A frustrated writer getting it back.

I know what you're thinking, you've read a brief synopsis of this blog and you're hoping it's not another one of those 'Mummy blogs' where the mother whinges about her offsping, offloads all those 'less than perfect' moments and congratulates herself at the end of the day after a successful head count with several gins and a bottle of wine. This is not that type of blog. I can't deny that there isn't a bit of relief once the tot is in bed that I have successfully managed to keep him alive another day. That's rooted in my solid belief thoughout my thirty years that my life didn't need children and if they were bestowed upon me that, well, it would just be miserable, I'd fail and I'd raise monsters. Consequently I never went near a baby or learnt anything about small humans. Thankfully I was so wrong, our son is wonderful and spending time with him is, usually, a pleasure (although he does turn into the devil after 6.30pm). 

So who are we? Were a family of five. Me, I'm Becky, a frustrated writer with a previously successful doggy blog, resulting in two charity fundraiser books. However after the passing of David, the main source of my writing material and the arrival of our son, I find myself with little time to do very much for me at all. My long suffering husband, Paul, a kind and gentle man and brilliant father to our son; our two-and-a-half-year-old son, Edward, who's favourite things in the world are 'Mini Bert' a blue stuffed dragon and bubble machines. Lastly, there's our two greyhounds. Sensible, level headed, been-there-done-that Arthur (7) and new-to-the-family blunder bus Eric (5) who seems to think his entire body mass is no larger than his head. 

In the years before Edward, Paul and I enjoyed motorhoming. We had an elderly Talbot Express Highwayman who was, to say the least, 'quirky'. We called her 'Judith'. We got away almost every other weekend and had the most amazing adventures with Arthur and our old staffie-cross, Thai. It is with a fond feeling of deep stomached sickess and anxiety that I remember our first journey to Bakewell in her. We purchased her with a 'full MOT' certificate but to this day we are not entirely sure how kosher that was. As we decended down one of many 'wrong turnings' (due to someones's less than perfect map reading skills), we encountered a 180 degree turn on a 20% decline. Her brakes, on the verge of failing, barely worked and nearly gassed us in the cab out. Once we reached the bottom of the hill, safely, we both attended to the bathroom where I am pretty sure Paul had to change his pants. On our return home, remembering the bottom clenching moment and having had the exhaust rubbers go on the day we got her, we popped a bona fide MOT on her, which cost us thousands. The brakes were down to the rivetts. We had been extremely lucky. Thankfully, that was the hairiest moment we had with the old girl. Her other quirks; the heating being stuck on full blast, the back doors intermittent ability to unlock itself, drivers door handle didn't open the door, and her love of blowing a fuse or two, we just lived with. 

Judith took us everywhere. We saw the Lake District, the Peak District, Yorkshire and so many local villages that we would never have seen before. We've drank wine looking out the window as a stream flows past the van, had a fry up at the foot of mountains and walked miles upon miles to return to the comfort she provided. Sadly Judith provided little room for the growth of the family and in 2017 with heavy hearts, we sold her on and took up caravanning for a year. 

2018. This was the year our lives were turned upside down when Paul was diagnosed with Lymphoma. The breaks away in the caravan were just what was needed between chemo sessions but neither of us liked the kerfuffle that was getting the 'van ready and we certainly didn't like towing it. That is scary stuff! We probably had six breaks away in it before it bounced off the back of the car having been checked, checked and checked once more. Someone was watching out for us that day, no one was hurt, no damage was done - although fresh pants were needed once again. We sold the 'van. 

At the end of the year Paul was told he was in remission and we decided our life needed adventures again. They needed to be motorhome adventures. That's where our hearts lie. And after months of searching, next week we bring her home. Judith Too. A large 6 berth van big enough for all the clobber a toddler comes with, enough space for Paul and I to enjoy an evening glass of wine looking out a window with a view, enough sofa space for Arthur's sprawled out snoozings ... and probably not enough space for Eric's untamed body but I'm sure in time his head will realise the rest of him is attached but these big black greyhound boys, they're not known for their brains. 

So that's where I'll leave it for now. Let the adventures begin!