*May contain strong language and material that some people may find offensive!*
Date: Monday 11th May 2020
Lockdown: Day 50
Location: Barnsley
Specifically: Elsecar Heritage Centre
I feel decidedly scruffy
..as in one who has been rolling around underneath the hot sun in the Arizona desert scruffy.
..as in covered from head to toe in filth like someone who has spent an afternoon running along behind a crop duster scruffy.
..as in “why Mary I do believe those eyes staring at us through that pile of dirt is li’l ‘ol Elmer up to his eyes in bull dust” scruffy.
..as in “just accidentally caught sight of my mushteria in the bathroom mirror and crawled out of sight” scruffy.
Thats enough description for now. I cannot bear it any longer. I think you get the picture (actually you’re not getting the picture. You can’t seriously believe I would post my grubby likeness on a website for all to see do you!? Please, just imagine me in better days.
Sounds naive I know but this has been a rather unexpected outcome of being a van-lifer. Maintaining good personal hygiene isn’t a problem - the wet facilities in a moho are the same as in a domestic household (a dolls household that is) and the facilities on glamping sites range from very good to state of the art.
But what I didn’t see coming (and neither did uncle Boris) was the lockdown safety measures introduced to slow the spread of COVID-19.
Most pertinent to the van-lifer has been the decision to close all the caravan and motorhome parks. Result? Severely limited access to water, sanitation and basic cooking facilities. I don’t think the government had even factored us in to the lockdown safety procedures. It was as if we had all just disappeared down a hole (Not a shit hole either)
My way of coping? I use water only when I really have to. For cooking, washing and cleaning. I don’t waste it on non essentials like washing my hair or taking a shower (good job I’m not allowed to have friends visit).
Never mind. To cheer you up here is a gorgeous looking bird I know who is pristine, playful and very naughty.
I don’t have time to wallow in misery.
Shopping needs fetching and I have to go to the post office courtesy of some little two bit skank on eBay who claimed he hadn’t received an item from me that he won at auction. He had the bloody cheek to open a dispute knowing all along that he’d received an item alright just not the right one. But because I no longer had the receipt I was obliged to send him the correct one. Of course he never bothered to return the incorrect item. May he choke on his own credit cards.
RUSSIAN SPIES
The moment I’m out the door I spot a couple of Russians (I can tell they’re Russian by the furry hats they’re wearing despite it being 73 degrees in the shade). I wouldn’t be surprised if they had names like Ladizlav and Bugarovski as well. Both have their gaze fixed intently on Hymie. I bet they are members of the Russian mafia. They are probably stood there right now planning world domination. I tune in with my CB radio...
“Hey Igor do you tink ve can buy ze feesh n cheeps from zat kettering van across ze road?
“Wizzout a doubt but I vud like the beefy boorga vith ze onionz”
DO I NEED A HAT?
I receive an email from someone who is interested in purchasing my hats. They had contacted me on a previous occasion to offer £350, way short of the £500 asking price. I said I would think about it while I considered other offers.
....... which weren’t forthcoming; except from someone in Penzance who was happy to pay nearer the asking price but wanted free postage. Given that I didn’t have any boxes large enough, that would have meant a long non-essential journey, turning Hymie and me into the titfer equivalent of Bonnie & Clyde. It would be one thing for the police to shoot me down in cold fines but I would be mortified (bad choice of word) if Hymie had to spend a night in a prison cell.
As it turned out a friend bought two hats for £45 and the lady from Gainsborough agreed to pay £20 towards my petrol. So £350 + £45 + £20 equals £415 so I’m happy with that. All I have to do now is think of something else I can make to replace the hats.
I need to take the hats to Gainsborough. Distance wise its only about 45 mins.
But for me Gainsborough holds unpleasant memories. I have visited on three occasions. Once by accident when I got lost on the way to Bawtry. Once when I drove there because I had run out of petrol and Gainsborough was the nearest location with a petrol station and once on a blind date of sorts.
‘I say ‘Of sorts’ because this wasn’t a blind date arranged by a friend it was a blind date arranged by a computer. The company was Dateline, probably the most successful dating company in existence during the 1970s 80s and 90s. It was *estimated that 40,000 couples were matched every year with about 2,000 getting married. I was never one of the 2000 but I did enjoy my membership. I had many pleasant evenings with some very interesting people some who went in to become good friends. Franca was one of them.
Before I share this story you need to know a little about how Dateline actually worked.
When you first made contact with them they would send a questionnaire to complete along with the names of one or two people they felt you were compatible with (this was based on a shortened questionnaire you completed when you first applied to them)
You would then be sent up to six’ names and addresss of people you had been matched with. It was then up to you to make contact and arrange to meet up. Although this could be done by the man or woman it was usually expected that the male would make contact. This was in the days before political correctness, so there was no suggestion of same sex parings or trans partnerships.
I remember Franca well because I cannot forget my first contact with her. I rang her, explained I’d received her details from Dateline.
“Dateline! Ooh I don’t know I’ve just got rid of the last guy who turned up. Sounded OK on the phone, looked OK at the door but had a shitty car. I told him “you’re not seriously expecting me to go anywhere in that are you!?” So I sent him home”.
“Ere, You’re not fat or bald or anything are you!”. (I notice she placed great emphasis on ‘fat’ and ‘bald’).
She is the only person I have ever known who could be visibly unimpressed via telephone.
I think most men would have fled by this time or made their excuses and hung up. But I am a person who likes clarity - and Franka was definitely ‘clarit’ Though I’m glad I wasn’t “fat” or “bald”
I wasn’t concerned about my appearance nor my vehicle, especially as I had just bought a new Honda CRX in metallic silver. It drove superbly even though it did feel like cruising along in a bath tub.
