Flying in a Box

 

When I started this blog I wanted to use it as a place to share all the exciting places we've been to in the caravan, unusual walks, cycle routes...

Well, we took the 'van for a service in February 2020, then we washed it, and then... took it for another service in February 2021. It's been that kind of year. But I'm not complaining; I'm just grateful to still be here. And hey, we've discovered lots of walks, cycle routes and places we didn't know existed within a few miles of our home on the Wirral. It's given us a new perspective about where we live.

Still, I missed the caravan.

I haven't been totally inactive though. I published book three of the Travelling in a Box series. If you've read the other two books you'll have picked up hints that we were about to board a plane for the very first time, and... well the title gives it away, doesn't it. Flying in a Box isn't just about fear of flying or our frenetic road trip around California. It isn't just about the snake and bear attacks or the Oscar-like award ceremony where I received a writing award. No, after America we needed to unwind, and what better way to chill than embarking on a nerve-jangling, thousand-mile tow down to the French Mediterranean.

There's even a flashback to a wild camping trip (wild in the lunatic sense) I tried, with a school friend, in our early teens. And yes, me and Sarah get to Italy. But was it Milan? That would be telling. If you want to know you'll have to read the book. This link will take you straight to it.

Let's hope 2021 will be a better year for all of us.

Two in a Box

It has taken a while, but Two in a Box, the second book in what has evolved into the Travelling in a Box series, is now available for pre-order on Kindle and will launch next Sunday 17th February, in paperback and most ebook formats.

This one picks up the story in France after we had, at last, achieved the family's goal of taking our thirty-year-old caravan all the way to the Swiss Alps. Without incident? Well, you'll have to wait and see, but come on, who wants to read about trips that don't involve some kind of adversity? And was one trip enough? One trip is never enough. We went back for more. Of course we did.

If you'd like to listen to a snippet, I was interviewed on Vintage Radio last week where I read a few pages. The show's being repeated tonight (Sunday 10 Feb) at 9pm here.

Two in a Box

Moreton-in-Marsh: Full of autumn colour

I sometimes think the caravan can be more fun in the winter than in summer. Back in the days of failed heating, zero insulation and ice cold, hand numbing tap water I might have argued the other way, but winter caravanning, now, is good. It is warmer and more cosy in the caravan that at home.

We headed for the Cotswolds. I had a sci-fi convention to attend in Bristol and I need no further excuse.

But that was the end of October, early November. Today is 29^th November, so why only talk about it now? Well, I’ve had a project. I’ve been preoccupied with NaNoWriMo.

What is NaNoWriMo?
It’s short for National Novel Writing Month and it comes around every November, and it is a kind of challenge, to write a fifty thousand word novel in the thirty days of November. It’s supported by websites and a buddy network and graphs. (I can't resist graphs. Graphs plus writing: sign me up.)
Well, I’ve never tried NaNoWriMo before. It’s been on the to-do list for years. Maybe this is the year to start. 

“I’m going to try NaNoWriMo,” I said. 

We were in the caravan at Moreton-in-Marsh. Outside was dark, nearly freezing and only five o’clock.

“What’s NaNoWriMo?” said Sarah.

I explained.

“You’re going to write a full novel in November? The whole thing?”

“No. Not a novel. Something else.”

“So…?”

“I can’t write the third Sphere of Influence novel because I need to edit the second book first. The story might change.”

“What are you going to write then?”

“Two in a Box.”

And that’s how it started. I’d never intended Travelling in a Box to be a series, but then the book did come to an end in 2001, and I suppose a lot of stuff has happened since then: problems with the old caravan after it started to bend, arrested in Chamonix, losing part of the car in Belgium… and the whole family growing up and moving out thing. Yes, there’s at least one other book there.

So I pulled out the laptop and started, on that dark cold night in Moreton-in-Marsh, two thousand words a day, my target.

And here I am, at the end of November, the proud owner of a NaNoWriMo badge and fifty-thousand words of Two in a Box in the can. I’m not finished yet. I’m guessing another thirty thousand should nail it. But I imagine Two in a Box will be hitting Amazon early in the year. You heard about it here first. More news to follow in the blog.

Okay, so what of Bristol and the Cotswolds?

Loved it! Bristolcon was fabulous, as always. Nothing went wrong with our travel plans. Nothing fell off the car. Nothing broke in the caravan. Didn't need to hunt down any hospital A&Es... Lovely caravan sites, autumn colours were fabulous. Makes a rotten story when that happens, doesn't it? 

