you be if you had to stand in a kitchen for several weeks, buried up to your knees in soil.
But now they are both basically dead. Pretty much. We haven't had a funeral for them yet - we're not ruling out all hope, but it's not looking good.
On the plus side, the pumpkins are doing marvellously, and Clive the Chive is also flourishing. This time next year, we're going to be having a pretty amazing pumpkin and chive soup.
I remember taking part in a lupin growing competition at primary school and, unlike ALL OTHER competitions, I actually did quite well. My lupin flourished, I took it home, planted it in the garden, gave it constant love and then it got greenfly and was brutally destroyed.
It's quite an emotional hobby, gardening.
Margot and Jerry, the only 2 entrants in the sunflower growing competition, are not looking well. Not well at all.
At first, it was Jerry who fell. Naturally, I was filled with glee, as this was not my entrant. Margot was still doing well. Yes, she was a little droopy, but wouldn't you be if you had to stand in a kitchen for several weeks, buried up to your knees in soil.
But now they are both basically dead. Pretty much. We haven't had a funeral for them yet - we're not ruling out all hope, but it's not looking good.
On the plus side, the pumpkins are doing marvellously, and Clive the Chive is also flourishing. This time next year, we're going to be having a pretty amazing pumpkin and chive soup.
I remember taking part in a lupin growing competition at primary school and, unlike ALL OTHER competitions, I actually did quite well. My lupin flourished, I took it home, planted it in the garden, gave it constant love and then it got greenfly and was brutally destroyed.
It's quite an emotional hobby, gardening.
Monday 3 May 2010
Flapjacks, National Trust Car Parks and Alan Turner
I'm writing 2 in one day today, so I can catch up. I may need to have a lie down after all this writing.
You may remember that in my last post, I said that we shouldn't do London- Cornwall in one go, whilst in Joni the camper van.
Neither should we do Cornwall- London.
So we didn't. We decided to stop off with some very lovely friends near Bristol. Sensible, see?
Now, I really can't explain why, but wherever Tom and I go, we have 'adventures'. I've put that in quotations because we often have to rebrand ridiculous situations, most of which involve getting lost, breaking down, turning up at the wrong place, driving around aimlessly at night, getting trapped in places, or just generally being awful at getting things right.
If you say it's an adventure, it's easier to
a) get out of and
b) not get cross
On Wednesday, we appeared to be in the position of NOT having an adventure. In short, it was all going very well. We left the campsite in plenty of time, managed to get the marquee, sorry, awning, down, Joni was running beautifully (due to a few hours spent with a very clever, if slightly frightening, mechanic) and the sun was shining. This NEVER happens, certainly not all in one go.
It was this optimism that prompted us to stop off at a National Trust property for a cup of tea and the cakes that we had bought that morning (Tom had some sort of epic fruit shortbread, I opted for a Rocky Road because I am naturally more continental)
Our stop off point of choice was the Lydford Gorge waterfall car park near Okehampton. As I said, the sun was shining, we were feeling perky and excited about hanging out in Joni with the door open, making other visitors feel smug that we have our own stove and therefore do not need to pay £8 for 2 cups of tea and a dry scone.
I have no idea what prompted the next collection of actions, but we both decided to get out of the campervan, shut our doors and head to the welcome hut.
Now, I say 'shut' our doors, what I actually mean is 'lock.'
Before I carry on, I will point out that Tom has locked himself out of his own car FOUR TIMES in the last six months. I'm just dropping that in. The RAC already think that he is a wally.
An opinion that they have now confirmed.
In short, what began as a slightly smugly optimistic 'ha ha we have loads of time to spare' stop off turned into TWO HOURS spent sitting on the floor of a National Trust car park without coats. The welcome hut closed, the tea room shut, the sun went down.
We were having another 'adventure.'
It was 90 minutes in that a lone car arrived in the car park. An older man in innappropriately short shorts hopped out of his car and, without really even saying hello, launched into an enthusiastic speech about how his son also has a Volkswagen.
