Crashes and breakdowns

I have finally decided that I am going to name the T25 after the location of my first breakdown or bump. It makes life very simple and adds a touch of mystery and anticipation to the naming process. Who needs a Bertha or Big Billy when something much more significant will suffice. It might not be pretty and it might not be fun but you’ll never forget it – that’s for sure. There are a few reasons why this is by far the best way to name your van:

1 You will have to avoid crap places. That way you’ll never have to name your van after them if you crash or breakdown there. And as an added bonus you won’t have to go there.

2 You will have to drive carefully in places with rubbish names. Simple that.

3 You will have to avoid breaking down. Easier said than done with a t25 but worth considering.

4 You will go places. The more out and about in interesting places you are, the more chance of having a crash or breakdown somewhere really cool. ‘Agadir’ would be a good name for a van, ‘Tescos’ would be very, very uncool.

So has anyone got anything to report? What would your van be called if you had to name it after the place you first crashed or broke down? My wife’s car would be called ‘Fairy Cross’ with ‘the garage wall’ as a middle name. My First T25 would have been ‘Wookey Hole’ , the second would have been ‘dogging layby on the A39 just outside Barnstaple’. Bit of a mouthfull that one. But not for me thankfully. Amazing how much attention you recieve in a camper with the bed out!

My current T25, known currently as ‘the van’ will, with any luck, never be named. We’re off to Stockport in it soon so let’s hope it’s a good trip. Although ‘Didsbury’ wouldn’t be a bad choice I suppose. Then it’s off to France. I think I’ll fake a breakdown. Yes that’s it. It’ll be ‘Vannes’. God forbid we ever make it as far as ’Nancy’

 

What do you call yours?

So the new T25 has gone in to see my friend Ian at South West Classic VWs for its ‘make sure I won’t blow up’ check. I do this with all my t25s as they can have a habit of blowing up. As it turns out it could have blown up. The thermostat that controls the air flow over the engine to keep it cool was stuck closed. And whilst it might be winter now, you can almost guarantee that, as soon as you drive off the ferry, the sun will come out and spoil the t25’s maiden holiday. We also found a few bits and pieces that are inevitable, like rust at the bottom of the doors and leaky push rod tubes (whatever they are) but nothing major. So we’re ready to rock. With confidence.

Except that there’s one little thing niggling me. I’ve been wondering what to call it. Or whether or not I should call it anything at all. Or whether it is a she or a he. Looking on sites like VW Camper Crazy I notice that people always seem to have pet names for their buses like Billy, Bertha, Snowdrop or Rusty. My suspicous side tells me that it is deeply un-cool to give a car a name but then I still remember a 1303 Beetle a friend had for a couple of months (in 1985) that she called ‘Hungry Horace’ becuase she couldn’t get enough petrol in it. It’s the name that stuck. So what do you do? Become unnaturally attached to a rusting and expensive hulk of metal and give it a name that would make an american princess puke? Or drive around in a vehicle known simply and unemotionally as ‘the van’?

Since I have kids and since I know I am about to spend an awful lot of money getting the t25 back to its shiny, camping-ready best I’m beginning to think that maybe I should call it something. If only to reflect the love, elbow grease and cash that will be lavished upon it. But what to call it. I haven’t driven it enough yet to know its foibles so there’s nothing that stands out (OK, Horace, but that one’s taken). And it feels wrong to pick it up from the garage without a proper name. It’s like taking a baby home from the hospital unnamed.

So what do you call yours? Seriously, I genuinely want to know. Is it a Bluebell or a Dipsy, a Tyson or a Bumble? And why did you choose to call it ‘Gordano’? Because you love the fried chicken at the Services there or because you waited for the AA there on your first ever surf trip? Whatever possessed you to name it ‘Bad Boy’? Because you’ve got ideas above your van’s station or because the dog is afraid of it? Let me know. Please. Before ‘the van’ gets out of the hospital.

All aboard the happy bus!

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No one got killed. It’s a good day at sea…

Back on dry land after an interesting trip (er lesson) out in the boat. For me it was a revelation, and perhaps a miracle that I am able to sit here and type this now. It started off well. We got the car onto the beach, across the pebbles and down to the shore. The checks had been done, the boat was launched. All good. Parked the trailor and returned to the boat. It’s full of water. Skipper (me) had forgotten to put the bung in. Or had remembered to take the bung out to scourge all the rainwater ballast that had accumulated after months on dry land and had forgotten to put it back in again. What to do?Bail out! So the first mate Shane bailed out whilst we stacked up the surfboards and jumped in in a panic, started the engine and set sail. Well we ran aground actually. The boat was facing the wrong way. Never mind. Some clever manouevering later and we were heading out to sea. A bit flustered and a little bit humbled by our / my apparent lack of knowledge. We arrived at Sore Feet Point, our surfing destination and surfed for an hour or so. I checked the boat periodically. Then I noticed it wasn’t where it had been. The tide had turned so that would explain it. But was the anchor rope that long? Shane had noticed too and, in a heroic moment, paddled after it. I followed. I could see then that it was heading for some rocks and paddled as fast as I could. I knew that if we lost the boat it was at least three hours walk back to the car, if not more.

Shane got there first and was just about to jump in when a swell took the boat and plonked it neatly on a submerged rock. Shane was underneath. He freed himself and climbed in. An oar went into the water and Shane waited for the next swell to remove the boat from the rock and head out to sea. I paddled after the oar.

We called it a day then as it turned out that the boat had slipped it’s anchor rope. My fault. George said he would buy me a book of knots. And then we headed back to the harbour. On the way we passed a perfect semi-circular rainbow and a mother and baby dolphin. A sign? A hallucination? Who knows.