So I’ll just tell it in pictures:    

The village of Broadway

Bourton in the Water

Broadway Tower

A Postcard from Wales

Rhosson Ganol. Wish you were here?

Does it mark me out as being a bit old fashioned, that I send postcards when I’m on holiday? I could email or Instagram or put pictures on Facebook. Hell, I could just ring people. It’s not hard in this day and age.

It isn’t the same though. A postcard carries history. It feels travelled. A postcard will often bear the scars of a journey and adventure: the words might be smeared by rain; the corners are often tatty and dog-eared; the postman might have left some of his breakfast on the picture on the front. Often times the stamp will be postmarked with a blurry ink-pad logo that has missed the stamp and obliterates half the words. If you’re lucky it will have been lost and found and postmarked twice. All of this is evidence that you are far far away. Somewhere remote… On Holiday!

Postcards are hard to write. You sit in the coffee shop, pen in hand, and decide who will write to whom. “I’ll do the kids, you do the parents, yeah?”

“Okay.”

“What are you going to write?”

“Dunno.”

I wonder how many cards I’ve written over the years that start ‘Having a great time’ while the rain softens and delaminates the card and the ink blooms and spreads.

But we always write them. It wouldn’t be a holiday otherwise.

We’re in St Davids, in Pembrokeshire, South West Wales. (Actually I’m back home, reminiscing. No internet in St Davids! But hey, I’ll stay in the present just to maintain the illusion).

I’m leery about divulging the name of the site, because this is probably the best campsite in the world. It certainly has the best view. But here goes, at the risk of scuppering things for years to come when we can’t get on because it’s fully booked, our site is called Rhosson Ganol, and it is just west of St Davids overlooking the St Justinians lifeboat station. It is a small piece of heaven. There are no electrics, there is no mobile signal, it isn’t flat, but it is lovely.

There is a postbox. (See picture) It’s a good thing. St Davids is about four miles away, and to use the car feels like cheating. But it’s good. This is all the civilisation we need on holiday: a tap, an Elsan point and a postbox.

We finished our cards and strolled down the lane so they’d catch the morning collection. Sarah climbed through the nettles beside the wall and tried to post the cards. They wouldn’t go in. She tried again. Some kind of obstruction.

Then the air went black.

It seems our postbox has become a bees nest. Or it might have been wasps, some evil, buzzy, stingy thing for sure - we didn’t hang around for entomology or apiology or whatever.

We walked to St Davids.

More camping and caravanning tales can be found in  the Travelling in a Box paperback/ebook.  To buy a copy, take a look at the web site, TravellinginaBox.com 

Art and Kites in the Chilterns

Not much of a slope but with special, super-lube mud
it was too much of a challenge for our 4x4 Kuga.

Each year we help with the set-up for Sarah's SBA Botanical Art exhibition, and we’re always on the hunt for a new base away from the noise and rush of London, somewhere to relax and wind-down after all the noise and rush of the capital. This time we stayed in the Chilterns, at the lovely Cholsey Grange CL site.

The drive down was easy. Glorious sunshine all the way. As we neared the Chilterns the clouds began to gather.

We arrived in the rain.

Ted, the site owner, warned us the field might be muddy, and he was waiting to help us onto the pitch. A good thing, too. My attempts at using the motor mover for the last bit of fine tuning to our position, failed when all it achieved was to drive the jockey wheel deep into the mud and to scoop out two neat holes for the ‘van's wheels, all ready for more fun when the time came to pack away a few days later.

Red Kite. Small image to conceal
fuzzy focussing

An exciting start to our visit.

The views from the site are lovely. There are Red Kites flying overhead. The only time they disappeared was when I took my camera out. I’ve included one fuzzy picture just to prove that I at least tried. The site offers free WiFi, which was much appreciated and something I've never come across on a CL before.

Lovely sunrise on Monday

There were plenty of walks around the site, and we did have some time to explore on the first day, but not enough, because we were here on a mission. Our trips into London involved early starts on both days, but at least we were able to enjoy some impressive dawn colours while munching our breakfasts.

