Airstream Baking

Sometimes it just doesn't make sense to 'pop out' for bread, especially if we're staying miles away from the nearest shop and the cost of fuel consumed would be more than the bread itself. One winter, when we knew we wouldn't be moving for a while, we bought a bread machine and got into the habit of making our own bread that way (but the machine is a bit of kit you can easily do without when moving around more and being conscious of the trailer's weight and having to pack up and batten down). The result is a bit of a bread hybrid though. It comes out a funny shape, a bit inconsistent in texture and with a hole where the dough hook was. But, If we make sure that we always have flour, bicarbonate of soda, salt, milk and lemon juice (for making fake buttermilk), I can knock up some soda bread with very little effort, should the need arise.

Baking in the Airstream is something that we both enjoy but it can be a bit messy. Which is one of the reasons why we don't do that much of it. There just isn't the space for flicking flour around. Well, to be accurate, there is just the right amount of space for covering everything in flour and gloops of dough. The limited amount of horizontal surfaces means that ingredients inevitably become airborne. My previous attempt at soda bread turned into a huge mass that grew and spread in the oven with a will of its own. This week's one is simpler in its ingredients, which I also scaled down, and the result was perfectly manageable, although I'm not sure if I was supposed to be so coated in sticky dough at the end. Homemade soda bread is irresistible while it's still warm. This time we had a good old go at spoiling our dinner by filling up on it generously spread with our favourite Danish lightly salted butter and some blackcurrant conserve.

So, yum, and obviously infinitely better than a tasteless, squidgy, sliced, brick-shaped lump of disappointment from the petrol station. Plus, you get the added frisson of that ridiculous, self-satisfied feeling that goes with making something yourself instead of buying it. That never gets tired.

I followed Paul Hollywood's recipe here bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/soda_bread and reduced everything by a third (or near enough, you try measuring two thirds of a teaspoon of bicarb!).

Campsite Feminist Ninja

We are still in the midst of the off-season, which makes it sound like the equivalent of a mouldy cheese hidden in the back of the fridge. The reality, for us at least, is that we can enjoy some privacy and seclusion for a while, until the first hints of Spring encourage the other caravanners to emerge.

There are occasional visitors during the Winter. And, since we find ourselves sharing this tiny, weeny patch of planet Earth some civility would seem to be the acceptable mode of behaviour. I am sure that I have shared before that I am not in the habit of trying to make every random stranger into my latest bezzie mate. I am more than content with a greeting that includes a reference to the time of day. I might be pushed to mention the weather, or enquire about a new arrival's journey if they look like they're expecting more of me.

Now, when I have gone to the effort of this hugely exuberant engagement it can be a bit peeving when you get nothing back. I am sorry to say that I am talking about the women caravanners, or wives. Do they object to me talking, albeit very briefly, to their husbands? Mostly, I see nothing of the wives at all. On arrival they'll often hover until it's safe to go inside the caravan, and then maybe pop their heads out of the door to see who the hubby's talking to. I will only catch a glimpse of them each time they move from caravan to car to go out for a spot of lunch in a Cotswold tea room before returning about two hours later and going back indoors for the rest of the day and evening. They're like timid creatures that have to be tempted outside with the promise of a jacket potato and salad.

This doesn't apply to all of the caravanning couples, obvs, but quite a lot actually. It's not that I blame the women for leaving all the outdoor, fetching and carrying chores to the men, it's just that I can't think of a good enough reason not to get involved, at least to fill the fresh water. When I'm out there getting on with it I get ironic comments from the guys like, "Ooh, you get all the best jobs." But here is the dirty truth...

The outdoors, water carrying and waste disposal jobs are not particularly pleasant but they don't take any time at all! If your other half makes out that they're a hero for dealing with this stuff, they're treating you like a mug. There are no good jobs, just jobs.

Mr Nomadic Knitter used to do the black tank emptying because ours is a chemical-free system, it used to make me gag and Mr N.K is a gent. Then he put his back out and I had to figure a way to breathe through my mouth, not get a whiff and just get on with it. Since then I've been lumbered with the campsite version of female emmancipation and there's no going back. I have seen things I wish I hadn't. I recently allowed my mind to wander and promptly dropped the cap down the three foot drop to the septic tank. I foraged for two long sticks and, like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible I focused like a shitty-stick-wielding ninja and I retrieved that sodding cap! (Mr N.K. saw my efforts, and after an initial delay during which he must have assumed I had it covered, he came out to observe, then caught the pesky cap before it fell back in. I am not alone in this world of slurry!)

