Friday Night’s Alright

I can’t quite believe it but finally, after what seems like an endless year, the Meadens are living in a caravan. Actually, I’m in the ‘van, Rich is on his way back after a victorious Tour Brittania. Victorious, as all the other competitors in his class scored a DNF.
It’s been rather a busy one today, but nothing that a couple of cheeky ones won’t solve. The dogs are unsettled – they’ve spent most of the day in the back of the car, poor lambs. Still, I put my plastic meal in the oven, hoped we hadn’t been sold a dud and took the boys for a walk up the driveway.
I don’t mean to sound smug (especially as I live in a plastic house) but it really is glorious here. There’s no traffic, one close neighbour, no light pollution and just a vast, vast sky. It’s also a tad windy but then, it’s the kind of weather you expect in June…
One thing I can’t be too conceited about is the toileting facilities. Suffice to say it’s a good job I’m a jeans and wellies type of girl. Steve, who possibly has the worst job in the world emptying our toilet once a week, seemingly felt a bit sorry for me having to have a poo in a chemical cartridge, as just before he left, he gave me a little light to put in the crapper. ‘You’re in the middle of nowhere, it’s going to be bloody dark at night,’ was his parting shot.
He was dead right. It’s about 11.50pm. I don’t have a telly or internet so have been staring, Taggart-like, out the window since I finally sat down. The electric fire is going, complete with billowing ‘logs’. No condensation problem so far. I’ve seen the owl – ironically, it’s clearly already nesting in one of the willow trees by the house, but the council want us to put up a couple of nesting boxes anyway. Apparently, owls demand a better standard of living than in the olden days. No sign of the bat which, ordinarily, would be good news but not if you’ve just spent £1200 for the licence to move the little bastard.
The boys have finally fallen asleep (on the wrap-around sofa, it’s all the rage). Hopefully, they’ll realise that the ‘van is going to be home for the next few months and stop following me every time I get up to get another beer. Richard should be ‘home’ around half one. That’s as long as he doesn’t forget we’re now Fenbillies and drive to our old house…


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