Rosie Rides Out!

At last, Rosie's first big adventure! We had been planning for a little while to take Rosie on a camping trip to Dorset. A pal of ours, who for the sake of this blog we will call David, was organising an annual get together of friends - most of whom where originally connected through their children going to the same school. David, for it is he, has been doing this for some years and Vicky and I gatecrashed the party about 4 years ago by sneaking along with Barbara, who was already an initiated member of the clan. Given that we didn't have children at the same school, in fact we didn't have any children at all, we were pleasantly surprised at how easily we were able to infiltrate the group. I think that this was helped by us turning up with supplies of red wine and beer!

David in cognito

The first time that we had joined the party, they had convened at a campsite in a small village called Puncknowl (pronounced 'Punnel' - as in tunnel). Vicky and I had already been to this site a few time with a different group of friends. So, we already knew that the site was run by two rather eccentric sisters (for eccentric read 'completely batty'). I'm sure that I could, and maybe will, write a whole blog just on the visits to Puncknowl, but that can wait. The biggest claim to fame that the village has is that Billy Bragg, may we bless his little cockles, lives not too far up the road and, we were told, often gigs at the local pub (unfortunately never when we have been there).

For the next two years, Vicky and I joined in the fun at a site in Burnbake, not too far from Corfe Castle on the Isle of Purbeck. As, on the first occasion, I had taken my guitar along and got some of the younger members to perform, last year David billed the event as Burnbake's Got Talent. As such, every family group had to provide at least one 'act' to perform on saturday night. After a day at the beach and barbecued dinners, we all settled down around the camp fire - the males of the species had been busy gathering fire wood and, in no time and with the help of an old car door as a fire pit, had a raging inferno ready for us all to sit by - sorry about the car David!! The acts were wonderfully and weirdly varied. Probably more weirdly than wonderful. We had some a copella singing, acrobatics (which was a little difficult to fully appreciate in the pitch black), story and poetry readings and a little light music. All fuelled and anaesthetised by more wine and beer.

So, with that setting the scene, 2012 was to be a repeat and last weekend (23rd June 2012) was to be the event. Circumstances meant that it would probably be a bit more low-key than previous years, but, with Rosie to introduce to society, we were looking forward to the opportunity to meet up with, by now, old and established friends. However, with the British weather being as unpredictable as it can be, as the date got closer and everyone watched the meteorological forecasts with intense interest, we started to fear that things might not turn out quite as we had hoped. Indeed, on the prior wednesday, David officially cancelled Burnbake's Got Talent 2012 on health and safety grounds.

Phaa! We thought. What does David know!! Barbara (Rosie's co-owner) and I decided to go anyway, taking Barbara's daughter, Freya, dogs Bizzi and Pepper and, of course, Inca. For added insurance, we also kidnapped David's middle daughter Megan. We were going to be in Rosie, so what if it did rain a bit? We would stay dry and snug and have a wonderful time.

Saturday morning came and, later than planned, we eventually had Rosie packed up and ready to go. Setting off south, we drove Rosie out of Winchester and decided to risk taking the motorway. It would be 'cool' to promenade her vintage curves and bold colours along the M3 and M27 as we headed across the New Forest and down to the chain ferry at Sandbanks. As it happened, the M3 was full and slow moving. This was actually a blessed relief as it meant that we didn't have to be embarrassed about only being able to get up to 45 or 50 miles per hour. The journey to Burnbake was relatively uneventful, except for Barbara and I comparing what we had forgot to pack - the most worrying being a corkscrew! But, we had red wine, sausages and a guitar. We are resourceful, so what else could we possibly need!

Ok, so the journey took about half again the time it might have taken in a more modern vehicle. But, by the time we arrived at Burnbake, we were laughing at that nay-sayer David. Oh! How we laughed. The sky was clear, there was a light and warm breeze. We found an excellent space to park Rosie - in amongst a clutch of VW Splitties, Bays and newer T types - and pitch her awning. While the girls went off to explore (aka look for boys!!), Barbara and I dragged our camp beds out into the sunshine and took a well earned nap. When we awoke, a kindly neighbour - in another campervan - lent us a corkscrew, so that was alright then. Woop woop!

We managed to get the barbecue going, which was a challenge as, although we had remembered the charcoal, we had no matches. We had forgotten to pack any salad or vegetables, other than a few tomatoes and mushrooms. So dinner was a high protein mix of gammon, sausages, chicken and burgers. Topped of with garlic, roasted in a beer can - one of my signature bbq dishes! Cooking it all was another challenge as barbecue tools were another victim of the 'forget' list.

Earlier in the afternoon, walking around the site, I bumped into an old friend and work colleague, Julie, who I hadn't seen for some seven years and we made a plan to visit their tent after dinner. This we did, and by way of a slight diversion to this story, had a bloody good catch up and a chance to fill in some gaps. (Julie, if you're reading this, it was really great to see you and Drew again). As we were chatting, it started to rain. Not hard, but enough that we were happy to be sat under their gazebo. At about 10pm we said goodbye and headed back to Rosie.

Freya and Megan, no doubt bored by grown-up conversation had gone back to Rosie earlier and, when we arrived were sat by what was left of the barbecue wearing (yes wearing) a pop up tent! We sat with them for a while. It was quite warm and the light drizzle was actually pleasant, but, with nowhere dry to sit comfortably (we had forgotten to pack folding chairs) we all decided to retire to Rosie. I got out the guitar and, accompanied by a glass of that omnipresent red wine, we had a little sing-a-long before getting ready for bed. The rain was getting heavier.