I have had our 'landlord' show me the inside of the full and backed-up septic tank whilst patting me on the shoulder with his vinyl-gloved hand. I knew where that hand had been, so obviously was not listening to a word he said because my own thoughts were bellowing inside my head, "WHY WOULD HE DO THAT?!?!!!!!!!!?"

So, if you can get away with avoiding any doings with the doings, good on ya. I am not a better person for having seen the things I have seen. I usually want to hit anyone who says, "I'm not a feminist." but I can tolerate such brainlessness if it relates to not emptying the toilet. You hang on to your innocence, keep your mind unsullied. I'd like to have mine cleansed like Kate Winslett in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. 

Frosted

The thickest of frosts have been layering everything with a glistening veil before gradually melting in the morning sun. The Airstream warms quickly when there is sunlight shining in through the side windows. Without the sunlight, and when the temperature drops to zero or below outside, we rely more on the gas. I'm off to refill it today. I should have a stunning drive through the Cotswold countryside with the sparkling frost and slowly lifting mist.

Time To Surface

Any day now we will have to force ourselves to leave our little corner of Shropshire. We had thought about venturing out there before now, but haven't been able to prize ourselves away. Apart from the effortless and understated welcome we find here, there's the peace and beauty and our continued education concerning all things rural and farmy. We are like wide-eyed aliens here. And the acceptance, or tolerance works both ways, miraculously. What must the beef-farming family have made of us, arriving here for the first time four years ago, with our pet bunnies and our vegetarianism? Whatever they thought, we were entertained, accepted and fed veggie curry!

There's been a lot of rain this week. Perhaps we'll be stuck here. Hey ho.

Plus, the arrival of a new Springer pup might just be the cure for my cynophobia.

A Bumpy Ride

Recent travels have had me on edge. The roads in England have been allowed to become potholed and patched-up and it can make for a bumpy journey. It takes the thrill out of taking to the road, and it gives the impression of a nation letting itself go. Five years ago we travelled around Ireland and found the roads to be in a poor state at the time. When we returned to England you could almost hear the car and Airstream sigh with relief. Now I think ours are even worse. We have spent a lot of time near Cheltenham and I have a mental map of many of the crappest roads in and around the town, but when you move on you have a whole new set of obstacles to avoid. And you can't swerve out of the way with a trailer on the back!

A trip to Wiltshire last week had the added headache of a flat tyre on the car whilst towing along a busy, rural, two lane A road. We had passed a lay-by on the other side and had to reverse back, inch by inch, during any gaps in the traffic. Once we had managed to cross over we then had to empty the contents of our boot in order to release the spare wheel that is fixed below the car. What can you do but grin encouragingly at each other and get through it?

The rest of the journey was one of those south of England routes that keeps passing through little villages, narrowing regularly and twisting its way around the countryside. These roads might be fun to whizz around on a motorbike or in an un-hitched car, but to tow an Airstream along them is slow and requires constant and prolonged concentration. The speed limit keeps dropping for all the bends and the quaint villages. It took us three hours to travel 100 miles.

I thoroughly enjoyed being somewhere completely new, once we had arrived, but the travel itself was not a pleasure, at all.

Summertime Neighbours

These are our neighbour's flowers. We have neighbours in the summertime. During the winter full-timing can be more quiet and solitary, in the summer we meet more long-termers. Well, that's around here anyway. We have found this friendly site with its incredibly accommodating and laid back owner, and due to the projects that Pete has been involved with recently our travels have been short, and usually starting from this same spot.

So it would appear that the combination of a really nice 'landlord', relative peace and quiet  and lots of green scenery brings people back year after year. Our opposite neighbour has been coming here for years, stays for a few weeks and then pops home for a bit to keep and eye on things there and pick up her post. A couple who spend their winters in Spain return here for about three months each summer to catch up with family and friends, attend weddings, that sort of thing.

And I've got used to seeing them. My hermit tendencies have receded just enough for me to pass the time of day, and so when Pete returns from a day of fixing up Airstreams I can let him know that after three years I have learnt somebody's name, they are 71 years old and in training to run a marathon, their next-door neighbour back home just won the lottery, and I've been asked to water someone's plants while they go away for the weekend.

