Wood burners, wet paint and waterlogged ground

Ebay is about as addictive as it can get.  I've been trawling the pages for a wood burner for Puck.. hours and hours I have poured into the search and the research.  Initially I was obsessed with getting one that I could bake in (I'm still mad about sourdough) but then ran into the difficulty of the stove being enormous and also having to light it on hot days so I could bake.  Not ideal.  After much angst and more internet searching I found an ingenious Coleman pop up oven that you sit on top of a gas ring (which I already have in the truck).  Genius! Well, so it looks in the packaging.  It's currently winging it's way to me so I will report back on it's success or failure in a week or two :/

As for the wood burner, I am in the final throes of a tense bidding war for a gorgeous french enamel one that looks like all it needs a good scrub and a bit of TLC.  Both of which I am prepared to provide, for the right price. Previous forays into ebay have taught me that I have to leave a maximum bid then close the webpage and not go back until the auction has closed.. otherwise my eagerness pushes my sense of caution out the way and I end up triumphant but broke.  I do have a backup plan of a very cute traditional little pot bellied stove so either way I will be happy.

Lots and lots of other bits and bobs have been going on over the last couple of weeks - I passed my HGV driving test!! Hooray! I am now the master of own destiny.  Or at least of my wheels.  The picture I have below is the van I sat the test in - it's almost unbelievable that I can test in that vehicle  and then go on to drive mine which is such a monster in comparison.. 

Let me show you what I mean...

Regardless, I promised my instructor I would give her a shout out in my blog because she is amazing! If anyone is looking to do their ridiculously-small-van-cum-horsebox-test or any other large goods vehicle tests then Kim is your girl. Details on the side of the van in the pic. I promise you won't regret it. Especially if you like Marvel. Or being really warm. Or yummy sandwiches. Or passing your test first time.  Kim, you are a legend. 

Back to me passing.. I arrived home fresh from my test eager to go out cruising, so Skyla and I hopped into the truck and took her out and about.  I'm not sure the folk behind me on the Wallingford bypass were best pleased at my gentle 45mph but we were rocking it in the cab.  Because of her great size, and also because at the moment she is empty, Puck wallows rather alarmingly around corners so I must say we did have a rather sedate thirty minute outing.  Proud as punch I returned home and, needing to turn the truck around, I drove forward onto the grass.. not realising that my parents had recently filled in a flower bed just where I was heading.  Needless to say, we are now quite literally stuck in thick wet mud, at the mercy of a local farmer whom we are hoping will pop round one day soon with his Fergy to pull us out.  

Not deterred by out temporary immobility I have been working hard on both Puck's exterior and interior. I had a bit of a problem in the luton (the bit that sits over the cab that holds my bed) - there was a small but significant amount of water seepage onto the plywood interior.  It was hard to figure out exactly what the problem was until I got up onto the roof where ten years of sun had shrunk and cracked the sealant.  Up I went with some tread boards, the radio, a stanley knife, caulking gun and some snazzy new (read: pricey) sealant.  Half way through stripping and replacing the sealant my sister and her two girls arrived for the weekend.  Ro (4 years old) is deeply into Pocahontas and tumbled out of the car in her red indian outfit exclaiming that I must (as I am obviously on top of a ship) play the part of John Smith her white man love interest/pirate/conqueror of the New World.  Thus started the weekend... 

Happily exhausted by my nieces, this week I have mostly been painting, sanding and thinking.  A brave choice of terracotta for the back doors has flung me in the direction of bold, bright and light themes.  I'm thinking sun drenched mediterranean. Be not alarmed by the pics of the doors you will see later - it is posh paint and only one coat so it will all darken into rich deeper tones.  Not resembling a Sainsbury's delivery lorry thank you mother! The bed area will be painted in a glorious bluey green very similar to that of a hummingbird's chest.  In that cave like space it will be rich and dark, and transform with lighting.  Again the pics of that are first coat so no panicking! 