It wasn't clear until 20 minutes later who this man actually was. Tom and I stood almost silently, as this man performed what can only be described as a monologue on how he used to own a farm, how pigs are just like humans as 'if they don't like their neighbour, they WILL kill them', how everyone in Tavistock knows his son, and how he 'likes a good fight.'
It then transpired that Alan (that was his name, Alan, Alan Turner, 'Dan's dad)' had come to clean the toilets.
At some point, while Alan was pausing for breath, we managed to point out that we were locked out of our vehicle, and we weren't just enjoying an afternoon in a deserted car park.
This is when Alan really came into his own.
The next half hour was spent breaking into Joni using the handle of a bucket from the back of Alan's car. When we got the door open I have never
a) seen Tom more proud of himself
b)seen an old man in shorts happier
c)called the RAC with a more triumphant HA HA WE DON'T NEED YOU ANYMORE WE BROKE IN OURSELVES USING THE HANDLE OF A BUCKET.
Needless to say, we were then cold, late for dinner and still totally bewildered by Alan Turner.
But we were having another of our very special 'adventures.'
I'm now not going to on how the camper van did actually break down once we were 10 minutes away from the car park, how I had to drink water directly from the kettle as we'd left our water bottle behind, or how I had to rescue my phone charger from out of the sink.
I am going to focus on the wonder that is...Alan Turner.
Thanks Alan.
x
You may remember that in my last post, I said that we shouldn't do London- Cornwall in one go, whilst in Joni the camper van.
Neither should we do Cornwall- London.
So we didn't. We decided to stop off with some very lovely friends near Bristol. Sensible, see?
Now, I really can't explain why, but wherever Tom and I go, we have 'adventures'. I've put that in quotations because we often have to rebrand ridiculous situations, most of which involve getting lost, breaking down, turning up at the wrong place, driving around aimlessly at night, getting trapped in places, or just generally being awful at getting things right.
If you say it's an adventure, it's easier to
a) get out of and
b) not get cross
On Wednesday, we appeared to be in the position of NOT having an adventure. In short, it was all going very well. We left the campsite in plenty of time, managed to get the marquee, sorry, awning, down, Joni was running beautifully (due to a few hours spent with a very clever, if slightly frightening, mechanic) and the sun was shining. This NEVER happens, certainly not all in one go.
It was this optimism that prompted us to stop off at a National Trust property for a cup of tea and the cakes that we had bought that morning (Tom had some sort of epic fruit shortbread, I opted for a Rocky Road because I am naturally more continental)
Our stop off point of choice was the Lydford Gorge waterfall car park near Okehampton. As I said, the sun was shining, we were feeling perky and excited about hanging out in Joni with the door open, making other visitors feel smug that we have our own stove and therefore do not need to pay £8 for 2 cups of tea and a dry scone.
I have no idea what prompted the next collection of actions, but we both decided to get out of the campervan, shut our doors and head to the welcome hut.
Now, I say 'shut' our doors, what I actually mean is 'lock.'
Before I carry on, I will point out that Tom has locked himself out of his own car FOUR TIMES in the last six months. I'm just dropping that in. The RAC already think that he is a wally.
An opinion that they have now confirmed.
In short, what began as a slightly smugly optimistic 'ha ha we have loads of time to spare' stop off turned into TWO HOURS spent sitting on the floor of a National Trust car park without coats. The welcome hut closed, the tea room shut, the sun went down.
We were having another 'adventure.'
It was 90 minutes in that a lone car arrived in the car park. An older man in innappropriately short shorts hopped out of his car and, without really even saying hello, launched into an enthusiastic speech about how his son also has a Volkswagen.
It wasn't clear until 20 minutes later who this man actually was. Tom and I stood almost silently, as this man performed what can only be described as a monologue on how he used to own a farm, how pigs are just like humans as 'if they don't like their neighbour, they WILL kill them', how everyone in Tavistock knows his son, and how he 'likes a good fight.'
It then transpired that Alan (that was his name, Alan, Alan Turner, 'Dan's dad)' had come to clean the toilets.
At some point, while Alan was pausing for breath, we managed to point out that we were locked out of our vehicle, and we weren't just enjoying an afternoon in a deserted car park.
