Friends, collies and patient dogs,
I’m not quite sure I’ve got the constitution for all this roller coaster riding. Take the last month for example. Early on I watched all the paraphernalia of our Munro adventure being sculptured into my van, after it’s winter sojourn in the loft. It set my little heart racing and I got all excited. Having got used to a bit of the lime light over the last year, and not being one to sit things out on the side lines, I decided to muzzle in on the action. So, I jumped over the bucket, side stepped the Kelly Kettle and was tucked up in my cushion in a one, one, two, hosting that look of innocence that melt hearts. The one that Millie has been coaching me in.
Once there I got to thinking about last year and I remembered what a liability B is, to go away with. Flashbacks, of the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder variety, flooded my head space and caution seemed a very wise word to adopt, as we approached this years adventure. What I really want to avoid is:
Anyway, we were all set and just waiting for the weather to come good. The first weekend looked ideal, apart from the 40 mph winds that were forecast across the summits. The second weekend was reasonable apart from the Saturday. This promised two slices of full sun embracing a filling of torrential rain and more high winds. Then there was my vans MOT to contend with. I sat beside B when she phoned up for the prognosis, tucking in close and bringing all my very best, silent canine support to bear. Then, holy Moses and shiver my timbers it worked, save the odd light bulb or two. Munros 2017, here we come.
So, with the van packed and sporting a clean bill of health, we looked eagerly at the forecast for the weekend ahead; it seemed perfect. Apparently, we were going on a foray into the Cairngorms. Half way through the week we just needed to give my van a quick run around to keep everything hunky dory. Now, this is where you have to feel v. v. v sorry for me and B.
My van had died again. Not the stubborn “I can’t be bothered to get going” moan, that had plagued us over the winter. This was a deep cry from the last cell of battery deficiency – I’ve given all I can and have nothing left, it’s total silent seemed to indicate. My little jump start kit couldn’t cajole it into action and even jump leads couldn’t kick start it. We only had four days to go and B was doing that hateful working away, for three of them. The weekend was doomed, again.
Eventually, we got the van going and it fired up no bother, after a little tightening of a wonky loose screw (and I’ll resist the temptation to make personal references to other loose screws here). It then went to hospital to have a new screw fitted, and its annual tummy irrigation. We spent last Friday sitting in the garden, on a fabulous summer evening, where I was somewhat depressed because I should have been elsewhere, waxing my walking boots. B seemed very jovial, given the circumstances, but I think that may have something to do with what they call drowning your sorrows. Apparently, sitting in the garden drinking G & T is very good for this.
Anyway, B went and got my van today and brought it home no bother, only to find that the engine was very hot and bothered and all the coolant had gone missing. Both our hearts sank and it’s all despondency. Back to van hospital tomorrow.
In the meantime, only one thing for it…
And, so to bed.
Love Ben xx