Caravan

I'm a bit disheartened with the lack of decent properties that are arriving in our inbox. Those that are perfect and "just right" are way over our budget. Those that follow our brief and need "doing up" are in either the wrong location or need so much doing up that we'd be better off going for the perfect one. I'm even beginning to think that this is all just a pipe dream and that it'll never happen. David, he reckons, has the solution and a way to save money. When I first heard this solution I had to go and make myself a strong coffee. He suggests that, instead of buying a property in Hastings/Rye/Winchelsea/Pett Level, we buy a mobile home there instead. This was mentioned to me just minutes before Casualty so he planned on not getting too much of an argument. Well, he was wrong.

To me, this means this and said as much to the man I married who was very lucky that he had the protection of Senior Dog at the time. "Just because my mum, Ivy and Daisy went on a gypsy caravan week in County Cork does NOT mean that I have any gypsy blood and the urge to go a-roaming" I steamed as I stormed off into the kitchen to put the kettle on. He put Senior Dog on the floor and approached me, arms held out in a beseeching manner "No, no, no I don't mean one of those, I mean one of these!" he said as I dodged out of his grasp. I mean, if my sister Bea could hear this!

"It's a home from home, right in the middle of a gorgeous setting, we don't need a whole other house, God knows we've got enough on our plate with keeping this one maintained." he held out a glossy brochure knowing that I'm a sucker for a glossy brochure. "They're far better than you remember darling, not all tin and cardboard, they're properly insulated with hot and cold running water and central heating, fully furnished and everything." The glossy brochure was within my grasp but I still evaded David's as I grabbed it. Hm. They do look.....nice. All new and shiny and......glossy. Hm. The kettle boiled and I mentally kicked myself for being such a spoilt brat.

"And I mean, even the most expensive ones still fall under our budget (just) and, well, Mac will love it, it's real boys own stuff. You step out of your mobile home right into nature. These mobile home parks have swimming pools and bars and childrens entertainment. And, so, you're a little close to your neighbours? On some sites there are proper fencing, you know, like mini plots of land!" He was doing a hard sell on the whole thing and was very careful not to call it a caravan. I let him catch up with me whilst trying hard not to think of the holiday park we had the misfortune to overhear/see/witness when we were viewing a house. "At least don't dismiss it out of hand" he said as he guided me back to the living room as the opening titles of my favourite programme boomed out of the TV set.

"Oh, and, so you can get a rough idea of how it all is, Jeff Pryce at the office has lent his to us for the Bank Holiday weekend - a beautiful site, just outside Folkestone." he added nonchantly as he sank down onto the sofa and positioned Senior Dog between us.

Why can I hear Bea's voice telling me "You've got nothing to wear on a caravan site!"?