Our clever Gerbera that just keeps on flowering

Hermit tendencies is a slight exaggeration, but when you live in an Airstream you can spend an awful lot of your time explaining what it is, where it's made, admitting that it costs  more than any other caravan, and why. And sometimes that's a lovely thing to do, other times I might just be trying to do my chores quickly and efficiently so that I can get on with my day. So you develop a way of making fleeting eye-contact and giving a short, friendly greeting, just enough not to be rude but brief enough to be able to move on. Often, someone will say, I didn't know they still made them. That happened yesterday and, when I offered my brief explanation it clearly wasn't brief enough and the chap who had started the 'conversation' cut me short and started to walk off. Suits me.

I know this all makes me sound pretty antisocial. But it's a common experience. Ultimately I am trying to avoid a situation that has happened too often, which is when someone, typically a middle-aged man (that's just a fact, not a judgement on age or gender) comes up to me while I'm busy, makes an opening statement like, I bet it takes a lot of cleaning. I say, no not really. He then tells me all sorts of facile misconceptions about Airstreams, or worse, tells me all about his caravan, not noticing that I am not actually asking or agreeing with any of it. He just goes on and on. He might tell me stuff I already know, but he hasn't got the perceptive skills to realise that I know stuff too, or he doesn't care, because he's a crashing bore!

There, that's what can happen. That's what has happened, a lot! And that's what I'm avoiding with my dark glasses or shifty glances. On the other hand you don't want to miss out on genuinely interested and interesting people, because there are plenty of those too, and it can make your day to have an unexpected friendly encounter. And having vented and ranted, I'll just go back to our lovely neighbours and point out that the long-termers and full-timers know about all of this and mostly respect each other's space. So you get a friendly little chat about the weather or a trip out somewhere, then move on. I know that they would help me if I needed it, and vice versa.

Atomic Appliance

My Atomic stove-top coffee machine makes a perfectly strong espresso base for an iced coffee. Yes, we are experiencing heat, finally, and the challenge is how to stay cool and refreshed. Bring on the iconic equipment. The ZipDee awning provides a shady space and the Atomic provides the caffeine stimulation to prevent me from slipping into a siesta-loving languidness.

I nominate this chunkily elegant 'objet' as my full-timer's non-practical indulgence item. For what would life be like if we were ruled by the head alone, without influence from the heart? Well, we wouldn't be living in an Airstream for a start. It isn't impractical, the Atomic can make great coffee once you've mastered some variables, it's just not the most compact coffee maker you could find. But it is the most beautiful. I should know, I have a thing about coffee machines. And, it's aluminium and curvy. Ring any bells?

Recipe for staying cool and alert: 2 teaspoons brown sugar in a sturdy glass (maybe leave the spoon in to absorb some heat and prevent your glass cracking!) Add a shot or two of perilously strong coffee. Stir to dissolve the sugar. Top up with milk and leave for a few minutes to cool. When you can wait no longer, add ice cubes and stir some more.
The result is so sweet and milky that you hardly notice it kicking you in the head. Enjoy.

The Glamorous Nomad

One of the charms of moving your home to a different place is noticing the path of the sun in relation to your windows, and how that differs from your previous location. But after the first two days on our present pitch, I hadn't seen the sun, I had no idea how it might be tracking across the sky above a grimy, monotoned gloom. And then, ta dah! Another promise of Spring. I remembered my theory about my perception of the length of winter. At the moment I am convinced that this has been the longest winter ever. Then I applied my theory: It's because we were robbed of summer. The winter after a rubbish summer feels extra long.

Pete is on a course for a few days, which takes place in a suburb of Birmingham. We are staying on a farm several miles further out to the north east and I am amazed to find that there are acres and acres of clay-hued farmland, 14th century castles (privately owned and not open to the public!), and tiny red sandstone villages. Who knew that you can drive the overpass over the M6 and within mere moments you are in rural Warwickshire?

My previous knowledge of the Birmingham area was pretty limited to the dauntingly massive series of motorway junctions and ring roads that seem to surround and engulf the city, separating north from south. Or, as the road signs call it, 'The North' and 'The South'. Birmingham seems impenetrable and sprawling and constantly circled by a sea of motor vehicles. I'm still avoiding it this week, but I have discovered the peaceful contrast on its doorstep.

