It was Friday the 13th and Tom had found a way to bring our caravan into town the next day. He borrowed a truck from a brother-in-law and his son, and towed it in.
Tom does have a heavy vehicle license but I must admit, I was worried about his towing expertise. He’d never towed anything bigger than a trailer let alone a 32ft caravan—a 32ft caravan with suspect wheels and tyres no less. It was okay though because he had plans B,C and D still under his hat.
After annoying our brother-in-law and nephew all day, Tom finally picked up the truck. But Friday 13 struck. Tom had to make a backboard for the tail lights on the van. Darrin, another brother-in-law, to the rescue. The permit was only good for Saturday. Um, was there a reason to worry then? Nope. Plan B was put into operation and a couple of hours later the light board was made working and ready to go.
Full of confidence and with unregistered vehicle permit in hand, he and Darrin set off at 5.30am Saturday morning. Our other brother-in-law was waiting for them. Thankfully, he had already maneuvered the van out of the scrub and onto the road, checked the chassis and blown up the tyres. All Tom had to do was connect the van to the truck and be on his way. Apparently, he was happy as Larry. (A byword: Happy as Larry is a much loved expression of his—one of many) Brother-in-law and Darrin follow Tom home.
I heard the truck and went outside. Uh oh. I was supposed to take the car out of the drive to give the van more space. Too late now. The truck is parked over the driveway. Tom fell out of the truck and, collapsing to the footpath, he kissed the grass. Poor thing was pale and I’m sure there were a few extra lines embedded in his forehead.
But by all accounts the trip went okay except for years of compost flying off the roof of the van over Darrin’s car and a couple of drongos who thought they owned the road.
Brother-in-law expertly reversed the van into the drive and once the hold-up proppy things were sorted, I had a peek inside. It was a scary sight. Everywhere was covered in a layer or three of grime and there was bits of wood everywhere, a gift from our brother-in law. I put my imagination into gear and could see the potential for a comfortable living space in the combined kitchen/sitting room, a middle section of drawers and a bedroom at the end. Tom was excited about the project so I was happy to leave it to him. He understood, so long as I had a bed and a spot for my writing, I would be one happy girl.
On to the refit…
By Tuesday morning, Tom had cleaned it out of junk and debris, and disinfected it with his own concoction of cleaners, painted the kitchen cupboards and all inside walls, and built my desk and bed base.
I think it’s fantastic that he accomplished so much in such a short time but he expected scones for morning tea (I don’t do bakery items, that’s his domain) and a cooked lunch. I quickly came up with a solution for the lunches; I made heaps for dinner the night before and fed him leftovers but I still refused to make scones and take them out to him. I know, I’m mean huh?
Come back for the next update on our Move to the Country.