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.
Wednesday 19 May 2010
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
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