This is when Alan really came into his own.
The next half hour was spent breaking into Joni using the handle of a bucket from the back of Alan's car. When we got the door open I have never
a) seen Tom more proud of himself
b)seen an old man in shorts happier
c)called the RAC with a more triumphant HA HA WE DON'T NEED YOU ANYMORE WE BROKE IN OURSELVES USING THE HANDLE OF A BUCKET.
Needless to say, we were then cold, late for dinner and still totally bewildered by Alan Turner.
But we were having another of our very special 'adventures.'
I'm now not going to on how the camper van did actually break down once we were 10 minutes away from the car park, how I had to drink water directly from the kettle as we'd left our water bottle behind, or how I had to rescue my phone charger from out of the sink.
I am going to focus on the wonder that is...Alan Turner.
Thanks Alan.
x
The couple, the campsite and the oversized awning.
Hello all
Right, so when I said that I would write more after lunch, I didn't plan on lunch lasting several days. Sorry about that.
I spent most of last week in Cornwall. I adore Cornwall, it's a bit like being in a film. A really good film. I will live there one day. And buy lots of knitwear, even more than I have already.
We have found the best campsite in the world. Now, I'm not going to tell you where it is. I'm sorry. You see, there are probably at least 400,000-500,000 people following this blog (ish) and if you all turn up at once, then we won't get our favourite spot. The shower block will be very cramped, and there'll be no chance of getting our towels in the tumble dryer.
We drove down there in one go. The thing we learned from that journey is that we shouldn't do it in one go. Joni the camper van doesn't like it. She wanted to stop somewhere in the Somerset area, have a little rest, perhaps a pub meal and a sleep. But we ploughed on. We listened to the second leadership debate, we ate travel sweets, we talked about how we shouldn't do the journey in one go the next time. Good times were had.
Now to the campsite. It is the most beautiful place in the whole world. And, almost empty. There is nothing more lovely then jumping out of a camper van (or, sometimes falling out as the passenger door hinges are a bit dodgy) and finding yourself in a clifftop haven of fresh air, wind, usually rain, and the sound of the sea. It's that peace. Heaven.
And the best thing about turning up to a campsite in a camper van is the fact that you don't have to then prove yourself to other people there that you CAN put a tent up in high winds without shouting at each other. You just turn the engine off.
At least, that's what normally happens. But this time it was different. You see, our latest family present from Tom's side is an awning. (now, I have always, for some inexplicable reason, got the words 'awning,' 'urn' and 'aga' mixed up- I have no idea why. It's similar to Robert de Niro, Dustin Hoffman and Al Pacino, who occupy exactly the same space in my head, and for this reason, I really have no idea which one is which)
This time, I have checked. It's definitely an awning. We've never put it up before and decided to choose this time to do it. We were told it was a bit like a porch, but incredibly difficult to put up, and we should prepare ourselves for a massive test of our marriage, and advised to have alcohol ready for afterwards.
Surprisingly, the whole process was extremely straightforward. This was mainly due to the fact that Tom did it by himself while I unpacked the picnic hamper.
Now, I have often thought that going camping with 18 of my closest friends would be a lovely experience. And, thanks to the BIGGEST AWNING IN THE WORLD, this is now a very real possibility.
Imagine a snail. Now imagine it without a shell, but with a marquee.
There was no way we could fill that space. Even when we put up a table and put Tom's surfboard diagonally on the floor. I kept feeling the need to talk loudly about the 'other people that were arriving soon' to justify such a huge attachment.
Oddly, I learned to love the awning. It was handy to keep things in. Like the miniature aromatherapy herb garden that I bought for Tom as an anniversary present. I might always travel with an awning, and treat it like a giant handbag.
x
Right, so when I said that I would write more after lunch, I didn't plan on lunch lasting several days. Sorry about that.
I spent most of last week in Cornwall. I adore Cornwall, it's a bit like being in a film. A really good film. I will live there one day. And buy lots of knitwear, even more than I have already.