Changing the subject, these past weeks I have been reflecting with sadness at the state of mental health of my fellow junior doctors.  In reaction to the contract issues, a wonderful site has been created on Facebook to allow junior doctors to come and get support: a place to share their stories, receive and give words of love, wisdom, humour or words of recognition and support.  It is a truly awe inspiring place.  Within hours of setting up there were upwards of a thousand members. The honesty and the pure loving support that is felt there is astonishing.  What is tragic is the mental state of so many of our wonderful courageous doctors.  Story after story reads like mine or worse. Desperate sadness, deep stress, depression, mental illness, bereavement, impostor syndrome (where you feel like you are completely ill equipped for the job), indecision, despondence.. deep deep scars that are being camouflaged daily so that they can get on with their job of caring for others.  I got out, I count myself as fortunate.  Not because I think it's a bad profession, but because I am not suited to that lifestyle and the inherent extreme stresses.  I'm sharing this because I don't think even the junior medical profession realised until this group literally exploded into life, how fragile and burdened these professionals are.  So I guess I think two things: one, take a moment to reflect next time you visit a medical facility - your doctors are stretched to breaking point. And two, if this is happening in medicine, it is happening elsewhere so I'm going to try and be that bit more compassionate everywhere I go, just in case the people I bump into are having a day like I used to have, or worse. 

So, to round this post off, here are a few pics :)   I don't seem to have any of the outside of the doors - I'll get one.. the orange you can see around the glass here is tape not paint! 

The start of the sanding, so satisfying! But soooooo dusty:

And a pile of sanded and primed drawers, ready for their undercoat.  One stubborn drawer handle wouldn't come out! You can get a glimpse of the fully sanded worktop on the left too, under the orange panel and piece of ply:

 Oooh bright colours! There are the doors :) and those two blues are actually the same paint, both just one coat, as dry as each other - goes to show how much lighting makes a difference :)

I told you it was cold.. and dusty...

And the wood burners! The one of the left needs some cleaning and buffing..  but aren't they pretty??!

 And the obligatory cute hound pic, taken here fast asleep after a two hour walk... 

See you again soon!! x

My leap year thoughts

For all of you used to reading paragraph upon paragraph of wending tale, this blog entry is entirely different.  I finished my last ever job as a doctor one month ago today.  That is a big deal. Despite never really wanting to be a doctor (long story involving rejection from veterinary school) I have poured my heart and soul into it for fifteen years.  Over these last 29 days I have felt an unfurling, a me that isn't really sure what's going on but is excited by the prospect of finding out.  The next few lines are just jottings of thoughts and things that have found their way to the surface of my subconscious and onto the page. 

I am bitter. Not theatrically so, but I am surprisingly resentful of having wound up in my mid thirties not really having a clue who I am or where I am going.  Everyone else's lives seem so 'sorted'.. (of course I know the latter part of this to be absolute rubbish, but my brain can't help tormenting me with that notion).

I adore baking bread. Who knew?

Nobody cares that you are changing direction, but the ones that care about you are proud of you.  And that feels good.  If you are proud of someone, say so, it could change the trajectory of their life.

The more you talk about what you are going through, the more you realise practically everyone has been in the same boat somewhere down the line. Most people have at some point in their lives changed career. And the vast majority do not do at sixty what they did at twenty two. 

Freecycle is awesome.

Night shifts and 14hr weekend shifts are not normal work hours. Crying at work because you are too tired to think is not okay.  Absorbing emotional turmoil from patients, relatives, colleagues and co-workers is not what we were designed to do nor are we supported to cope with.  None of the bad sh*t that went on in hospitals was ever okay. It was traumatising and crushing and stressful and silenced.

Dog walks in the sunshine are about as restorative and healing as it gets.

So is wine. Particularly when drunk with best friends. 

Having the whole world as your oyster seems at the beginning harder than walking a single path. But secretly, if you hang in there long enough to find out, having the whole world is magical.

Creativity blossoms when it is given space to breathe.

Breathing is good.

Baking my way across Europe, amongst other things..

Over the last week I have sanded, sawn, drilled, painted, swept, glued and more..  in fact at one point I almost set fire to the truck through a misplaced vigour, an angle grinder and some rather ignitable dust. I am having the best time. I really can't believe how much fun I am having, and how much satisfaction I get out of this process.  Dad joins me in the truck each morning and nods approvingly at the progress, much to my delight. We take a tour of the previous days work, coffee in hand, and problem solve the issues that are set to challenge me in the day ahead.  He is not only a wonderful companion to have alongside, but he is also a fountain of great engineering wisdom, and an endless font of stories that start with "Well, you probably want to...." which usually include advice as well as an anecdote about how badly it went for him in the past when he tackled a similar problem...