Our campsite this week is called something Hall Farm. I'm being a coward/diplomat and not naming it properly but you might see how one could have high hopes of a name like that. You might, like I did, imagine a grand estate with a charming little paddock set aside for campers. In fact this whole area is clearly a series of estates with halls and castles, woods and farmland. A search of the history of the area shows ownership of the estate dating back to the 15th century. And I will concede that this is not the time of year to see a basic campsite at its best. An adjacent strip of woods is going to burst with daffodils very soon, so that will brighten things up. But it is basic, which we don't mind at all, but I am judging the site by the fact that it is costing us £5 more per night than our last place, offering us no more, and by the awkwardness and unpleasantness of the black waste point.

It is an enclosed, above-ground tank. You have to climb two steps to access the wooden hatch on the top, once held on with two hinges, long since rusted and useless. And if you are 5ft 3in tall as I am, you have to lift your full black-waste cassette to chest height, rest it on the edge of the opening, carefully and with a very firm hold. Also treating the cap of your own tank as if it were part of an unexploded bomb, lest you drop it into the liquid hell below. Then to rinse, step down to ground level, reach several feet to the other end of the tank to grab the hose, rinse, climb back up, etc. Glamping my arse!

Apart from that, it is indeed peaceful and remote-yet-handy. And money for old rope for the farmer.

Mini moan and griping aside, it has been tingly and exciting to move to a completely unknown area again. Out of necessity we have been staying in one area for weeks, sometimes months at a time, and it has been lovely to make friendships and connections and to get comfortable with the familiarity of the roads and day to day facilities one relies upon. But there was a time when we moved every four or five days and got used to never really knowing our way around. After almost two years of exploring the country we were surprised to find ourselves in one spot for two whole weeks. And there are still places we haven't seen, which is great. For some reason we missed out Yorkshire completely.

We had a tricky time getting to this site. The junction we thought we wanted didn't have an exit on the bit of motorway we were travelling on. It took a couple of rethinks to find a way off! But finally here and set up, fairy lights on, cup of tea in hand I said, "Wherever we go, we're always here." You know, after all that, we are still at home.

Seasonal Musing

So far this winter has been a bit more challenging than previous ones in the Airstream. When we were still in self-imposed sabbatical mode there was a touch of charm and romance to most aspects of living in a trailer, and being nomadic to a greater or lesser degree. And I still relish a less conventional lifestyle. I never did aspire to an average existence. But I have found that, when life becomes more laden with serious or emotive diversions it is a little bit harder to engage with the charms that had previously shone a glow over everything. They can become time-consuming extras, chores. I'm talking about stuff like the fetching and carrying of water and waste, the need to put stuff away and not always have it instantly to hand. Little things really, that can eat into your day when you're just trying to get on with something.

Weather matters too, and the length of the days. I don't mind the snow, and I don't mind too much having to thaw the taps and negotiate icy tracks to get to them, as long as it's just for a couple of days. Plus, our 'landlord' Dave has recently built a unique little heated wooden structure around the fresh water tap so that we never have to do the traipsing thing with jugs of warm water again. But like many parts of the country, the ground here was already saturated, and the thaw and subsequent rain has made everything muddy. And 'Wet Keep Off' signs are multiplying on the campsite. Not that you would want to walk on the grass, the ground beneath it has the consistency of room-temperature butter.

I can project forward in time slightly and envisage a lighter, warmer Spring when the prospect of enjoying a view across a pine covered hill, or a rocky coastline can be savoured from outside rather than in and behind glass. It's only just February and those days are a way off yet. But the merging of indoors and out, and the changing view on your doorstep is something to anticipate.

And by the way, the picture is not of us. It's a nearby farmyard with a vintage Airstream awaiting some TLC.

No Rain

Sometimes the sound of raindrops on the Airstream roof can make you feel lucky to be indoors, cocooned. If you have nothing more pressing to do, those are the perfect days for a favourite film (I like something old and from a less complicated era for these occasions), gallons of tea, possibly some baking, and definitely some knitting or crochet. But if it's not Sunday, New Year's Day, or you're not on holiday it can be a smidgen inconvenient.

And after the soggy seasons we have all been dripping our way through, it can start to feel relentless, and like a bit of a trap. You can be all Cumbrian about it and just get out there in your appropriate clothing, but then you get back and steam up the place with the drying out process.

Anyway, when there's a gap of an hour or even a whole day, it's a relief to get out there and inhale the fragrance of damp soil and let the retinas rejoice in some autumnal jewel colours. I particularly like it when the sky is heavy and grey, but the sun has decided to come out in the afternoon and splash golden light on the yellowing foliage. If I look down, I love to see a tapestry of russet and gold leaves on glistening, black tarmac.

