It's a Dog's Life

Old age is a bit of a bugger, but if we are lucky, it catches up with all of us eventually. We recently spent a week with my dad who at 91 physically can't do everything he would want to do and what he can do, to his frustration, takes more time and effort than he would like. He is of course from a generation that just gets on with it and he keeps busy doing the chores he can do around the house. His speciality is pot washing. In answer to the question 'Dad, where are you going' the answer usually will be 'I'm just going to tidy up in the kitchen'. The dishwasher is loaded after every meal, there are no pots to wash, but a few minutes later we'd hear the familiar rattle from the sink. He is like a pot washing ninja, somehow always finding a cup or glass to wash, quite where they came from remains a mystery to me. 

My dad isn't the only one showing some signs of age related wear and tear. Oscar the Dog, who is now 10, has developed a limp in his front

Nodding Ducks, Suncream and Seat Pads

Apparently the age of 25 is a turning point, it is the end of youth and early adulthood and is the transition to serious 'adulting'. This, according to my youngest daughter Meg, who has just set off on her latest great adventure, travelling through Africa. In the heady days of her youth, she set herself the target of visiting all 7 continents by the age of 25, with Africa being her final continental challenge. To plan, fund and travel to some of the most remote and beautiful places in the world, is an amazing achievement at any age but to have done this when she is so young I think is just incredible, and I'm a very proud dad. 

Meg isn't the only one though working through her bucket list, admittedly my desire to see Yorkshire play cricket at their beautiful ground in Scarborough isn't quite on the same scale as travelling the world, but nonetheless it is an important rite of passage for someone born and bred in Yorkshire. I only wish I'd taken more notice of Megs packing and organisation skills before embarking on my journey north. Admittedly I wasn't climbing 5900m to the summit of Kilimanjaro and having to plan for the transition from the Tanzanian

Sacré Bleu!

Messages had started to reach us from outside camp that the weather was cold and wet on the north coast of Spain and snow was falling across the Pyrenees. As we contemplated our return journey we started to get that feeling you have when you are nice and warm in bed and you really don't want to step out into the cold but you know you can't stay there forever. We didn't want to leave our cosy little bubble on the Med, especially as our planned route home took us across the Pyrenees and up the very wet, West coast of France. On the plus side at least the cold and wet weather clothes we had brought with us would get an outing. 

The Parties In Hell

The weather and temperatures during our stay in Spain have exceeded our expectations, we came loaded with jumpers and jeans, but the only things we needed were t-shirts, shorts and the odd fleece for those cool evenings. But, when it rains, it rains! Black clouds stacked on black clouds that make the daytime feel like night, deep rumbling thunder that make the walls shake and lightning that goes on forever across the dark sky. All this accompanied with torrential downpours. We had a couple of days of these storms, during which it's all quite cosy sat in the MoHo, except that it's no good trying to watch TV, talk or sleep because the sound of the rain hammering on the roof of the van makes it impossible. 

Gironas Missing Apostrophe

We crossed into France via the EuroTunnel and headed towards our first campsite South East of Rouen where we had a lovely pitch on the banks of the Seine. Les Andelys is a beautiful little town and the impressive Chateau Gaillard stands high above the river. The Castle was built to protect the Norman frontier by Richard the Lionheart, who among his many titles was Duke of Normandy, I don't suppose he had much of a hand in doing the building work, but how did he have the time to get that organised alongside the crusades? On our second day on site I thought we might have been heading for our own crusade, as the sky darkened and a strong wind rocked the van from side to side, this was followed by torrential rain and then hailstones. I had visions of us slipping off the pitch into the Seine and floating off down the river. Then as quickly as it started it stopped and the sun came out. It wasn't until we met a couple later on our trip who told us about the hurricane and tornadoes that had left a trail of destruction  through the Calais region, I think we had caught the back end of it and we were lucky to have not travelled a day later.

Marleen the MoHo

Three weeks! Are you sure? I'd been waiting 14 long months for the Motorhome to arrive, there had been many false dawns along the way as promised delivery dates came and faded into the distance. Then at the beginning of August our dealer called to say the MoHo had arrived. Well the joy lasted for about 30 seconds as he then went on to say, we just need to wait for the paperwork to arrive and then we can register the vehicle and you can collect it. Ok, so how long do you expect that to take? I asked, well usually about three weeks. My protestations appeared to drift over the salesman's head, as he said yes three weeks is really good, during the Covid lockdown it was taking up to three months! Then of course the next penny dropped as I realised where we were heading, it was pointless to collect the van a week before we could register it on a 72 plate on 1st September. So three weeks became 4. It was as though Christmas had arrived, the presents were sitting under the tree but I had to wait until the end of January to open them. Despite the swirl of emotions going round my head, pragmatism took over and we agreed on a collection date of 1st September. We did though arrange to have a sneaky peak at the big shiny present a couple of weeks before we collected it, just to make sure it was as we remembered it after all this time.

Backpacking In Style

We've been debating it, discussing it, wavering about it, and then when the decision was made and the forms submitted, planning for it for what feels like forever ..., yes, retirement has finally arrived for the both of us. Retired! Blimey, that makes me feel so old, in my head I'm just a mature looking 21 year old who happens to have grey hair and a beer belly. I went straight from school to work, no university and no gap year, so I sometimes think I've missed out on the whole misspent youth and travel thing, and I'm hoping that early retirement will allow me to play catch up while I've still got some stamina to live life on the edge ......... well I say on the edge, buying a motorhome and joining the Caravan and Motorhome Club its probably more middle England then sex drugs and rock and roll. I do like my comforts but there is something quite appealing about the freedom of being on the open road, just going with the flow and following the sun until we can no longer afford the diesel!