A misty start to Tuesday morning

We’re still trying to figure out a way of getting into London itself without having to sell the house and indenture the children into the chimney sweep profession to afford it. (The kids are in their thirties, now, so they'd probably put up an argument, anyway.) This year we elected to drive to Amersham, park at the station then use the Oysters to travel in. Here’s what I learned: Peak hour ends at 9.30 am, and then runs 4.30 until 7.00 pm. Outside these times the costs are manageable. Travel during these hours, as we did in error, and yes, you do need to sell the house and if you have young children they need to adopt a fake, Dick van Dyke cockney accent and learn the words to a few songs, like Chim-chiminee, chim-chiminee, Chim-chim-cheree.

Another thing I learned this week: I found out how much work is involved behind the scenes of a big art exhibition. I always thought it was just hanging pictures on a wall, but no, they have to be numbered to match the catalogue. They have to be arranged so they look good on a wall. They have to be carried.

This is how the exhibition room looked before we started.

By the time we left the walls were full of exquisite

paintings and soon the room will be packed with visitors.

There are stickers with bits of information, and these have to be stuck on the wall next to the correct painting, and they have to be straight. The glass on the paintings has to be polished to get rid of all our finger prints. Polishing 600 plus paintings is no picnic, believe me.  There’s also a shop to be created from nothing, and the extra heap of work involved in doing that job is another thing I'd never appreciated before. I’m only mentioning the things I know about. While we were working a whole army of helpers were doing other things to make it all come together. Next time you visit an art exhibition take a look at the number stickers and ask yourself who stuck them all on, and don’t be too harsh if some of them are a bit wonky.

Even better, visit this one. The SBA exhibition,  Shape Pattern, Structure.  It's on now until 23rd April at Central Hall, Westminster. If you spot any misaligned info stickers next to any of the paintings they're not mine.

As hinted. The pack away was not good. It has been a long wet winter. Lots of rain equals lots of mud. Our trusty 4x4 Kuga didn't have the grip to reverse up to the towing hitch. It is hard to line up the approach when you're car is skating around like Torvill and Dean having an off day. We did Ted a favour, though. We took some of his mud home with us - on my jeans, on my wellies, in my wellies, all over the car, all over the front of the caravan...  that we'd polished and cleaned just five days earlier!

A good few days away but right now I need another caravan holiday for some rest and recovery. But I have to get the hose pipe out first.

Travelling in a Box, the book, available on Kindle and paperback.

Caravan in Chirk

At last our caravan season has begun, and we’re in Lady Margaret’s Park in Chirk, near Wrexham.

We didn’t get off to a smooth start. We had the caravan serviced last month, and if I’d troubled to look inside, after the service, I’d have noticed how the radio and other electrical things had been left on. We knew we had a problem as soon as I fired up the motor mover to get the ‘van off the front garden, because the motor mover didn’t so much as fire up, as just flicker, with the power of a birthday candle, then die. So, job number one, after rushing home from work and as the Friday evening light faded to gloom, was to swap out the leisure battery for an old one we keep in the back of the garage, ‘just in case’, and hope the spare had enough charge.

Success! On our way.

We arrived in the dark. I set about doing the 'man jobs' outside while Sarah did the girly work, getting the inside of the ‘van organised.

I use two Aquarolls, so that we can rotate them and avoid shower catastrophes, and after I’d filled the first and got the pump running to fill the hot tank, I went back to the tap to fill the second. By the time I returned, the pump was dancing about making funny noises. Had there been light I’d have noticed all the water around the caravan. But it was dark and I didn’t. So I spent ages checking for all the less obvious problems, like splits in the pipe and bad seals between the pipe and the outlet, and half an hour of fiddling passed by before I noticed that the Aquaroll was empty.

There is a bright yellow switch under the bunk that has to be opened to drain the hot water tank when leaving a site, and it has to be closed before switching on the pump, or your water goes straight from the Aquaroll to the floor. Ha! Back to the tap.

This isn’t the first time I’ve performed this little pumping-onto-the floor ritual. Or the second. One day I’ll learn.

Saturday, we walked to Chirk Castle. It’s only about forty minutes’ cross country from the caravan site. There’s a bit of a hill, because, well, it’s a castle and hills are were they tended to build them. I’d like to tell you all about the history of the castle and the Myddleton family who lived there, but here’s what stayed in my head: Minted Pea and lettuce soup with thick crusty bread. We had it for lunch. Gorgeous. Inside the castle there are paintings and tapestries and furniture and stuff, but I remember the soup. I know, call me shallow. I could have looked up some history and facts and sounded all learned, like I know what I’m talking about, but I haven’t got much internet out here so here’s a link instead.

http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/chirk-castle

If you visit this caravan site you must make time to see the Chirk Aqueduct, built by Thomas Telford in 1801. The walk over the aqueduct has wonderful views down the Ceirog Valley, and through the arches of the railway viaduct that stands close by and high above on one side. There is also a walk you could try through the Chirk canal tunnel, but take a torch; the tunnel is unlit and is 420 metres in length.

