Chertsey 27-29 Jan 12

Once again, back to Chertsey to give the bus a run and take in a Quins game (LV Cup vs Leicester). This time, however, I went down alone on Friday, diverting to collect some old photos from Pat Sheahan, a very old friend, who lives in in Camberley. In stunning, bright weather I arrived at Chertsey, set up in minutes and debated whether or not to pull one of the chairs out of the storage bin and enjoy the sunshine. The weather really is odd, with daffodils and crocus appearing and the grass growing quite considerably. Has Spring sprung already?

I was not allowed to post pictures of her going
 to the shower in shorts, puffa
 and bright pink wellies!

Debs had arranged to be at the Station by 1815hrs, but, typically, South West`Trains screwed up yet again and she missed her connection. She didn't get in until 1845hrs, so it was a mad dash to get to the Kingfisher for a meal booked for 1900hrs. The pub was a disaster. They had no record of the booking, despite me showing the manager the text confirmation. They had no Doom Bar beer and we sat there for nearly two hours only to be served some pretty average fish and chips. Still, the manager let us off the price of the drinks, but, in all, not a brilliant experience, which is a shame as the last couple of visits to this pub were really good.

Chertsey Bridge

Saturday, up for egg banjos and a drive to the Stoop, parking in the posh bit with the coaches. We cooked up bratwurst for lunch and relaxed, watching the car park fill up. One poor woman had the fright of her life as she nosed through the window of what she thought was an empty motorhome, only to find me waving my bratwurst at her! She soon scuttled away! The game was rubbish, so we had a quick chat in the bar afterwards and headed back to Chertsey for a dinner of pasta arribiata and garlic bread. There will be no vampires around the bus tonight!

Sunday featured a bit of a dawn stroll around Chertsey Meads then a very lazy morning with bacon rolls and a relaxed read of the Sunday Times, followed by another little stroll around the site and a very interesting chat to a couple who managed to secure a couple of canoes to their motorhome roof and, ingeniously, didn't access the roof of their bus by a ladder up the side, but by using a loft ladder to clamber up from the inside through one of the rooflights.  Hmmm - food for thought. Lucky devils were on their way to Greece in their motorhome, whilst we headed back up north to Huntingdon, cleaned the bus out and started thinking about what we actually use and what is just extra baggage.

The Stoop (Rosebine) car park They obviously know who we are. No muddy old grass for us!

West Yorkshire 14-16 Jan 12

Once again we experienced that feeling of apprehension and knowing that we are venturing into the unknown when you turn right onto the A1 and see the sign "The North"! Despite the remarkably mild weather, we knew that heading for the tundra of Yorkshire would test Tom's limits, so we equipped for Arctic survival for this trip. How right we were to do so.


The journey up was great on a sunny, bright day and we stopped at Brownhills in Newark to see if they had a more suitable bracket for the new TV. Whilst there, we had a quick look around a Startrail that is a year older than Tom and was priced at more than we paid. The styling has definitely changed for the better and we went away quite pleased that the value on the bus appears to be retained. Debs was quite taken with a massive Swift Kontiki, but it was nice to get back in our home and continue the journey.

Brrrr!

At the small campsite on the grounds of the Halifax Steam Brewery and Cock of the North pub we found only one other nutter on the small site. The owner emerged from his flat, we gave him £20 and we attempted to fill with water, only to find the hoses were frozen. He took us around the front of the building (reversing skills were needed here) and filled us in about 30 seconds from what looked like a high pressure fire hose. "Aye, it's reet grand pressure is that" said he, as he fought to control the writhing hose.

Brrrrrr  again!

Setting up on the "hardstanding pitch" (two rows of old paving slabs) we turned on the heating and had lunch, followed by a quick couple of pints in the Cock of the North. Its quite nice having a pub in one's garden. Trouble was it was chuffing freezng in the pub so we tootled back to the bus to thaw out and then headed into Hipperholme to get some groceries. Later, Jane, Tavis and William turned up to take us out for a curry in Bradford. It's really nice to see these dear old friends again and to sample the delights of what must be the best curry to be had anywhere in the UK. Delicious (but I bet both we and the bus stank the following day).


After yet another fantastic night's sleep (despite it being -50c outside) I awoke relatively late, wrote this and then headed into t'town to get t'paper. Why is it that I sleep better in a small, enclosed, funny shaped bed in a rocking tin box than I do in a mega king size hyper expensive bed at home? I am obviously half-hamster.