Alas, to most people the truck today would look almost identical to last week, such is the visible pace of progress! Things are moving along and my mind is constantly busy planning the next stage.  When I don't have a power tool in my hand I am doing my best to drink in any knowledge that will aid my quest for life without money.  This week's spotlight goes to one of mankind's greatest inventions: bread. Stay with me! This is not any old bread - but a slowly fermented, easy to digest, crispy on the outside, springy and hearty on the inside, oh so good with any topping, king of breads: sourdough.  

How did I end up here? Well, one of my very good friends Alix is a master sourdough baker, so much so that she won a competition whose prize was a 60 year old sourdough starter.  Now to most people (myself included before I read up on the subject) that sounds old and undesirable.  But it turns out that sourdough has this magical ability to live forever, and these super aged starters are the bees knees and uber desirable amongst keeno sourdough bakers.  How curious.

What's more, to make a sourdough starter (which is basically a gloup with live yeast in it that you have to feed and cull to allow it to grow and paradoxically also not kill itself in a bath of self-made acid) all you have to do is leave flour and water out in a bowl - the environment, as in, any environment anywhere, has yeast spores wafting around and miraculously somehow they arrive at the flour water mix and start doing their thing, becoming sourdough starter. Oh I am hooked!  So here began a foray into the world of starters, sponges, kneading, dutch ovens (no sniggering!), and the illustrious search for the 'perfect' loaf. 

So we return to Alix and her prized (literally) geriatric sourdough starter Llud. I have explained one way to make a starter, the other way is to lure one to your house with the promise of a slow roast lamb supper for it's owner.  Much to my delight not only did Alix bring Llud but she also brought with her enthusiasm enough to write me an idiots guide to sourdough whilst we sat, bellies full of roast, by the fire.  

Which brings me up to last night.  With Alix's generous gift of some very prestigious, highly sought after starter gloup and her personal recipe tweaks, I began measuring and pouring, mixing and kneading with gay abandon. You can imagine my absolute delight when out of the oven came a truly magnificent looking loaf.  It literally took me sitting on my hands to prevent myself from slicing into it immediately (Hugh Fearnley-Wittingstall frowns upon this, advising to leave the bread to rest for 20 minutes or so http://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2013/may/10/hugh-fearnley-whittingstall-recipes-sourdough ). So, having gathered my mother, some salted butter and a carton of hummus, at last I sliced into the loaf.  

Now, I, as much as anyone would expect the first pass at any baking attempt to be a bit of a disaster, much like the rubbishy first pancake of a batch that you always end up feeding to the dog.  But I have to say, I managed to impress myself! It remains to be seen whether I can reproduce the same quality of product next time round, or whether it was beginners luck.  But whatever the case, today we have dined handsomely.  All that Puck needs now is a wood burning stove with an oven compartment to allow me to continue this adventure and bake my way across Europe..

Knife ready, obediently waiting for the torturous twenty minutes to be up:

That's right, half the loaf has gone. Into my tummy.

One or two truck snaps of what I have been up to this week.. the back door frame is now caulked, the doors are sanded and repaired.  The double glazing unit I had made is now fitted and I have fashioned an insulated panel that fits below.  All the bare wood is now primed with aluminium primer, just waiting for me to decide on colours...

The aftermath of priming with aluminium..

And the obligatory cute shot of the doggie curled up by the fire :)

Friends, friends of friends and friends of friends of friends..

Six degrees of separation. That used to be the rule of thumb.  You could reach anyone in the world through a chain of six contacts. I read an article recently that says, with the explosion of social media, that six degrees has now shrunk to three.  That is mind-blowing to me, completely mind blowing.  But perhaps quite useful...

You see I have two schools of thought jousting for top spot in my head when it comes to organising my year ahead.  One says 'be free!!' 'just go without a plan and see where the journey takes you'.   The other has an almost German sense of efficiency and planning, wishing to thoroughly research countries, opportunities, places of interest etc...it's bordering on spreadsheet territory.  And I think we all agree that is distinctly uncool and is in desperate need of being reined in.