If you’re new to the area and enjoyed the walk over the Chirk Aqueduct, then you should also visit the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct, a little further along the canal in the Llangollen direction. Pontcysyllte’s only for the brave, though. It is high and narrow and very exposed. Not one for a windy day, I promise.

Here’s an interesting thing. On one side of the aqueduct there is a sign, Welcome to Wales. Walking over the bridge there is another sign, Welcome to England. So who own's the aqueduct?

Welcome to Wales

Welcome to England

Imagine, now, that your parents are Scottish. A couple with a love for canal boats. Suppose they were on a canal tour of the Marches at the time you were born, on the boat, just as they were crossing the Chirk Aqueduct.

What are you? Welsh, English, Scottish? Do you get to choose? You might choose Scottish and grab a free university education. You might, instead, value Welsh citizenship and hold out for a few more years to claim your pensioner's bus pass that can you can use in Wales and England. Or then again, you might choose to be English, so that… let me think about this for a moment. Yes, I know, you can wear that single star on your England football shirt that says how you won the World Cup Forty-seven years ago.

Grand Book Tour

From England to the Alps in a thirty-year-old caravan. What could possibly go wrong? Well now you can find out, because Travelling in a Box, the book that gave its name to the blog, is available on Amazon, in paperback, and for Kindle.

And in the true spirit of Indy publishing I have embarked on a grand book tour. I have a copy of my book and I’m in a field in Ruthin, then I’ll be in a field near Rhos-on-Sea. Actually, thinking about it, I forgot to bring the book, so I guess I’m just on a grand tour. Maybe not so grand, either; in a field? Let’s just call it an ordinary tour, though technically speaking, a tour should probably visit more than two places. Okay, so I’m just away, in the caravan. How cool is that, though? Could you get more Indy?

So, I’ll set out my virtual sales counter, I’ll put on my big, floppy author’s hat, and I’ll give you a link to Amazon. Two links, in fact, because Travelling in a Box is available in the USA as well as the UK. Also Europe, Japan, Brazil... but come on, I can't link to everywhere; I'm sitting in a field.

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Suds in Skegness

It was all going so well until the soap bubbles started coming out of the wardrobe.
"There are bubbles coming out of the wardrobe!"
"No way."
"Yes way."
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.

A new National Trust visit is always high on our list, partly because we don't have to pay to get in, but also because they are invariably a delight to visit. This one is no exception. There's an artistic and musical heritage in Gunby Hall, and we had a special treat in the music room, where a pianist was adding layers of atmosphere by playing Mozart sonatas. She was very good, and it was hard to drag ourselves away to see the rest of the house.

The gardens at Gunby are lovely and Sarah was off with her camera. I was abandoned on a bench amongst the roses, to mind the bags. I could have explored, I suppose, but no way was I walking around on my own clutching a pink handbag! Anyway, she soon had her paint box out, so I got my chance to have a look around, then.

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?"
OMG!
"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.

Taking a break from Sci-Fi

This month’s Camping and Caravanning Magazine has an interview with me on its Club People page. I’m really pleased with it. I met Sheila Kiggins at the CCC offices, in Coventry, a couple of months ago. We chatted about caravanning and science fiction and just about everything else in between (there’s quite a lot in between) and she has written a really nice article. I’m so pleased about it. I’m not much of a talker, but as I mentioned in a earlier post, get me onto one of my passions, caravanning or science fiction, and I open up a bit. Talk to me about both at the same time, and well, be prepared to tie me up and gag me.

So, in the interview, the cat is out of the bag. I talk about something I’m about to do that would give any traditional publisher a hissy fit. I’m a Science Fiction and Fantasy writer; I have stories published in some pretty cool magazines, and I have awards and stuff. Now I’m about to release my first book. But here’s the thing: It’s a Travel Book. It’s memoir. I don’t even get to travel anywhere all that exotic, at least not in the eyes of your modern, jet-setting, bucket-listing, far-flung travel guru of the twenty-first century. It certainly isn't Science Fiction. 

