Facebook and Twitter don't help either with my timelines filled with tales of winter travel.
We have Toyah to tow with now, so a bit of bad weather shouldn't hinder us, and one day early January, when she'd been having a particularly bad day in the office, Herself e mailed me an SOS. Time was booked off and a pitch booked for a few nights at one of the growing numbers of "Open All Year" sites.
Sunday before departure and the caravan is plugged in to air out and given a good inside clean, fresh foods procured and loaded ready for clothes to be thrown in once aired out.
Tuesday afternoon, and my smart phone is pinging weather warnings. Schools are closing and roads over higher ground are getting blocked and I'm hoping that we won't be affected.
Wednesday 30 January
I take 1/2 day in work to get the van hitched up. As per usual Herself is far too busy and cannot get away. If I were the suspicious type, given the frequency of Herself's "Unable to get away" episodes I may be tempted to think that she much prefers it that I fret with the traffic and motor mover and the van hitched up in readiness for her arrival.
But, I'll take her on her word that such thoughts would not enter her head as I sit patiently for her arrival. 4:15 sees us departing Home is Where you Drag it Towers and climbing the slip road at J48 joining the early rush hour traffic heading east with the sun dropping down closer and closer to the horizon as we get nearer and nearer to the Severn Crossing.
The tow was event less and in well under 2 hrs we are pulling up outside the shut gate at Tudor Caravan Park. Pitching instructions are retrieved from the board and we find our pitch in the inky darkness. Herself jumps inside to sort that out and fire up the heating, instructing me to sort out the outside.
It's already minus 2 degrees and by the time I've got my head torch on my dew drops are starting to freeze. In no time at all though we are able to announce to Facebookville that "We is arrived!"
Bellies are rumbling. Herself can't be arsed with the pub tonight so we set off in search of a chippy to grab some tea.
The temperature is plummeting as we return and Toyah's dash tells us it's now minus 4. Despite being cranked up to full on 2000w, the heater is struggling a bit to warm the van through to Herself's standards so our fan heater is also pressed into service, and whilst Herself wraps herself up in two fleecy blankets (making a real show of being cold) I'm sat in a tee shirt and my pants (We've got the blinds shut by now).
The Gin takes a hammering until late on, when we eventually turn in.
Thursday 31 January
We arrived last night after the office had closed and our pitch allocated to us. Even in the inky darkness last night I have misgivings. Walking over to pay my dues at 9am it was obvious that the other part of the site was much nicer - new toilet block, more open pitches and more importantly, water points that were not frozen solid.
A pitch move was arranged, so Herself is woken from her beauty sleep to get her skates on.
Within 30 mins we have decamped, towed around the corner and set up again in a far more amenable position. Despite being lagged though, our water is frozen. The aquaroll is OK, but the pump feed is blocked. That is brought inside to thaw while we head off out.
First stop is the docks at Sharpness, this is where the ship canal that passes by our site starts from the River Severn. A sign says that dogs must be on a lead. I'm all for ignoring it as we are the only ones about, but Herself is insistent.
I've got the two of them on their extenders, and to be honest they're a bit lively. For some inexplicable reason Herself thinks that now would be an opportune time to play with the dogs, and starts winding them up.
Tali sprints one way, Gwawr sprints the other, and as each of their extenders reaches its limit my arms are forced involuntarily to cross my chest at warp speed. I shriek out in pain as my shoulder joints click and I start to pirouette like Torville and Dean, fighting to regain my balance. It wasn't to be, and in no time at all I've morphed into Gemma Collins and I hit the frozen floor with considerable force.
The lock gates may need checking out in the near future such was the magnitude of my fall from grace, given that the British Geological Society recorded the aftershock as a 3 on the Richter Scale.
It took me some time to compose myself and get up, taking some comfort in the fact that at least there was no one else around to witness my misfortune. How wrong can you be? With impeccable timing, white van man has pulled up for a skive, and one can only assume from his hysterics that he witnessed my misfortune.
We didn't stop long enough to explore further. This was all Herself's fault, but she's having none of it!! The journey to Tesco in Cam was done in silence.
Back on site I clean myself up before we head off out for a walk. We had all good intentions of walking a good few miles up the canal towards Gloucester, except that as soon as we hit the tow path the temperature seemed to plummet.
We did a mile before turning around and heading back towards the Tudor Arms (which is adjacent to the site) for a pint in their snug which allows dogs.
Anyway, one pint turned into six which was then followed by Sirloin and Chips, before returning the the toast warm van to batten down the hatches for the night.
Friday 1 February
The early start on the beer yesterday ensured it was an early night last night, both of us snoring contently by 9pm. I wake before first light and spring open the blind by the side of the bed. We've had snow.
Wind forward a few hours and I'm sat at the front end with a mug of tea and a packet of Moo Cow biccies trying desperately to persuade the dogs tat they don't need a walk just yet while throwing bread outside for the gulls and Blackbirds to fight over ---- quite entertaining it was!
It worked for a while, but once it got light and the site started coming to life there was no escaping it. I'm layered up and outside getting their leads from Toyah and taking the compulsory photo of the caravan in the snow and a 360 shot of the site including a hardcore caravanner out walking the dog in her dressing gown!!
Dogs on their leads we exit the park, turn left over the swing bridge before following the tow path south towards Sharpness.
Like yesterday it's bitterly cold next to the water in the biting wind, so we manage just a mile before turning around, pausing occasionally to throw bread to the birds. I've a spring in my step even though we are now walking into the arctic wind. You see, Herself has promised me that we can stop off for breakfast at The Black Shed cafe opposite the site entrance.
