Deals with vengeful themes and material that
some people may wish to solve by taking the law into their own hands.
Date: Wednesday 19th August 2020
Location: Shropshire
Specifically: Still on the farm
I took today off. Did I enjoy myself? No - not in the slightest. My intention was to do one thing - go for a walk around a huge lake about 10 minutes up the road just before Ellesmere town centre. I couldn't even manage that. Woke up on time then promptly went back to sleep zzzzzzzz SORRY! (Slap Slap Slap!). Told myself I would have an early lunch and set of afterwards. Result? late lunch, chucking it down with rain, no walk. I tried later but after a few minutes I was soaked and returned back to Hymie. Conclusion. It's time to move on.
I'm at a stage where I think I've just fed up wth myself. Staying at Alex's was deliberate - an attempt to ride out the winter with its freezing temperatures, coughs and sneezes and possibility of Hymie getting caught in a snow drift. But I, like millions of others did not expect the coronavirus lockdown and the subsequent problems it bought to van-lifers like myself. Problems like, moaners feeling they have the right to tell you to move on because "I always park here"or"you have no right" or sounding their horns to vent their distaste, presumably at the fact that you are enjoying an overnight stay in a litter strewn lay-by close to an assemblage of wheely bins and informal urinals without paying. Messed about by the police at ridiculous hours of the night "can't stay overnight here mate have to move on" vigilantes who take it upon themselves to make your life a misery by hammering on the side of your van and, on occasion threatening physical violence. And the biggest headache of all - the closing of all caravan and motorhome parks. I was very fortunate to find this place on near Whitchurch on the Welsh border but I did not expect to have another few months of not really being able to travel around freely as I had done at the outset.
Ah well - moving on, I don't want you thinking I'm a moaner.
SHITTY COMMUNITY SERVICES
Y'know one of the main reasons I became a van-lifer (must think of a phrase for living full-time in a motorhome that doesn't sound like a prison sentence) is to have control (or at least greater control) over the cost of utilities and services provided by organisations based in Britain but staffed in the Punjab and local authorities who charge for services but then take a cut for birthdays and office parties (duh.....why do you think it's called 'Council Tax?'). I won't go through the whole range so for now I'll just focus on the Fire Brigade.
Now I admit that if you are a 16+female/gay/a spinster/nurse/bricklayer you will have no issue with the fire service - not least because they are usually made up of fit hunky men who wear uniforms and look smoking hot (as they would if they had been wandering around a burning building trying to put the fire out with a bucket of water and a pint of milk (which is about all the council tax will stretch to after the LA have taken their beer money out) but lets look at the reality. I'll take the example of a burning building I saw the other day where three tenders were in attendance.
Now I know for a fact that at the time of dialling 999 to report a fire the building (empty fortunately) was burning fiercely. But would you believe that just 4 minutes after the tenders arrived the flames had died down to virtually nothing! Yes you are reading this correctly it's not a printing error or anything. I ask you what kind of a bloody fire service are they? Someone has the decency to call them, motivate them into action, shin down their highly greased poles to their throbbing engines and what do they do!? The blaze that was going so nicely is nearly out!
Mad as hell I stormed over to the team which, according to their name badges, were, Pugh, Pugh, Barney McGrew, Cuthbert, Dibble and Grub and shouted "Stop! Stop!" They paused briefly in surprise. I asked them "what are you doing!?" Before they had chance to answer I had a quick snifter at the liquid dribbling from the end of their hoses. Just as I thought - water. No wonder the flames have died down. "Haven't you got any gasoline!?" I didn't bother to question them further. Incompetents all of them. Quickly I unscrewed the petrol cap, grabbed the hose and was just about to insert it into the inlet valve when I felt myself being pulled backwards. Two of the biggest policeman I ever saw were dragging me into a waiting police car and saying "come on you bloody lunatic you're coming to the station with us". I protested wildly "But I'm not the one who's at fault! These so called firemen are the ones who have almost let the fire go out! They haven't even bought any baking potatoes or sausages or little bags of roast chestnuts". AND there are people out there freezing who would benefit from a nice fire and I'll wager they haven't bought and chairs to sit on, or napkins or paper plates or condiments like ketchup n mustard.....................etc
Next week: Bin men are full of shit.
ToNIGHTS MOVIE: THE ROOM
After a long run of crappy movies I seem to be getting hold of a few decent ones. This one was really gripping. It's a take on the oft told story about someone who is granted wishes but then discovers theres a catch. The story line is simple - Couple move into a house in the country where they discover a room that grants their every wish. Every thing in the garden is rosy for a while but then things begin to turn nasty as the couple soon realise that everything they wish for disintegrates the moment it's taken outside the house. Oh dear. The story line is simple but that suits me in a movie. My natural state is being analytyical I don't want to start doing it with movies. I just want to chill out with a drink n a snack before bedtime.
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