'Travelling in a Box' will not make me a millionaire. I'll be lucky to even earn back some of the editing and cover-design costs. And you know what? I really don’t care. I just wanted to write it. I loved writing it. This is the joy of indie publishing. I can do this mad thing. There’s nobody to go all red-faced and finger-pointy and say, ‘you can’t do that!’

Don’t get me wrong, a traditional publishing deal would be nice. You get money and stuff. You get to sit on panels at conventions without feeling like some kind of gatecrasher. To be an indie, though, is kind of freeing. I am the one who calls the shots. I shortlisted and picked the cover design (and it's gorgeous). I got to pick my own editor (who has been brilliant). Later, when I’m ready, I get to switch genres back to Science Fiction, or Fantasy, or horror, or even Urban Bakelite Punk with pink unicorns if I want to. I’ve always written because I enjoy doing it, and if someone else gets to enjoy reading my stuff then that is a big plus. It’s good, now, to be able to bring that same sense of freedom to the publishing process, and so far I’m enjoying the ride.

Travelling in a Box will be launched in mid July as an e-book and a paperback. There will be a book launch party, and staying true to the indie spirit I will do the catering myself. Most of it. Well, some of it. Maybe I’ll get my wife (aka sounding board, beta-reader and co-protagonist) to make the cheese sandwiches. I’ll buy the bottle of pop.

Darley Dale

This weekend we are kicking off our Camping and Caravanning Club DA season with the BCC (British Caravan Club) at their meet in Darley Dale, in Derbyshire.

We’ve stayed with other DA’s here before and it is a good base for the southern end of the Peak District. The field is big and flat and the Peak Rail steam railway chugs right across the end of it, and this is a fine thing to watch from the caravan window.

The only iffy thing here, perhaps, is the water pressure. The Aquaroll fill is very slow. You need the patience of a trappist monk not to flip out while waiting, but at least it gives everyone a chance to meet up and linger at the tap. Whenever I’ve found myself alone at the tap I’ve taken to packing my Kindle, for the chance to catch up on a novel or two. It makes a person very aware of the amount of water we use, though. As one person said to me while we were waiting: we take fresh water for granted. Imagine living somewhere where this is as good as it gets. Where mostly the water is muddy and diseased, dragged up from a well, and you have to make a ten-mile round trip with an urn balanced on your head to get it. Puts my moaning into perspective.

It started raining when we arrived. What else would you expect? Bank Holiday weekend. We splashed around in Bakewell for a while, then bought Bakewell pudding and brought it back to the van. Still raining. I can live with the rain. Plenty time for writing.

On Sunday, Matlock Bath seemed a good destination, but it was all Fish and Chips and amusements. A bit like Blackpool without the pier. I didn’t expect this. Matlock Bath is a Victorian Spa town. It should be sedate and elegant. Who decided it would look better with sad, half-blown strings of lights and binging whooping sirens from the one-arm bandits. Everywhere there is the smell of stale beer and salt-and-vinegar. Maybe it’s just me, though, because it was packed. But then we wandered into the park, which tracks along beside the river. The fish-and-chip smells faded, the arcade sounds receded and the short riverside walk was lovely. 

We crossed a bridge and came upon the Derwent Gardens, and they are a delight. There are flowers and moss-covered fountains and grottos and we spent a happy hour or so enjoying it. Only the time expiry of our car park ticket lured us away.

Looking for somewhere to eat on Monday took us to the Forest Garden Centre, also in Darley Dale. Garden Centres are often a good bet for food, these days. This one looked small from the road and we didn't expect much. The Tree Tops Restaurant was tucked away in a corner of the Garden Centre, a conservatory with good cushioned seating and excellent service. The clues were there - more than half the tables were reserved. The Tree Tops turned out to be one of the best eateries we've tried in a long time. I had Bree and Onion quiche, very tasty, but we finished with the home made scones. There is a notice in the cafe that warns about the scones. You can only have them in the restaurant, not take away, because of high demand. I had a cherry and almond scone, Sarah had lemon and ginger. We had half each and could not decide which was the nicer. Wonderful. This is a place we will come to again, and we will divert off our route to get here. It will certainly bring us back to Darley Dale, with the caravan, for another DA meet.

I'm writing this before venturing out into the Bank Holiday traffic. The sun is shining. We're weighing up all the options for avoiding traffic. There are few. It could be a long journey home but whatever, it will have been worth it.