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.

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.

Squelch

There were a couple of frosty days recently,  in amongst more rainy ones than any of us can tolerate. Today the fields and ditches around us are spilling brown lakes across the roads.

We have already visited our folks, and are now cocooning into the Airstream for a couple of days of quiet indulgence. There's an animated version of A Christmas Carol on the television, reminding me that I recently learned that there were several years of white Christmases when Charles Dickens was young, and it is likely that his brilliant and loved stories are responsible for our expectations of a white Christmas. Even though we all know how rare they are for us in England. I don't expect anyone will be writing songs about a Brown Christmas, or dreaming of one.

Happy festivities, and joy in each lengthening day, for we are past the shortest one.

Feeling Frosty

At last, some proper wintry weather. A bit of frost anyway. Until now I haven't needed to wear my woolly hat, not once. Usually it is fixed to my head for the whole winter. In the last few days though everything has had that twinkly dusty covering. I have gone out of my way to walk on the grass just to feel that crunch. I was beginning to feel robbed of a decent winter. What's the point of a mild winter that's barely discernible from the rest of our temperate year? 

Our bird feeder is the busiest attraction in the area. We always have a pair of woodpeckers (Greater Spotted, I think) as well as the usual selection of chaffinches, green finches and great tits. In the sunlight today the pheasants look like they're plumed in copper and gold. Last year one or two of them figured out how to perch on the top of the feeder and reach down to the seeds with their tail feathers raised for counter balance, but this year's population is still scratching around on the ground. I can be pretty certain that they are not the same birds since there is a lot of shooting in this area, although our 'landlord' doesn't allow any hunting on his land. Weirdly though, I have seen a shady character in full camouflage, including his green-splodged rifle, cutting across the camp site at dusk to get to the woods, only to return some time later, dragging a deer carcass behind him. I happened to have just stepped out of the Airstream one evening and, perhaps sensing my surprise and suspicion, the hunter tried to put me at ease by engaging me in conversation about how the local roads were less icy than earlier in the day. Phew! That sure did distract my attention from the fresh corpse on the ground.

My formerly-broken ankle is causing me less jip. I felt like there was a plateau in the process recently. I was expecting or hoping for steady and tangible improvement but I was still frustrated with aching and fatigue. Now I've reached that stage where I can be out and about and forget all about it. I do still feel tentative on potentially slippy or uneven ground though. A few  walks to the pub helped me turn the corner. I can remember feeling chuffed that I could comfortably stride out rather than take shorter, safer steps. Thank God for the incentive of real ale.

Silver and White

Well we're just about back to our own version of normality, apart from conscientiously eating our way through a small hillock of cakes and puddings that is still sitting here on the galley counter. Most of it would probably keep for a few months, but the usual space restrictions apply and we need our horizontal surfaces back. We'll soldier on.

We have just experienced the most beautiful winter weather I can remember. It's been a challenge at times, but stunning to look at. There has been freezing fog, which resulted in the thickest and spikiest frost I have ever seen, literally covering every surface in jagged white needles. And then there was the snow, which just kept falling. The temperature never rose above freezing, so it remained light and powdery and as pure as when it fell.

The nation attempted to carry on as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, but of course that didn't really work.

We kept warm and toasty inside the Airstream, using up the gas at a ridiculous rate, but things froze up outside. Some days our chores would take way too long. We have to fetch our fresh water every day and dispose of our waste. Normally I'm perfectly happy to get out there and do what needs to be done, but the winter days are short enough without having to spend the daylight hours thawing out pipes and taps.

Our internal tank and pipes were fine but our external tank would freeze, as would its connecting hose, the fresh water tap, our waste water container, the waste water disposal point and the 'black water' disposal point. Many trips back and forth to the trailer to fill up flasks with hot water were required to thaw everything out. The trick is to ensure that there is sufficient water left in the internal tank overnight so that you've got enough for the thawing out business the next day, plus your morning beverages of course.

I was just hoping that the winter wonderland would stay in place for Christmas day. After all the rigmarole and the nationwide gnashing of teeth it would have been a disappointment to have a big thaw and end up trudging around in slush and mud instead of snow. I got my wish, and the sun came out too. It was glorious.

Now there's mud, lots of mud. Hey ho.