We have found the best campsite in the world. Now, I'm not going to tell you where it is. I'm sorry. You see, there are probably at least 400,000-500,000 people following this blog (ish) and if you all turn up at once, then we won't get our favourite spot. The shower block will be very cramped, and there'll be no chance of getting our towels in the tumble dryer.
We drove down there in one go. The thing we learned from that journey is that we shouldn't do it in one go. Joni the camper van doesn't like it. She wanted to stop somewhere in the Somerset area, have a little rest, perhaps a pub meal and a sleep. But we ploughed on. We listened to the second leadership debate, we ate travel sweets, we talked about how we shouldn't do the journey in one go the next time. Good times were had.
Now to the campsite. It is the most beautiful place in the whole world. And, almost empty. There is nothing more lovely then jumping out of a camper van (or, sometimes falling out as the passenger door hinges are a bit dodgy) and finding yourself in a clifftop haven of fresh air, wind, usually rain, and the sound of the sea. It's that peace. Heaven.
And the best thing about turning up to a campsite in a camper van is the fact that you don't have to then prove yourself to other people there that you CAN put a tent up in high winds without shouting at each other. You just turn the engine off.
At least, that's what normally happens. But this time it was different. You see, our latest family present from Tom's side is an awning. (now, I have always, for some inexplicable reason, got the words 'awning,' 'urn' and 'aga' mixed up- I have no idea why. It's similar to Robert de Niro, Dustin Hoffman and Al Pacino, who occupy exactly the same space in my head, and for this reason, I really have no idea which one is which)
This time, I have checked. It's definitely an awning. We've never put it up before and decided to choose this time to do it. We were told it was a bit like a porch, but incredibly difficult to put up, and we should prepare ourselves for a massive test of our marriage, and advised to have alcohol ready for afterwards.
Surprisingly, the whole process was extremely straightforward. This was mainly due to the fact that Tom did it by himself while I unpacked the picnic hamper.
Now, I have often thought that going camping with 18 of my closest friends would be a lovely experience. And, thanks to the BIGGEST AWNING IN THE WORLD, this is now a very real possibility.
Imagine a snail. Now imagine it without a shell, but with a marquee.
There was no way we could fill that space. Even when we put up a table and put Tom's surfboard diagonally on the floor. I kept feeling the need to talk loudly about the 'other people that were arriving soon' to justify such a huge attachment.
Oddly, I learned to love the awning. It was handy to keep things in. Like the miniature aromatherapy herb garden that I bought for Tom as an anniversary present. I might always travel with an awning, and treat it like a giant handbag.
x
Thursday 29 April 2010
The adventure begins
Hello chaps
So, this is my first ever blog. I'm not entirely sure how it works, so if I accidentally delete Youtube, or manage to set up a live feed from my bathroom, can someone please let me know?
I am currently sitting at my new favourite spot in our flat, next to the windows to the garden, watching the cat looking nervous in front of the door, as she once again doubts that she knows how to work the catflap. She did once run at it so hard, she knocked it off its hinges. Hopefully this will never happen again.
We have just returned from a week in beautiful beautiful Cornwall (yes, I know I wrote that twice, I meant to. It is truly lovely) Needless to say, in true Frankland style, we had several adventures, some planned, some not, some totally ridiculous and involving 2 hours in a National Trust car park for no useful reason.
I will write about those once I have had my lunch.
Ooh, the sun is coming out.
Ace
So, this is my first ever blog. I'm not entirely sure how it works, so if I accidentally delete Youtube, or manage to set up a live feed from my bathroom, can someone please let me know?
I am currently sitting at my new favourite spot in our flat, next to the windows to the garden, watching the cat looking nervous in front of the door, as she once again doubts that she knows how to work the catflap. She did once run at it so hard, she knocked it off its hinges. Hopefully this will never happen again.
We have just returned from a week in beautiful beautiful Cornwall (yes, I know I wrote that twice, I meant to. It is truly lovely) Needless to say, in true Frankland style, we had several adventures, some planned, some not, some totally ridiculous and involving 2 hours in a National Trust car park for no useful reason.
I will write about those once I have had my lunch.
Ooh, the sun is coming out.
Ace
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