Being the gentleman that I am, I volunteered to sleep on my trusty camp bed in the awning. So Rosie would look after all of the girls - Barbara, Freya, Megan, Bizzi and Pepper - while the boys, Inca and I, would make ourselves comfy outside. By about midnight I was fast asleep; snug in my sleeping bag with Inca laying on the camp bed along side my legs. Outside, the rain was by now beating down. But, what did we care. We were safe and comfortable and dry. A man and his dog in idyllic partnership. We were content.

I awoke. It was dark. I looked at my watch, 2am. What was it that had woken me? There it was again. The sound of a branch breaking and quite close. Hum! I thought, I hope that isn't going to fall on the tent or the van. Then I remembered that, although we were in a wooded area, there were no tree around us as we had chosen to pitch in a coppiced glade and any woody bit were quite small and willowy. This sounded more like bamboo canes being broken. But, the sound was very close. There it was again. I'd heard that noise before. Where? My foggy brain worked its way rapidly through its memory banks and eventually came up with a match. Burnbake...last year...rain...old tent...survived...but...tent poles broke when putting tent down. Therefore...familiar sound = sound of carbon fibre tent poles fracturing. Yes that was it! The sound of carbon fibre tent poles...oh f**k!!

I turned on my back in my bed and, in the dim luminescence sensed that my world had become somewhat smaller. I reached my hand forward and upward and within a foot made contact with, what I can only describe as, the backside of an elephant wearing a silk dress!! Water had collected in the roof of the tent! Not just a little bit of water, but about 150 litres. I was lying directly under a raised swimming pool and only a mircopore thin sheet of nylon tent fabric stood between me and waterworld. Where is Kevin Costner when you need him!! I lept out of bed, as did Inca, and tried to push the water away. However, all I managed to do was to shift it from one part of the awning roof to another.  The tent poles were groaning, creaking and splitting under the weight and the rain was still thundering down outside. I got back underneath the sagging mass and, placing my back against the now low roof, heaved up and back to get the bulk of the water over the side of the awning. We were safe! for all of this, the fabric still had not ruptured or leaked.

However, some of the pole sections had, by now, splintered and so one end of the awning, had become a pond liner supported by what was left of the poles and guy ropes. With rain still beating down in a torent of proverbial stair rods, it only took 10 minutes until enough water had collected to start to cause the structure to strain once more. So all I could do was stand holding the tent fabric up to ensure that it drained off. For the next five hours, Inca and I sat on the camp bed, getting up every 15 minutes to release another torrent of water over the side of the awning. I thought about re-claiming Rosie, but knew that there would be no space inside the small camper. And anyway...that was girl territory! I'll stick with the rain, thank you!!

As the light of dawn started to filter through the water filled clouds, I thought 'Okay David! You win. Maybe camping this weekend was a bad idea!' Then I laughed aloud as I heard a car alarm start sounding in a nearby field! All of a sudden, I didn't feel quite so alone.

At about 7 o'clock, the rain slowed. Phew! Then the wind picked up and the now very loose awning started flapping like a Marabou Stork trying to take off. The good news was that the constant billowing meant that water wan't collecting and I was able to lie down and try to sleep. In exhaustion, I lay waiting for Aeolus to blow us all into oblivion. But he didn't. By 9 am everyone else was starting to stir. By everyone else, of course, that only meant Barbara, Bizzi and Pepper - 13 year olds have an aversion to mornings that transcends tempest, typhoon or tsunami. We took stock and started to clear up. We discovered a babbling brook leading to a small lake. The latter being right next to the awning, the former running under Rosie and the groundsheet. I recovered the pop up tent from a clump of trees 50 yards away.

After a short while, I began to feel my left hand throbbing. I have been wearing Vicky's wedding ring on the little finger of my left hand. A combination of water,fatigue and activity had led my hands to swell and the thin band was beginning to be engulfed by the waterlogged and prune like flesh of my finger. The pain was becoming unbearable and I was unable to get the ring over the knuckle. I seriously considered cutting off my pinkie, but my penknife was another item left at home. Gnawing off my finger was another option. Then I saw the tub of butter! smothering my finger and the ring in butter, I managed, eventually, to ease it from my finger. Oh the relief!

The damage to our site was not as bad as it might have been. Three pole sections of the awning had broken, but the rest of the structure was intact and so repair would be straight forward. We discovered that Rosie had a few leaks, too. Some of the door seals hadn't done their job too well and Rosie's newly upholstered (many thanks to Chris) mattresses were a little damp. We managed to re-light the barbecue and cook up bacon sandwiches and brew a very welcome cup of tea. The little bit of left over red wine went in with the mushrooms and a couple of tomatoes and baked beans rounded off a lovely breakfast. By now the sun was out and the wind had died down. The world was saying 'what's all the fuss about'.

Once the awning had had a chance to dry out a bit, we broke camp and re-packed Rosie with our gear, dogs children and selves. By mid-day we began the journey home. Rosie's first big adventure had been somewhat more adventurous than we had planned or expected. But the good news was, it couldn't get any worse.




Or could it...




Rosie Rides Forth (part 2, follows shortly)