Wolf Tales

It would have been very hard not to notice over the last two months that I have taken possession of a camper van, (unless perhaps you live in a cave, abroad, or sensibly do not take the slightest notice of social media). I apologise for being Mrs Let’s talk about vans and can only hope for everyone’s sake that the novelty will wear off (which as you all know is as likely as me suddenly finding a passion for eating fish).

Anyway, I am now the proud owner of Wolf, a sweet little red T4 VW with a high roof so you can stand up while looking for the lighter/teapot/socks/. He also has a little wood burner, a proper cooker (that came off a boat) and a porthole by the table so I can sit and write or read while looking across whatever field I happen to be in. I also seems to have involuntarily become part of a VW van club and people ( usually men in sandals and socks) pop over for a chat and to discuss engines and awnings, a very different situation to when I used to drive my old Mercedes truck up and down the A 303 between London and North Devon, when peoples reactions were fairly extreme.

One particular event stands out. I stopped at the services somewhere down the M4 and as I drew up a woman in a velour tracksuit was standing outside her car with a little dog. When she saw the beast of a truck pull up she panicked and hurriedly shut the dog inside the car, obviously thinking the peace convoy had arrived and that she might catch something awful from the unwashed hippy inside who might try and kidnap her and force her to join a cult, or something. So I jumped out and started chatting to her in my best and politest voice. Ten minutes later she was sitting inside my truck with tea, weeping that her dog was terminally ill and that her no good husband had left her. I had to persuade her that no, she didn’t want to come and live with me but needed to return to her house in Basingstoke. Another time Lucas and I stopped off at some god forsaken campsite on the long drive home. The reception form the neat rows of motorhomes and glowering owners made us feel a bit like that bit from ” A werewolf in London’ when the guy turns up at the pub in the middle of nowhere and everyone stops talking and looks at him ( I think it was called’ The Slaughtered lamb’). Anyway I also got used to being followed round petrol station shops in case I decided I wanted to save £75 on bags of sweets and nasty sandwiches by stealing them. For me it was all a little tiresome but quite amusing. People ( including me) are so quick to judge and to jump to conclusions. I should have made it even more confusing by dressing in a twinset and pearls, not that I have one.

Anyway, this weekend is my first night away in Wolfie and we are in a campsite near Brighton that is a little similar to the one with the glowering motorhome owners, though nobody is actually glowering here and the sun is out. Rows of huge beige gleaming motorhomes with TV aerials and names like ” Commander’ and ‘Defender’ spread right across the field, but we are nicely tucked into the corner next to the chickens and a large rather terrifying looking goat. Last night we managed a fabulous roast chicken ( sorry next door chickens) with roast spuds and roast veg all done in our Cobb ovens. It’s a great warm up for the big camp in August and strange to be here with four rather than twenty (though much quieter and its easy to make a quick cup of tea for one and hop back into bed, my fellow N Devon campers will know what I mean)

My first night was disappointingly chilly as I didn’t even think for one minute I should have got the wood burner going before getting into bed as it had been such a hot day. I ended up gradually putting most of my clothes back on and regretted not bringing socks ( perhaps the socked sandal brigade have a point). Wolf is actually quite small and I need to learn to be a lot tidier than I am and to have a place for everything. This is obviously part of the fun, a bit similar to setting up the camp kitchen in Hartland and I just know this summer is going to be the best fun

I am sitting in bed with a cup of Earl Grey and Radio 4, watching two fat geese waddling about and some fat pigeons crashing about in the sycamore tree behind me. I’m thinking about curtains and hooks and how long it will be before I decide I need to bake a cake or some bread in my oven, and whether its time to start on that next collage. I am smiling to myself at how ridiculously content all this makes me

Happy Sunday peeps.