Rockhill Rendezvous 2012

I love to wander around the field at Rockhill Rendezvous and just take in the spectacle of a field of gathered Airstreams and their proud owners mingling and relaxing in the sunshine (and eating cake!) whilst I take in the sounds of chatting and laughing. The magic that I can't quite put my finger on is that a crowd of people who are simply brought together by a common love of their Airtsreams, who might not otherwise meet, and who might even drive each other crazy if they spent any more time together, can gather in a field for four days, find some common ground and have a merry old ding dong.

During this year's Rendezvous, two weeks ago, the days were seasoned with some organised excuses to get together. For example, a full-timers' forum which was well attended by Streamers who are currently living in their trailers as well as quite a few who are considering at least an extended trip. A polishing demo attracted vintage owners as well as interested new Airstream owners, and we had a 'meeting' during which it was reaffirmed that UK Airstreamers are not at all interested in forming a club with a committee and a bunch of boring old rules (phew! because I'm with Groucho on the subject of clubs). There was the ever-popular Open House where we all visit and admire each other's trailers and motorhomes. Unhitch and Stitch on the Sunday has become an annual haven of crafty, wooly chit-chat, during which I suspect that many of the other Airstreamers, who haven't had to leave yet, are having a nap.

But the idea is that all of this is optional, and people just dip in and out of the bits that appeal, in between simply visiting each other, going for walks, popping into Ludlow for a bit of food fair distraction, or just sunning themselves in their fold-up chairs. And, of course, there's a fair bit of technical know-how being exchanged too.

As far as the evenings go, there is something going on in the marquee each night, starting with a gentle get together on Thursday, building gradually through the Friday night Meet and Greet, to the Bring and Barby, a band and some dancing on Saturday. By Sunday night, it's time for a more ad hoc approach, one final barbecue, and a mellow night around the fire, for as long as you can keep your eyes open. There's music too. We had our Airstreaming folk duo, Shine, on Thursday, full-timer DJ Yossie on Friday and local band, The Cellar Boys on Saturday. And for a few lucky women (I don't think any men entered the free raffle), there were beauty treatments by Kerry of My Little Beauty.

I suppose I also have to mention the Vintage and Imported versus New European rounders match, which the Vintage blah blah blah team somehow managed to win for the second year. There, I've mentioned it.

Friendships are formed, the seeds of a winter ski trip were sown, new Airstreamers were welcomed and promised to return. Four days is probably enough, but there is still a feeling that we could just keep going and a handful of Streamers could be persuaded to stay on. Instead, we'll all just have to scatter, Airstreaming in our different ways and get back together with a treasury of new stories to share for next year.

Rockhill Rendezvous Approaches

Three days to go until thirty-plus Airstreams start to roll in to Rockhill Rendezvous. The marquee is up. The toilet sheds have been re-painted and decked out with sparkly lights. Actually, the sparkly lights look and sound whimsical, but since we have no power except from our generator, we have to be creative with battery and solar power. And it all looks so pretty.

I have been following orders to be careful, so that means no extreme familial visits or walking on uneven or slippy surfaces, and I am ready to party and be dazzled and walk on my own two feet (last year I was in a plaster cast, in case anyone missed it!). There is more about our preparations on our other blog, so I don't want to repeat myself. But I really want  to try to take more photographs this year. Pete and I always seem to be too distracted to take them. So, more blogging, and more pics, hopefully!

Here's a repeat, but worth another look. It's our special place on the farm where we get to be neighbours with Carl, Gaynor and the boys. That's their '59 Tradewind just showing off and being all cool and vintage. They just allowed my oldest friend to come and stay in it for a visit from London, which was beyond generous, and typically lovely of them.

Airstreams Throng

The Airstreamers have been gathering in Dorset and Yorkshire. We had a miraculous break in the weather for a weekend at an Airstream-friendly campsite in Dorset, then two weeks later, a cosy paddock and a heatwave near to York.

I really look forward to the gatherings. I've often thought that they are a way for the 'streamers to get their travels off to a start, but of course, in reality, many have already been on the road for a while. But anyway, it's a great time for talking about recent travels and future plans. For others, it can be an excuse to get a bit of maintenance or restoration finished in time for an appreciative audience, or to share your latest modification, or to show off that freshly polished trailer!

