It's murder on the camp site (part 2)
It's a different world I can tell you. And it's not without its pleasures. For once I didn't have to order everyone out to get a knife from the cutlery drawer or fight over the captain's seat. We had cold wine and warm toes and space to swing a cat.
But of course, everything comes at a price. Even in a luxury motorhome (in this case a very tidy 2015 Marquis 155) you still have to go outside and do manly stuff on the campsite. You have to fill up tanks and empty tanks and swill out the porta potti and plug stuff in. It's not all glam glam glam.
Anyway, here is the price I paid for forgetting that it can be murder on the campsite. As I was filling up the water tank the campsite tap came off in my hand. Rather too easily I might say. Whether my fault or not, the water poured out and onto the field in an unstoppable torrent. The sensible camper would have gone to fetch the farmer or looked around for a stop cock to stem the flow. But no. I did what the unsensible camper would do, and that's to try and force the tap back on before anyone noticed. As you can see it failed, miserably.
And the very fact that my kids were able to pick up a phone, tap in the unlock code, switch it to video mode and capture these very wonderful moments of campsite fuckwittery tells you that I tried for far too long.
It's murder on the campsite.