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.
Tuesday, 22 June 2010
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
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