Well, we got up nice and early on the morning of our big trip, planning to be out of the house no later than 8.30, pick up the motorhome by 10, be on our way by 11.30 or so, etc, etc...
Except of course that I live with Mr Tardy (I believe that Roger Hargreaves is planning a new Mr Men book all about Nick) and the four mini-tardies, whose sole purpose in life is to distract me from the job in hand and de-rail progress, and consequently we left the house at about 10. (I have been serially late for most things in the last 16 years, which is, co-incidentally as long as Nick and I have been together. Nick has rarely been on time for anything (including his own wedding) since he was old enough to be allowed out on his own. Since being late sends my stress levels soaring, and bothers Nick not a jot, I now pursue a policy of (a) telling him we need to be somewhere half an hour before we actually do and (b) sending him out of the house (with the mini-tardies in tow where possible) whilst I get everything ready to go).
Anyway, I digress; we were as late as we always are and got half way up the motorway before I said ‘I’ve left all the fruit in the fruitbowl’. No, we didn’t go back, but the thought of three and a half weeks of (a) rotting weeping fruit, (b) high temperatures and (c) ants has never been far from my mind...
Anyway, the van pick-up went very smoothly, though by the time we had filled in all the paperwork and unpacked everything into the cupboards, installed the car-seats and the children, found somewhere to wedge the pram and barbecue so that they wouldn’t maim us or the children in the event of a sudden stop, it was about 1.00pm by the time we left the depot.
... and then stopped just outside it as we (motorhome virgins) had forgotten to latch the cutlery drawer which made the most of its new-found freedom on the first bend, much to the amusement of the children.
We got slightly further the next time we set off, but not much – this time I had to go back and retrieve colouring books, Nintendos, dolly, muslin, baby’s bottle and 874 coloured pencils now on the floor as a result of the next big bend – instructed mini-motorhome-virgins in the necessity of hanging on to one’s possessions on slippy table and we set off again....
And got slightly further before the novelty of the onboard toilet grew too great and I had three children requesting a pitstop – and Phoebe, who had, needless to say, only just gone to sleep after a prolonged bout of screaming, promptly woke up as soon as the van stopped moving and started screaming all over again.
I will confess the ignorant optimism with which I had started the trip was slowly being replaced by probably a feeling I suspect very similar to that of someone imprisoned for a crime they didn’t commit...
Nevertheless, the last of the drive to Lakes Entrance was relatively without incident and Nick did a storming job managing the Great White Beast while I did not quite such a storming job managing the children. Sometimes they just don’t want to be managed...
Got a phenomenal view of Lakes Entrance on the way into town and went straight to the campsite and parked up for the first time. Had a walk, had an ice cream, had an early night...
No comments:
Post a Comment