One thing I know from previous travels is that friendly faces - the best being friends of friends - are the most important glue to keep loneliness at bay and help maintain a good sense grounding and purpose.  The added benefit of local insider knowledge and the promise of an occasional hot shower make a scribbled note with a name and address on it all the more precious.

So here it is. My plan. And it relies in it's entirety on you, my friends and family, to start the chain reaction.  Over the next couple of months I will be compiling research on countries in mainland Europe.  What I would like from you is a goldmine of little nuggets.  Nuggets like locations of cathedrals in unheard of cities that just have to be visited so as to stand there mesmerised by their beauty and solace.   Apothecaries whose shelves stock the same ingredients as one hundred years ago and whose methods remain unchanged.  Hidden gardens.  Enchanting forests. An unmarked wooden door whose paint is bleached and curled by the sun, that leads you to the finest food imaginable.

But most, from you all, I would like the most precious gift. Your friends. For those of you who feel comfortable, I would love you to introduce me to friends of yours in Europe, friends who you know would be completely relaxed and open armed when a wind blown, sun-bleached, callous handed girl, her curious dog and her big ol' truck bowl up the road and knock on their door.

My pie in the sky intention is to set up a private website (I am a complete technophobe! but trying! any advice there too would be amazing!) to which you can go and enter their details on a little interactive map and a little about them and I can go online too, and plot my travels to incorporate them.  The bit about the website is all in my head still so the reality is more likely that we do it all by email.  But wouldn't that be amazing?! To travel in the old fashioned sense, handed from friend to friend.  I wouldn't ask anything of these lovely gentlefolk, just company, kindness and juicy little secret local facts about nature and exploring, and perhaps the next place to stay.

So here is step one. Letting you all know!

I would appreciate your thoughts, ideas and help...

Welcome 2016! Who are you? What are you going to bring? And where is that horsebox?

January didn't seem significant to me this year, that is, right up until the very end. I know it is the traditional month in which people scrutinise their lives and promise themselves all sorts of new good behaviours but I've never been one for New Year Resolutions. As it happens, 2016 looks set to be a very interesting transition year for me. It feels big, bold, intimidating and exhilarating. I hope this blog entry will introduce you to my 2016 and the wondrous adventures that await.

It's been a roller coaster: disillusioned by my career - 15 years in the making, with the weight of 'should' and 'ought' laying heavily on my shoulders. Finding myself at my wits end from struggling to support someone very close to me in a deep depression. Calling out to my soul, searching for my mission in life. My 'something' to pour my passion and talent and energy into. With all this I am breaking. Quietly.

I wanted to collapse and fall into oblivion. Float off into timeless, weightless nothing.

This is how I felt only last week. Too weighed down to even be able to get out of bed. Motionless with a million worries whirring through my head. My logic dictating that I should, and can, get up and get going. “Reach out” it says encouragingly, “Flip the duvet back, sit up and get up. It's not too much to ask” But nothing happens. The connections in my brain are gummed up with some kind of thick syrupy quagmire and I just can't seem to fight through it.

This can't be right. This can't be happening to me. I am young, bright, successful. Ask anyone – I am a happy go lucky bouncing ball of light. So why am I lying on my bed on a work day finding myself calling in sick because I can't seem to get out of bed.

This isn't the first time I have been here. I laid in bed almost motionless for three days when I lived in New Zealand. And if you knew my life then you'd be hard pressed to find fault with it. Beautiful weather, stunning scenery, gentle, energetic, explorer friends and a perfect career path carved out. But that's the point. It can happen to anyone. At any time.

On the third day I managed to get myself up and going again. Purely based on the knowledge that I had it in me to overcome whatever I was feeling. I literally tore myself from this comfortable, destructive womb I was hiding in and forced myself to wash, get outside and coax myself back into functioning. I had no idea what was going on with myself. I'd felt 'down' in the past, but this was a new level for me. The following weeks I struggled to function at work. I couldn't concentrate, I couldn't multitask, I struggled to retain information in my head – things that usually I had at the tips of my fingers. Senior colleagues became irritated which made me feel even more guilty. I walked around in a veiled reality, almost dissociated from my body, floating along, numb. It didn't occur to me to ask for help. In fact this is the first that anyone in my life will have heard about my experience.