We hauled the boat up ocer the pebbles and onto the trailer. Then we laughed. It had been close. But no one had been hurt or killed and the boat was back where it belongs, on dry land. And the surf had been fantastic. It was a good day at sea. Wasn’t it?

Pushing the boat out…

Boating is such fun. If a bit expensive. And, to continue the theme, worrying. My mate Mike once described it as like tearing up fifty pund notes in the shower. And he’s only got a blow up boat that’s about four feet long. He’s brave with it though, tearing off to Sore Feet point in massive surf. It scares me though. And today is to be the inaugural trip to the point for my boat, Little Blue. It’s a trip that’s fraught with potential danger and embarrassment. Embarrassment because we have to drive into Clovelly harbour to launch (and I don’t know if my car is up to it), and then launch in front of the holidaymakers (it’s half term today and there could be crowds), then drive the boat three miles round to sore feet (it’s a very isolated place), then get the boat out of the water again (at low tide – absolute nightmare). Then there’s the wave itself. Shallow, fast, dangerous – but always worth the effort because it is amazing and never crowded. Normally it takes two hours to walk there, which is why I have a boat.

Sore feet point is the kind of place that makes a surf trip really exciting. If you make it back to shore without any mishaps it is a blessed relief and makes the trip all the sweeter. It’s the risk that makes it.

Now I’ve thought about it too much and need to go and have a poo.

Up in the night again…

Another night awake. Worrying. So I decided to get up rather than keep Herself awake with my tossing and turning. It’s her birthday today so she’ll need her sleep. At about this time when I’m up in the night (again) I switch on the telly to see what’s on. BBC 1. News 24. More stories from around the world and obscure segments about the internet or gadgets or the Asian markets. Gloom and doom. And repeated every half an hour. Why is that? There’s a whole world of awful stuff going on, so why do they only bother with half an hour’s worth? Rather a misdescription don’t you think? Next channel. BBC 2. Schools. Skip over that one for the time being. ITV. Busty birds wanting me to call to win a car. Scam, thinly veiled. C4. Richard and Judy. Proper chewing gum for the eyes. C5. World Supercross then neighbours. Worryingly Channel 5. So it’s back to BBC2 then, to learn a bit. It’s interesting. It’s what our children are being taught. But it’s frightening. More frightening than the news. More frightening than TV telephne rip offs. More frightening than plastic gadgets. More frightening even than world supercross and the fact that kids in Milton Keynes think it’s the dog’s.

I don’t know whether or not the subject is science or geography but it doesn’t really matter. It’s not happy telly. The programme that’s on now is about climate change. Evidence for it. It’s looking compelling right now. “How do we know the earth is getting warmer?” The reasons are too many. Blokes in warm clothes drilling ice flows, looking at the ice sheets, checking out the state of the glaciers. It’s more than a worry. The programme before was all about how Arizona is taking more water from the earth than the earth can cope with and how the clever American engineers have diverted the Colorado river to water the golf courses in Phoneix. What? Those yanks, with their crazy schemes!

But then you think about it all, the gadgets, the ice sheets, the droughts to come, the pap we pump out to ourselves in the name of entertainment. It’s no wonder I am up in the night! That’s enough to keep me awake for an eternity. Maybe though, the night time, when most of us are asleep, is when we get to purge ourselves of the really bad news so that we can have sitcoms with a clear conscience during the day. It’s doom time, the witching hour, the darkness creeping. Maybe the night, when you’re up in it, is the only time you can cope with images of melting ice flows, rising sea levels. Because you’re already up, right. You’re up because you’re a worrier and what’s another bit of bad news to a worrier?

Now the Palal Islands are sinking. That’s a worry. Popular holiday resorts may end up under water. I’m not going to worry about that too much, but can’t they put something happier on?

OMG What have I done?

So it seems fitting that my first post should be about buying a new van. Well, not a new van actually, a 26 year old van. But new to me. As it was at one point to 10 people before me. I have been looking for a new T25 for some time and have visited sites like camper crazy almost daily, sometimes more, for the last six months, just to see what’s new. I’ve owned two T25s before (because they are newer and more reliable – what?) and pretty much know what to expect. So I’ve become rather blase about checking them out. It was the same with all the others: kick the tyres, check the fridge works, have a look in the back section where the noise comes from, kick the tyres again and then hand over my cash. I know, I know! But let’s face it, you’re going to have to introduce it to your mechanic at some point aren’t you? So why not drive it straight there?

And that’s the drive where the fear gets you. First there’s a rattle, then there’s a squeak, then a slight misfire, a sloppy gear change and the whole lot comes back to haunt you. All you remember is the faces of the AA men, the MOT bills, the hours at the side of the road. You’ve just shelled out a bunch of fifties and you’re feeling vulnerable. OMG. What have I done?

But you know, you are going to spend a few hours by the side of the road, you will meet a few breakdown trucks and you will fork out a load of wedge just to keep her on the road. But you will also get to wake up in the most beautiful spot on earth, or by the racetrack on finals day, or at the beach when the surf is pumping. You’ll be right there, with a cup of tea and a bacon buttie, absolutely loving it. And on cold winter days you can drive out to the hills, pop the roof up, stick the propex on and sit there in your pants, just enjoying the day, whilst everyone else sits in their steamed up cars with their cold flask of tea in their coats and hats.

So the new van has got a few rattles? Of course she has, she’s a T25 and she’s just about reaching her prime. Anyone for a cuppa?