Day 10

A lazy Sunday afternoon in front of the telly. Bliss. Except Dickie the Human Aerial and I can’t actually get the telly working. My protestations about missing tonight’s Countryfile are met with ‘You just have to look out the windows…’ Instead, we’ll just have to eat cake – a gift from my lovely friend Clare, who came for dinner last night and almost succumbed to the sleep toxins emitted by the chintz.

I’m pretty sure the ‘van has moved overnight. I realise it was a tad windy but either the makeshift steps have moved (unlikely as they’re concrete blocks) or the plumbed in washing machine, having spewed water everywhere from the inlet pipe yesterday, has vibrated us over a few inches. The saucepans clatter, our biscuit-handles are wobbling and Badger is wimpering under the table.  I hope no-one visits when it’s going, they’ll think we’re at it like rabbits.

Friday night saw Loo and Jimbillybob come visiting. Jimbillybob, lovely though he is, is the sort of person who eats a burger with a knife and fork and wants his pants ironing. Somehow, the ‘van has transformed him into a beer swilling, fen-monster – he came in, plonked himself down, swigged out of a can (never seen that before), did an almighty belch and then, to cap it all, tried to knock the Turdis over with his car, while I was in it. I’m thinking of suing him for post-traumatic stress disorder – I don’t like to point it out but despite having a brilliant curry, I haven’t been back for Dr Poo’s autograph…


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