As you can see I have once again dispensed with a vaguely imaginative title - in fact after reading the first few paragraphs you’ll be wondering if I’ll ever get to the point. But this blog is not just about caravanning - although that plays a pretty big part. The blog title is the clue, it’s about me, my life and these days meant as more of a personal diary than anything else, but if a few folk enjoy reading it, all the better.
The week didn’t start well. On Monday at work our very well respected manager announced his almost immediate departure. I can’t really say more other than pressure from above, one individual in particular. He imparted the news at an informal gathering at the college sports ground that afternoon - everyone was gutted. Since joining in January 2022, he has raised the profile of the department; instituted a number of new schemes and had, personally, been a great help to me on a particular issue regarding my route, despite considerable pressure from above.
There was to be a gathering at the Weatherspoon’s at Brighton Marina on Friday night to say good bye - when I would be up in London with Patsy. Not only that but I had a ‘thing’ booked, initially I thought I couldn’t change, so I reluctantly said I couldn’t make it.
School finished on the Tuesday and on the Wednesday I headed over to Patsy to load her up as much as possible and do the pre-flight checks like tyres and so on.
Thursday and it was back in school for an INSET. We’d had emails every month for a year reminding us that this was mandatory, so we gathered shortly before 9am, taking our places right at the back like the naughty kids. In truth the only part that was mandatory was the Safeguarding - very important of course - but they’d cunningly scheduled this after the coffee break to keep us there as long as possible.
By lunchtime we were out of there and the half-term break could begin properly. There was some more packing to do and the all important decision to be made on what long leather coats would be taking the trip north!
That evening I sat with a beer perusing the app through which I’d booked the ticket to the Halloween experience on Friday and a space had come up for the Saturday night - I would be able to make the leaving do after all. It would have been sensible to delay my trip up to Crystal Palace by a day - at least financially - but I’ve experienced the Purley Way on a Saturday lunchtime before and believe me it’s no fun. Within minutes I’d booked a train back to Brighton.
Friday and despite the silly o’clock alarm being switched off I was still awake early. Everything was going to plan and I departed the storage yard at 11am, Patsy sporting her new towing cover, very kindly supplied by Protec after DHL lost the one I sent in for repair.
The journey was pretty good, so much so that I committed the ultimate sin of arriving before the stated 1pm - at 12:58. The sign warning early arrivals to turn around and leave was still out and I got a very stern look from one of the wardens - though no words of admonishment. She took her time opening up reception but the one that checked me in was very pleasant indeed. My pitch was down the far end - there were only non-awning pitches available when I booked but that hardly mattered. Two attempts at reversing and Patsy was in position. A quick set up ensued, not least because there was a bacon baguette and a beer waiting in the fridge. It was mild but the humidity reading in Patsy was quite high so I stuck the heating on low, wolfed down said baguette then enjoyed a short nap.
After a shower and shave I was back out, tarted up, making my way towards the bus stop. I had observed that the usual bus stop was closed, water gushing everywhere and Thames Water vans in attendance, though there seemed to be little activity. I headed down the hill to the next bus stop, during which time the No. 3 sailed past. It was longer than usual for another to appear which meant that I missed my intended train at Herne Hill and then the one at Blackfriars down to Brighton. Fortunately they were pretty regular and I arrived at Brighton at about 7:15pm.
The Brighton & Hove buses app had promised a bus within ten minutes of my arrival and I’d bought a ticket, however the displays at the bus stop told a different story. I took a deep breath, felt my debit card twitch and hailed a cab - this was important and I didn’t want to be late.
Gary - our departing manager was made up - I’d kept my change of plans quiet from him although my colleagues knew. A fab evening followed - it was a sign of the high regard in which Gary was held that so many of us had turned out. Not having eaten since lunch I managed to blearily eyed negotiate the Weatherspoon’s App to order a burger and chips at some point but it was all too soon time to depart.
I was grateful for an offer of a lift to the station but somewhat disheartened to see that the next train for which my ticket would be valid was over half an hour a way. I threw caution to the wind and jumped on the Gatwick Express to Victoria, thinking that as both ends have barriers, there wouldn’t be a ticket inspector on board. Yeah right…
Five minutes into the journey and the ticket inspector duly appeared. I confidently showed him my ticket on the phone and he grumbled something about changing at Gatwick. Again, yeah right.
Fortunately the barriers at Victoria were open so there were no complications or need of indignant protestations of ignorance. The tube brought me to Brixton, which was still heaving, and there was a mercifully short wait for the bus back to Crystal Palace. I finally returned to Patsy at 12:45am, thankfully that I’d installed the new awning light in the summer. Even so, getting the key in the lock was still somewhat problematic, I can’t imagine why!
Grateful that I’d made up the bed prior to leaving I prised my aching feet out of my big boots and peeled off my jeans, thinking somewhat ridiculously, that a nightcap would be a good idea. It had been a long day but the trip back south was very important to me - and thoroughly worth it.