In Dorset we had a few new faces, which is always lovely, plus a catch up with some familiar faces we hadn't seen for a while, as well as some really regular gatherers. As people come to more of these weekends, the more the banter and ribbing flourishes. It's just joyful. And because you often know about other Airstreamers via the internet, it's great to put faces to names. This time we met the lovely Jenni and Kevin from Happy Days RV, who rent out their trailers on the site where we gathered.

For the second event, we went up North to Airstreamers Dave and Tanya's paddock. It was just the right size and shape for a cozy get-together, and the sun beat down on us the whole time. I still have the flip-flop tan to prove it. This time, there were no new faces, but the familiarity coupled with our sort of kidney-shaped formation made the group feel very relaxed.

Next? Rockhill Rendezvous in September, of course! It was lovely to hear all the York gatherers bidding each other goodbye with a "See you at Rockhill", like it was a given. Well it is for us, obviously. Our trips to the pub are also known as "meetings", where we each have a notebook and assorted, developing 'to-do' lists. Top of my to do list is "don't break leg!" I've already stepped up my yoga practice to strengthen my legs and ankles. Prevention blah blah blah.

A Lashing and A Pelting

It's one of those Sundays you just have to go with. Pete said he'd go out and do the chores when there's a lull. Lull, what lull? A lull is when it's drizzling instead of lashing. But you have to be quick.

Weather conditions can be evocative of specific moments, and this pelting is reminding me of a couple of times and places during our first year in the Airstream where we were holed up, keeping warm and dry. Everything, and I mean everything felt like part of a wonderful adventure during our first couple of years. About a month in, we were on a fairly exposed farm not far from Mevagissey in Cornwall, and storms picked up. We didn't know how much the trailer could stand up to, and like all our neighbours on the campsite, we didn't go anywhere for two days. We didn't dare. We didn't know if the Airstream would still be there when we got back. Now I'm not so sure we would have wanted to be in if the trailer had started to tip over. As it was, it just rocked a bit and kept us awake at night.

Later, during our Summer in Ireland, our loo packed up and we waited on a large, deserted campsite by the coast in County Sligo while a replacement was being dispatched. Like I said, everything that happened was part of this incredible time that we had set out to appreciate, no matter what. So, in the wind and rain, clad in waterproofs and Crocs, I relished my walk to the toilet block. And when I got there, there would be musac! It's a bit surreal. Pelted by grey wetness on the way, you negotiated a 'Wet Floor' warning triangle and walked into a discomfiting cocoon of industrial toilet cleaner aroma, yellowed wall tiles and unnecessary music. But I did enjoy the particular lived-in quality of this slightly run down, out of season site. I'm sure it would have been perfect hell during the holidays.

So these images of being marooned in the wind and rain are flashing back to me, I don't have to go anywhere, Pete thinks he has perceived a lull, and he's out there choring. Alabama Shakes are playing, freshly downloaded after seeing them on Later With Jools last Friday. Jack White was good, but Brittany Howard really reached down in her boots and rocked.

Better put the kettle on because that lull was a false one and there's one soggy husband out there.

Flip-Flops and Bumble Bees

Spring is here. We have been fooling ourselves for a couple of weeks, excited by a glimpse of sunshine and some chirruping birds, only to be caught out with inadequate layering of clothes. I might start recording my first sighting of a girl in flip-flops, just like I make a mental note of my first bumble bee. I have seen both, the flip-flops before the official first day of Spring, and the more sensible bee since.

I haven't blogged much lately, questioning whether there's a point. Don't we all? I have felt that things have been a bit ordinary, and who wants to hear about that? Then it occurred to me that things may have been just relatively ordinary. After all, we are still living in our Airstream, of no fixed abode. Nothing ordinary about that. Anyway, doing normal stuff is good; dull, but necessary. Sometimes though, days and weeks can go by where you're just dealing with one bit of domestic or personal maintenance after another. I guess this is the ideal time of year to be in that mode; brighter, longer days to get stuck in with chores and jobs. Then, hopefully we're all ready to get on with the rest of Spring and Summer.

The trailer got a wash and a polish last week. I quite like polishing, and going round with a soft toothbrush to dislodge grime and green stuff from the crevasses. I have an eye for it. It's in my genes. Next, I'm going to raid the vehicle grooming kit that we got with our Land Rover, and see what I can gloss or highlight. It's like make-up for your car or trailer. 

These primroses are sitting on the top of our gas bottle locker, and aren't they just little pots of sunshine? Yellow, and the fresh green of new shoots just seem to be the colours of Spring don't they?