I knocked on Franca’s door with some trepidation (which beats using your knuckles) who wouldn’t. I notice she gave me a quick once over to see if I was fit to be seen with. I must have passed because I was invited over the threshold. She passed with me as well; funny, intelligent, beautiful, olive skinned and Italian.
What was there not to like.
Despite my initial concerns I found her very likeable. She continued to score zero in the tact department buy no one’s perfect.
I will just throw in, while we’re on the subject, one of my favourite topics of conversation during these dates which was the success or otherwise of previous dates. Mine were usually in the ‘otherwise’ category. In fact they could be said to have been in the bloody cataclysmic disasters of biblical proportions category. I’ll start with Janice....
Janice
Janice was shy. Not in a ‘went a bit pink if she received an unexpected gift’ shy or ‘got a bit tongue tied with strangers’ shy or even ‘dropped things in a moment of panic’ shy. All those things are surmountable, one might even say, at the risk of being unpolitically correct, that these qualities were also rather attractive in a girl. Janice was in another category entirely.
I believe the politically correct description today might be ‘selective mute’ someone who is usually able to speak but is unable to do so in certain situations or with certain people. I will never know for certain.
I first met Janice at the bus station in Gainsborough. First impressions were of a petite and pretty girl with soft natural blonde hair. She was wearing blue trousers with pink and white checked turnups, a fluffy jacket and a Roxy Music T-Shirt.
I have no idea what she thought of me; there was no indication in her body language (unless you count not running away screaming) , facial expression and certainly nothing in her voice because she didn’t say anything.
Deciding what to do on that first evening was - challenging. She was so acutely shy that she couldn’t even manage a “yes” or “no”. She simply nodded in the affirmative and the negative with a shake of her head.
We ‘decided’ on ‘Kellys Hero’s’, a wartime comedy starring Donald Sutherland, through a process of elimination. How about this? (Shake) how about that? (Shake) how about the other (shake) James Bond would have loved this girl in his Vesper Martini.
My God she was hard work. Constantly trying to keep her entertained, asking questions about her, trying to maintain a sense of humour, asking if there was anything :she wanted. During movies I’m never quiet, either shouting ‘advice’ expressing emotions or laughing out loud. Laughter is more fun when its shared. I looked at Janice so we could share the joke. Janice just stared at the screen. My laugh died as if it had been severed in mid air.
Afterwards we went for a drink. - Funnily enough at ‘The Salutation’ now the meeting place of Donny Steamers the Doncaster Steam Punk Group. - Somehow Janice managed to convey that she wanted a martini.
The martini is served with a cherry on a cocktail stick.
The cocktail stick is placed lengthways across the top of the glass.
It is an arrangement that is going to present Janice with problems.
While we sat I made further attempts to find out more about her. It was a waste of time. Janice made the odd half hearted attempt to listen to what I was saying but its clear the main focus of her interest was the cherry on the cocktail stick. Then, In one swift movement she held the wine glass in her left hand, picked up the cocktail stick in her right, put the cherry in her mouth, replaced the cocktail stick and went the colour of beetroot.
I have no recollection of anything else from that evening. I certainly don’t remember having any further success with getting her to talk.
Janice must have seen some sort of appeal in me somewhere because we went out a few times after that evening. But if I was expecting her to come out of her shell at any point I was to be sadly mistaken.
One Saturday we had arranged to meet to go shopping. I had bought her the Transformer album by Lou Reed. I’m not very good with presentations but this is for you” Well I definitely saw the bag containing the album transfer from my hand to hers. So she must have recognised it as being for her and that it would be best if she took it from me. She didn’t feel however that anything like a smile or a thank you was necessary. For the rest of Saturday afternoon she simply drifted around holding the bag as if it contained dog shit that needed dropping into a bin at the earliest opportunity.
I only recall seeing her once more after that. One day while we were out walking I asked her if she would like me to buy tickets for her and her sister to see Roxy Music at the Sheffield City Hall. I knew she absolutely loved them. I admit, it was a last ditch attempt to try to get some kind of reaction out of her.
It didn’t work.
In response to my question she gave a barely perceptible nod of her head. I thought well if that’s all the enthusiasm she can muster she can forget it. I was flogging myself to death trying to get het to open up and for what? She never spoke, she never showed any emotion, she never offered to pay for anything, she never said please and she never said thank you. Shyness is one thing but this was just downright bloody ridiculous. She was a young adult for goodness sake!
I heard nothing from her after that. I don’t remember if we met up again. I don’t remember splitting up. I don’t remember anything except we didn’t see each other anymore.
But I remember the letter.
I had pretty much forgotten about Janice. There wasn’t really much to remember. Then one day I received a letter (yes this was written by hand, on notepaper, placed in an envelope and delivered by the postman! Not a two line email with word clipping, spelling mistakes and street language!). I had no idea who it was from. Best guess? it was from a dateline member, because when girls did make contact they tended to write.
But it wasn’t from a Dateline member. It was from Janice. Again I don’t recall all the details but I remember the tone. Today it would have been classed as a ‘bunny boiler’ letter - after Glen Close’s character in the film Fatal Attraction where she kills and boils the family pet rabbit to get revenge on her lover. It was vile, littered with expletives and what things she would like to happen to me.
These are the details I do recall...
“Today is 28th September 1985 and I am wondering where the bloody hell are those tickets you promised my sister and me to see Roxy Music at Sheffield City Hall”
There were no contact details. That was the worst part - if there had been I would have been straight round there. As it is there was nothing I could do but be grateful I would never hear from her again.
*Source: Wikepedia (Online) 11th May 2020
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