This year we’ve only managed three outings. THREE! I feel deprived. A necessary although small operation and a six-week recuperation period are to blame.
I shouldn’t say ‘blame’. I am grateful for the treatment and for the care I received from our much maligned NHS. A problem that has recently blighted my life (I’m a writer – I tend to get dramatic!) has now been, if not permanently eradicated, at least brought under control.
However, I made a rash statement to hubby as I languished in my sick-bed. I told him I had no intention of bongo-ing until my full six-week recuperation was up. I wasn’t going to push my luck and jeopardize my recovery. It seemed a good idea at the time. One day I will learn to keep my over excitable mouth shut. I still have two weeks to go – the weather is sizzling and I am feeling good. I mean really good. Is there really a reason that we can’t pack the bags and go? Course there is. Hubby thought this would be the ideal time to re-vamp the Bongo. Again.
He’s replaced the slidey thing that moves the bed because the old one didn’t move very easily. Now it moves with the slightest push of a finger – and clicks in place with no argument. We don’t have a roll-out – we have bench seats behind the cab and ‘proper’ seats at the back. We had to pull and push a bit to get them to meet in the middle but now that works with practically no effort.
So can we go? No. Because to get the slidey things in place he had to take out the seats. All of them. And remove the cooker, the fridge and the floor. The bongo is in critical condition. Having had a much bigger operation than mine – it now needs some TLC. It’s had new floor covering, very nice and a bit expensive, it’s going to get a thorough clean because with the seats out we can see just how much it needs it. The upholstery needs a spruce up – £9.99 a bottle x 2 bottles and a fiver for the micro clothes which are apparently essential for good results. The dashboard and trims need cleaning then treating with something that will make them look new – we have it on good authority that it’ll work – and the fridge and cooker need a shine-up so they don’t let the rest of it down.
Hubby said we could do it ourselves rather than have it valeted. I reminded him that I’ve still got two weeks recuperation and we’d agreed I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise that – see where I’m going? He’s put the chair where I can watch him in case he misses any bits and I haven’t told him yet, but I’m going to need the umbrella and a little table for my book.
It’s not Loch Lomond or the beach at Rosemarkie. There’s traffic and noise and someone’s having a roof on, so there a fair bit of banging, which isn’t as bad as the singing. There won’t be dolphins or puffins, but there are cats and a squirrel that occasionally puts in an appearance and there’s a chippie at the top of the road. Best of all, the weather’s wonderful and the bar’s not far.
Then there’s that other very important job I get to do on a regular basis – I have to scour the books, the magazines, the interweb, in search of the perfect place for when we do get away. That’s providing everything goes back in the Bongo and we don’t find we’ve got a cupboard left on the drive (you know the scenario if you’ve ever had an IKEA flat pack).
And then, of course it’ll be the holidays. Grandchildren to entertain. Days out in parks/forests/castles. A wonderful few weeks (if the weather treats us right) and yet…
Roll on September. Autumn mists and schools re-opened. Quiet sites. Can’t wait.