 However........the waste and fresh emptying taps had frozen overnight and the water in the fresh feed pipe somewhere between the floors of the bus had obviously suffered from the effects of this thick, freezing Yorkshire water and the pump was reluctant to let water through. The thought of going to a party sans douche was too terrible to contemplate, so we did think about donning the dressing gowns, slippers and shower caps and walking along the road to bang on Sarah and George's house to beg use of their facilities. Luckily, as I was discussing the issues of thick water with the chap next door (his had frozen too), Tom managed to overcome the combined attempts by the Yorkshire Water Board and the elements here in the Arctic circle and starting pumping water again. We didn't have to go to the ball reeking of Chicken Hyderabadi and bacon rolls!

In a snub to the attempts by all things York-ese to nadger our morning, we breakfasted on some lovely Lancashire muffins filled with fine Somerset bacon.

A quick read of the Sunday Times (yet another great win by our brave Harlequins boys over Gloucester in the Heineken cup), we changed and took a long walk (about 30m) to the pub for a swifty before George came to collect us to go to the party. The beer, again, was delicious, but why do they insist on having half a yard of bath suds floating on top?

The party to celebrate Peach and Denis' 50th wedding anniversary was superb. Jane and Sarah had done an excellent job in organising the Champagne Tea (complete with the Yorkshire Police Brass Band) and the afternoon flew by. It was great seeing all the characters we have been meeting over the many years we have been coming Oop North and, once again, we were made to feel part of the family. I still do not know the difference between a snicket and a gunnel though.

Monday saw Debs work from home in the bus whilst I walked along the road to visit Denis. We then headed back down south and, with more lessons learnt on how to deal with sub-zero temperatures, we packed away ready for the next trip.

The campsite? Brilliant! No facilities, but next to one of our favourite pubs and very close to the homes of the finest family that one could ever wish to have as friends.

Christmas 2011

Christmas morning. Up and about early, opened the presents, scrambled egg and smoked salmon for breakfast, admired the lack of Christmas tree and decorations that we couldn't be bothered to put up, loaded the bus with booze and headed West along the A14 towards Shropshire. Once past Birmingham and off the motorways the countryside becomes very attractive and, on a bright sunny morning, the high position on the road gave us great views. Much better sitting in a large leather armchair watching stunning scenery than having to put up with Noel's Christmas morning and all that cack on the telly!

A couple of hours later we arrived on top of Clee Hill and parked up ready for lunch. Oven was fired up, table laid, crackers pulled and the view admired before tucking into a mega Christmas dinner with all the trimmings! The wind picked up and rocked the bus a bit, but we were well fed , warm and cosy inside watching the mad fools walking their dogs across the hilltop.

Reluctantly we packed away and drove down the hill for a couple of miles to set up camp in Jenny's garden, joining the rest of the family for the remainder of Christmas day.

Boxing Day was a leisurely start, poodling off to Chertsey via Banbury. Arriving back at Chertsey avoiding all the delays on the motorways (thanks TomTom live), we set ip very quickly, testing the new levelling ramps and the screen covers, both of which are very effective. Just need to get a TV that will work from a bracket then we are set for the big exped in the summer to France!

Dinner  delivers itself at Chertsey

"Working at home"

Silver Screens folded down for daytime use

On the 27th we had a lazy breakfast and then caught the train to Twickenham for the big game. We aimed for the Webb Ellis as usual and bought a couple of pints, but the thieving barstewards charged us "Rugby prices" at over £3.70 a pint! They will be getting a strong note. Sticking two fingers up at the Webb Ellis, we sauntered around to the Barmy Arms, which had a much better atmnosphere and, in the warm weather, stood outside next to the river and enjoyed a couple of pints.

The less said about the big game the better. Twickenham was the usual dump, the Referee was a crook and we lost. Hurrumph. To cap it all, South West we-couldn't-run-a-piss-up-in-a-brewery Trains suffered all sorts of problems and it took us hours to get back to Chertsey. They'll be getting a strong note as well. Tossers!

The following day we decided to stay another night to see if was feasible for Debs to work "at home". I went for a long walk, got some shopping and she sat there tapping away all day. Yes - it worked.

Finally, on Thursday we headed for home.