Pass The Loofah

Things I can do (now that the cast is off):

Walk. Yay!!! Well, put one foot in front of the other and move steadily in a forward direction.

Get in and out of the Airstream on foot, instead of on bum.

Sit on the floor and make a fuss of the bunnies whilst bribing them with leafy greens.

Carry stuff, instead of moving stuff incrementally along horizontal surfaces.

Shower standing up. (replace the word 'shower' with 'clean teeth', 'get dressed', or any everyday, simple activity)

Make a cup of tea in under twenty minutes and then carry it to the table. Actually I can carry two full cups, so myerrr.

..... I'm on fire! I would like my own leg back now though. Mine has been replaced with a rigid, puffy, pink, flaky one. Eeoogh!

Stifled Profanity

Such is the strength of the rules of one's upbringing that in the throws of falling and fracturing a bone, you might be able to suppress the need to swear, even if you are a fan of the inherent oomph in a well savoured swear word like I am. When I slipped and fractured my tibia whilst out walking with my parents a month ago, I managed to simply suck air through my teeth, saying things like "Ow, ow, ow!" and, "It can't be all that serious, I didn't even say the 'F' word." Quite impressive really, since recently I had thought it would be amusing to try and train myself to say, "Oh dear. I didn't mean to do that." However, when it became clear I was going to have to walk two miles to get out of the woods I did find it helpful to utter a couple of mild profanities through gritted teeth. To be an effective release of shock and pain a swear word should contain at least one strong or sibilant consonant.

I am aware that some people choose to be offended by certain words, and I suppose we all have our limits or lines we decide not to cross. However, I think the intention behind a word or phrase can be far more offensive. I definitely don't want someone spitting the dreaded "C" word in my face, but the word itself carries no outrage for me. I'd rather be sworn at than patronised, or hear some narrow-minded views on race, gender or sexuality. And that's probably why on my ill-fated walk a couple of well timed "tits" and "twats" wafted harmlessly into the trees and at the same time helped me not to throw up. If my Dad hadn't been there keeping me distracted and comforted  I would definitely have let rip and turned the green forest air blue.

Back to the broken leg and, four weeks later even my bright purple cast fails to keep me buoyant. I wish I could claim to embody a Zen-like acceptance, instead I feel useless and clumsy. The awkwardness of getting around the trailer with one leg solid and unbending at the ankle means that each simple, everyday task takes at least three times as long and involves newly learned adjustments and physical manoeuvrings. I am getting the hang of it but early on I literally felt nauseous with the effort. And as I set up for the job of taking a shower, once I've put on my waterproof leg covering thingy, I find that I pause, breathe and motivate myself to continue.

From a starting place seated on the loo lid I stand up, rotate 180 degrees, take all my weight on the two crutches, hop backwards over the shower ledge, stand on one leg whilst balancing the crutches in a handy place to reach them later, find dry and firm surfaces to grip while I sit myself back onto the shower seat, reach out the bathroom door to pull the stool into the bathroom and close enough to rest my outstretched leg on. Then I can commence my ablutions and the soaking of the bathroom floor. Of course by now I mostly remember to put the stool in place, within arm's reach, before I ensconce myself in the bathroom. I also mostly remember to heat the water sufficiently beforehand, and switch from the external tank to the internal, or whichever one is full at the time. Mostly, I remember, because the occasions where I have had to repeat the aforementioned sequence in reverse just to go and hop about the trailer, damp and half naked to flip a switch and then back again have taught me to plan ahead. All this sounds as though I'm coping alone. Far from it, but of course Pete will be outside doing water fetching and waste tank disposal and other outdoorsy chores. Which is why I also need to remember to take my mobile phone with me, just in case.

I am counting the days until the cast comes off (it's 11), and the recent late burst of warm weather did perk me up, as did a visit from Pete's parents. We had some lovely trips out to local historic and pastoral places. I would sit in the sunshine and exercise my brain with crosswords while the rest of the family exercised their tourist muscles looking at castles, churches and fortified houses (like Stokesay Castle picured above).

On a couple of balmy evenings we sat outside with Carl and Gaynor and the boys. We are still guests of their incredible hospitality in this beautiful piece of Shropshire. It is perfectly remote from any light pollution and we have been able to star gaze and spot satellites and shooting stars. As a happily relocated city girl I am always impressed by anyone who knows their constellations. Pete's Dad was telling me how they used to navigate when he was in the merchant navy. It's probably obvious but in this age of Sat Nav for all, it's extraordinary to think how recently one's position in relation to the stars was the way to navigate the vast seas.

