If the Caravan’s a Rockin’

After a bright and blustery day out and about on site watching folk take their awnings down in anticipation of the forecasted storm that was brewing, we just had to sit back and hope our awning and storm straps would cope. It survived the Beast from the East earlier in the year so fingers crossed.

Quick change of clothes, uniform abandoned in the washing basket, quick spruce up, scrunch of the curls and we headed out towards Christchurch to meet up with one of our ‘virtuals’ Aaron (Caravan Chit Chat) for tea, or dinner seeing as we are down south.

Lovely food, lovely company, great catch up but when the Beefeater started to shift tables around and lay out breakfast cereal bowls around us we knew it was time to say goodbye.

Opening the door onto the big wide world outside and the wind and rain hit us. We’d been sat all lovely and warm and cosseted inside, blissfully unaware of the weather beating down outside.

I’d nominated myself as the designated driver so that Steve could sample a glass or two of local brew. Now is the time to let you know that just a few days previous ‘The Boss’ sold my lovely Ford Focus right from under my nose. Since starting the job we really can’t justify the cost of keeping it on the road for just one or two days use a month. It’s gone to a good home and I’m sure James will love it as much as I did. Hence, tonight, I’ve volunteered to drive The Volvo. Not a car I’m familiar with driving, especially in the dark, on unlit roads, in high winds and torrential rain. Stressful to say the least and true to form, I proved once again that the more ‘The Boss’ drinks, the worse my driving gets.

Back at base and the rain is coming sideways and the awning is getting blown about from all sides. Mad dash from the car and into the warm but now wet awning. Buckets placed strategically under a couple of drips we head into the caravan and shut the door.

Tucked under the quilt, midnight comes and goes and wide eyed we lie there, buffeted around by the wind. It certainly isn’t rocking us to sleep. The awning continues to bang and flap around, we lower the bedroom blind then at least we can see it. I lose count of the amount of times ‘The Boss’ gets up and checks the awning in just his undies. So far, so good, it’s staying strong and the buckets are collecting the drips. The poles start to squeak, up he gets again, rejigging poles and moving them millimetres to try to silence them. The noise of the wind and rain make it impossible to sleep and the caravan really is rocking. Minutes turn into hours and still we are awake…

… Until the alarm clock rings, or whatever the iPhone equivalent of an alarm clock ring is, to wake us from our awakeness. Time to venture outside like spacemen stepping from a spaceship on a new planet. Will the world still be the same, has the awning survived, are we still in Kansas and whose Ruby red shoes are sticking out from under the caravan.

Just five snapped bungy cords, five minutes with a mallet then back to work.