Postcard 2: The inaugural caravan outing

We recently won a caravan in a competition. I have never owned a caravan before. I have never sought to own a caravan. I never expected we would win the competition.

There follows an account of what happened on our first outing in the caravan.

We are both wiser.

I shall not elaborate.

After setting off, funny engine noises led me to stop and check the oil.

No oil.
Put in oil.
All well.

Trip to Barmouth, including driving up a mountain, which could be completed only in first gear.

Arrival and set-up in torrential rain.
Torrentially leaking window.
Discovery, purchase and application of bizarre vaseline-covered tape.
Unwashable vaseline hands for Jols.

I discovered I needed to rewire a non-standard plug to gain electricity.
Needed to purchase tools.
Needed explanation of how to rewire.
I was still unable to get the electricity working.
No heating.
No fridge.
Ruining of bacon and milk.

We drove off to a local eatery, which served the crappest microwave meal I could have imagined.
We decamped to another eatery for dessert, which was fractionally better.

We summoned up the courage to return to the cold caravan.
A leaking skylight had directed rain into the binbag containing our duvet.

It was at this point > < that I snapped, and Jols and I fell out over her ever more futile attempts to keep a cheery outlook, and my reference to a ‘ludicrous situation’ and a ‘piece of shit caravan’.

We went for a walk in abject silence, and entirely failed to find a path through to the sea, so had to turn on our heels and walk back.

Shortly before departure the owner of the site came over and explained how to connect the electricity, which required the pretence of cheeriness and gratitude.

We had to leave at 10am to get back to the caravan storage place, which closed at 1.

We had had no breakfast, and had no time to stop for anything.

Part-way home the right indicator stopped working on the back of the van.

We arrived at the caravan depot five minutes before 1, to find it shut.

We bumped into the owner, who opened it for us to quickly drop off the caravan.

Upon returning home, wearily unpacking the uneaten bacon, and undrunk pink champagne, I discovered the already warm milk had leaked on to the back seat of my car.

Agreement has been reached that a second outing will take place only after certain conditions have been met.

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