How conducive to relaxed chatter is an evening under the stars, a glass of wine in hand and a blanket to snuggle under.

Ready to Rock and Rendezvous

I was getting my hair cut and coloured last week and was describing our Airstreaming life and where we are at the moment, at Rockhill Farm, and the imminent Rockhill Rendezvous, and my colourist and I got the giggles. She loved the sound of it all, and I'm sure she had never heard of anything like it. She kept saying how amazing it all sounds, and we just kept laughing.

Mostly, this way of life is amazing. We chose it, we made it up as we went along, it keeps evolving. And we've got to a point where it is self-perpetuating. What I mean by that is, we have met some great people, we hold these events, people invite us to stay with them, we meet more great people, we visit and meet up with them. And where we are right now is the epitome of that wonderful organic process.

We have been staying at Rockhill Farm and getting ready for Rockhill Rendezvous which is happening this weekend. Carl and Gaynor and their three boys came in their 1959 Tradewind to our very first UKAirstreamers Gathering, a very informal, try-it-and-see meet in the Spring of 2009. They weren't sure if it would be their scene, and neither were we to be honest. But all along we have tried to avoid the cringe-inducing, enforced group activities and formalities of a 'rally' and that mission seems to be attracting a mighty fine crowd of Airstreamers.

Carl and Gaynor have a farm in the beautiful Shropshire countryside and invited us to hold our September Gathering here last year. The trickiest part of holding a meet or gathering is finding a location where we can fit our plans in or around the rules of a campsite or land owner. A couple of examples; no noise after 10.30, no fires, and no flags!!!! Imagine. Why don't they just say, 'Don't have too much fun'!?! But here, we already see eye-to-eye on what you do or don't need for a good weekend of laid-back yet stylish camping. And so far we have never been told, 'you can't do that'. So we arrive nice and early, and bit by bit we all tick things off the 'to-do' list.

On top of that, we get to camp here in a lovely field, all to ourselves, only to have it 'spoiled' by a load of Airstreams turning up for a long weekend of catching up, laughing, drinking, sitting around a big camp fire, making as much noise as we like. As we say, sucks to be us!

Only three days to go. There might be bunting.

Lovely Laundry Day

I have stumbled upon a foolproof way to make laundry day less bothersome:  Find the nearest launderette that has sensible opening hours (8 till late works for me), bung washables, detergent and money in machine, go and buy ice cream. Then the remaining bundling and folding goes by in a haze of gratified self indulgence.

Apply above method to any tiresome activity. In winter, replace ice cream with chocolate and hot milky beverage.

Life Outside

Today I had my first al fresco yoga session of the year. The occurence of these is usually limited as much by privacy as weather, but both were in my favour today, after our over-the-hedge neighbours had been for a look at the Airstream. We seem to be having an early summer and it is perfect for starting to spill out of the trailer and do stuff outdoors that is limited to indoors for rest of the year. I think it is about seven months since we put away our outdoor furniture and stored the firepit and barbecue, so it's not a day too soon. When you can leave the door open and seamlessy swap between inside and outside, that is what it's all about, whether you are Airstreaming or campervanning, fulltime or holidaying. I'm outside right now!

To get myself to make time for yoga I took my own advice that I used to give when I taught yoga classes, and that is to aim small. If you think that you need an hour put aside then, unless you're dedicated, you'll just find that you have more pressing things to do, like answer some emails or clean the kitchen bin. So, if you tell yourself that you will simply do ten minutes, or one pose, you are more likely to step onto the mat. The thing is, once you get started you will probably end up adding a few more poses, and afterwards you'll feel more alive and maybe a little bit pleased with yourself.

I have recently bought a cheap foam bed roll to put under my yoga mat to counter lumps and bumps under foot and to help to keep my mat clean. The sun warmed my face, birdsong was ringing  all around me. A couple of brave Goldfinches even dared to use the feeder which was only about eight feet from me. I savoured sustained breaths of fresh spring country air, I reached up to the sky, I thought about having a cup of tea and some chocolate biscuits. I was at one with nature, and then I wasn't. I didn't dwell on the beverage fantasy, but it was a persistent yearning which I have since indulged, and my life is complete and well balanced I feel.