"There are bubbles coming out of the wardrobe!"
But more on that later.
We're staying (in our caravan) with the East Midlands Motor Caravan Section of the Camping and Caravanning Club, at their Temporary Holiday Site in Skegness. We fancied something new and realised we had never been to Lincolnshire before. Draw a line exactly east from our home on the Wirral, and you reach Skegness. It's strange that we've never done this before. I had my doubts, though. Skeggy does not sound like the most classy of places to visit. And maybe not, but the countryside round and about is full of interest. Driving over the rolling Lincolnshire Wolds I could feel rest and relaxation seeping into every muscle.
The site itself is excellent. There is even an electric hookup - very rare on a THS - so my fears of having to ration the battery life on my laptop are unfounded.
Linda and Bill, our friendly stewards, hosted a coffee morning on the first day, and this gave us the chance to meet all our fellow campers, most of whom hail from the Leicester area. As this is a Motor Caravan rally, we are one of only two towed 'vans, the rest are motor homes, so we had a chance to quizz the owners of the big units and see just what makes them tick. I've always had my doubts about the motor home option, but I soon discovered where the passion comes from, with tales of perpetual touring, fast set-ups and wild camping across Spain. I almost fancy giving it a go myself. Almost, but not quite. I love my caravan. I love having a fixed base that we can use to explore a region, and Lincolnshire appears to have a lot to offer. Places like Gunby Hall and Gardens, only five miles up the road.
So, when we returned to the caravan we were suitably mellow. The holiday was working its magic. Sarah lost the toss and made our tea. I did the dishes, and soon after this, those words were first used: bubbles.
Yes, suds were coming out from under the wardrobe door. I looked inside and realised these bubbles were only the upper ten percent of the iceberg. There were bubbles appearing behind the toilet pipes, too. A knock at the caravan door. "Do you know you've got bubbles coming out from under your caravan?"
"Yeah, okay, thanks. I'm onto it. Cheers."
My search pattern narrowed down to the cupboard under the kitchen sink. We stash a lot of stuff under there. I started pulling it all out. All of it was wet, and soapy. Sarah got the torch.
"There you go," she said. She aimed the beam on the waste pipe, that was no longer attached to the bottom of the sink. yeah, maybe we'd stashed too much stuff under there. It answered another question, too. The sink, normally a slow emptier, leaving a residue of seetcorn kernals and bits of pasta behind to be mopped up with kitchen roll, had been emptying efficiently and fast ever since we arrived, sucking everything down, leaving the sink clean and sweetcorn free. Yeah, it had been emptying straight and unimpeded onto the caravan floor. We'd have noticed sooner but for all the stored items, items that soaked up water, or at least up until that super-saturated moment when it would soak no more.
So we started mopping out. We filled the bin with damp things. We carried out the suds in gentle handfulls. Remember that peace and tranquility that I talked about? Yeah, gone.