We're getting closer and I can almost smell the bacon sizzling. As we approach the air does not smell remotely like a welcoming cafe, indeed the no lights, chairs on tables and firmly locked doors are not very welcoming at all.
My bottom lip starts to quiver and I'm looking around for a cat to kick when Herself chirps up that she'd seen a leaflet in the pub last night saying they opened for breakfast.
Dumping out layers on the coat rack we take a seat in the dog friendly dining room next to the radiator to thaw out and consume a "full monty" and a "just enough" before returning to the caravan to sleep it off.
Feeling refreshed, Herself announces that she'd like to go out now. First off we make a bee line for Spearman Briggs, a caravan dealer in Gloucester, where I purchase some spreader feet for our steps. We already ave some, but Herself (she's not yest fessed up to this yet) broke one of them in our pitch move yesterday.
Next we abandon Toyah in the extortionately priced car park at Gloucester Quays. Herself is informed that we are on a timer. Exiting the lifts I note that the PFs have a club shop here, a far cry from the effort we have at Parc Y Scarlets back home.
We shuffle past all the shops, and I'm starting to think this is going top be a successful shopping trip. We're on the home straight now and Herself slams on the brakes and swerves a sharp left into the money pit AKA GAP. Beastie scores a few outfits to take away on holiday with her on Monday, and the wallet is a few purple ones lighter.
Less than an hour later I am feeding £2.20 in the slot before we can exit via the car Helta Skelta onto the city roads. Herself gets Googling and taps the postcode into satnav so we can throw a ball for the dogs. Pulling into Robinswood Hill Country Park it's obvious that it was somewhat busier here earlier on today when there was more snow about.
It's bloody cold throwing a ball, Herself wouldn't know as she watched from the cosseted comfort of Toyah.
We're now on the lookout for somewhere to stop for tea on the way back. Swinging down the drive into the Fromebridge Mill it looks like a mightily impressive gaff.
For some reason they are only doing carveries today, Herself is not a fan, but CBA to go anywhere else. I purchase drinks and tickets for 2 standard carveries at the bar, and we take a table and head straight for the counter. We both go for beef but I get into trouble with Herself for accepting the establishment's unwritten challenge to fit a large carvery onto a standard plate!
I think I managed it.
We had plans to pop over to the pub tonight to have drinks and watch the start of the Six Nations, but to be honest we had a dose of CBA, well that and they'd probably refuse to let me watch the game in my pants!
That said, we cart around a 32" TV with us, and in the confines of the van it's similar to watching the game of the big screen down the rugby club. I've a fridge full of Amstel and a locker full of gin to help with the nerves ......... happy days.
Saturday 2 February
I'm awake nice and early waiting for it to get light. As the day dawns it's evident that it's going to be a nice day. After brimming the aquaroll and emptying the bog I wrap up, clip the dogs on a lead and head off out for a walk.
Out of the site, over the bridge and north I headed along the towpath. One mile along I cross a bridge and find my way back along the lanes. Stunning it was in the early morning sunshine.
Back at the van Herself has been busying herself and not had a nice lie in like I'd intended. I'm not complaining though as I'm presented with a Full English as a reward for my early morning exertions.
Dishes cleared, we scrub ourselves up and pile into Toyah for a spin out. Our destination is Cirencester, but rather than take the quicker M5 and A417 I mentally plot a route that I hope will be more scenic along the A419 through Stroud and Brimscombe. The views did not disappoint and the countryside on the higher land into the Cotswolds was still covered in a thick layer of bright white snow.
We trundle into Cirencester, and after abandoning Toyah in a Car Creche (well it just as well have been for the number of coins required to be fed into the machine) we set off for a bit of an explore.
The place is nice, lots of independent shops and a craft market on the square. Everyone is wearing designer wellies, Barber seems to be the welly of choice with a few Hunters thrown in for good measure. This town is well off though, so not a pair of Dunlops in sight!
The shops don't hols our attention for long and we seek refuge in the very dog friendly The Crown pub just opposite St Johns. We have a few drinks and share a burger while people watching until ready to move on.
Walking down Black Jack Street we pass a street entertainer / beggar (you decide) giving it all his worth on a saxaphone. Gwawr is not impressed and cannot wait to get past. Unfortunately where this bloke is blowing is also very slippery and I am dragged past him at a rate of knots struggling to stay upright and maintain my dignity, so I was unable to deposit a contribution into a flat cap. that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!
We chill back at the van for a bit before Herself suggests an evening over the pub. We walked into the packed snug, full of people roaring England, on, me in my Wales rugby shirt, and all of a sudden you could hear a penny drop.
The dogs were once again good as gold, though they were slightly confused as they'd never heard anyone cheer before when someone in a white shirt scored!
The San Miguel was slipping down very easily, and before we knew it, a quick couple of pints turned into six or seven, and needed something to mop it up.
The cavalry arrived in the shape of a Chicken Madras, which I devoured like a savage, before we retreated back to the van to retire.
Sunday 3 February
Last night's over enthusiastic consumption of Pedro Beer put paid to any thoughts we'd entertained of an early getaway this morning. I stir at 9.30am as Herself starts to get the inside of the van ready to travel, and get my arse into gear to go out in the cold.
With no awning to drop or pack, breaking camp is swift, and we're hitched up and ready for the off by 10.15am.
An easy, and if I'm honest, boring tow home is livened up only by the novelty of not having to pay on making the crossing.
Until next time.........