Not long later I was working a night shift, and sought out a quiet spot to sit for a while. On the table next to me was a leaflet entitled 'Are you stressed?' For want of anything better to do I picked it up and read the 10 bullet points inside. I answered 'yes' to almost every one and as I read on it slowly dawned on me how incredibly stressed I was. This may sound ridiculous, but it came as such a relief! Maybe some of what I had been feeling was a product of stress! It's not me failing! There is a reason why I have seemingly ground to a halt. That was six years ago and I still remember that absolute feeling of elation and gratitude upon recognising how much stress I was carrying. There was something tangible, something constructive that I could get to grips with to help get myself back on track. And I did. And it worked.

So, lying paralysed on my bed in Devon last Friday, I reflected back to this experience and began to look at my life now. So many parallels, so much stress. So insidious. So destructive.

Ironically that was my last day of work. I had put my resignation in several months earlier, having recognised that a small English hospital was never going to be able to provide me with the challenges and opportunities that my life demanded. The big question of 'What next?' loomed.

I have been struggling with being a doctor ever since I entered medical school. Not that it's too hard – I love the challenge and the detective work, I thrive on extremely challenging intellectual problems and I have been encouraged and congratulated at every turn. I have just never really, passionately, wanted to do it – I sort of fell into it after failing to get into Veterinary School. But how do you leave a profession that is really all you know? By virtue of the fact that it has taken me 15 years, you can imagine the gravity with which I consider this decision. Questions like, who am I? What do I want to do with my life? What are my priorities? How do I want to express myself? What part of the world do I want to live in? vie with the more nerve wracking questions like why are you giving up a secure salary? What happens if you fail? What on earth are you going to do? Are you mad? What happens if you decide you want to go back to medicine?

All of which makes for a stressful inner dialogue. I am a very bizarre mix of happily throwing myself outside my comfort zones (cue moving to Panama to run a medical charity without speaking Spanish..) whilst simultaneously fearing failure. And this has led to a lifetime of trying to let go of the two words that featured very early on in this blog: 'should' and 'ought'.

So here I sit at the beginning of February contemplating the year ahead.  Intimidated by the enormity of the possibilities out there, exhilarated by having actively made the space and time to find out what I truly want, knowing that the choices I need to make are big and bold.

But voices are clamouring in my ear.. 'all very interesting, but what about the horsebox???'

At this point I will change gear. Lift off the deeper, more thoughtful layers of myself and return to the effervescent excitement of creating a wondrous home on wheels. Puck the Magic Wagon as she is now affectionately known is emerging like a butterfly from a chrysalis.

Hours and hours of behind the scenes work have been going on. So many hours! So much dust! So many splinters! Endless little bits of grit in my eyes. The squeaking of insulation foam being cut. The pure satisfaction as it slides perfectly into place. Or the pure aggravation that it doesn't and you have to saw half an inch off, leading to powder and particles spraying up and covering everything from head to toe in cream coloured little fluffy pieces. The yards and yards of caulking squeezed from tubes and smoothed into shape. The umpteen trips to the hardware store, mulling over which drill bits or screws or plywood to buy. Oh how I LOVE IT!! Only in rock climbing do I feel the same kind of pure joy and sense of achievement.

Much of what has been done is invisible to the eye as it has all been covered over with plywood, and even that in places has been covered over with oak. So you will have to trust me a little on this one.

Now, when you last saw her she looked a bit like this:

Gutted, holes repaired, with the 2x2 and 2x4 batons going in for the insulation and walls. 

After all those trips to the shops for materials:

And the squeaky sawing of insulation and precision sawing..

 We ended up with an insulated floor and walls, ready to decorate for summer parties!:

Complete with an enviable larder/booze cabinet:

 Even Buddha joined in..

And come nightfall, out came the candles..

But no amount of magic could distract from the reality of rain and the embarrassing eventuality of being towed out of the field when it was time to go home! 

Hosed down, packed away and home from a summer frolicking, I received the BEST birthday present a truck dwelling girl could ask for... a digital radio! 

And so onwards went the work.. more insulating, more panelling, lots of discussions with carpenters, caravanners and endless hours reading forums online.   My attire has even lent itself to the country style since living in Devon and absorbing the wonderful ethereal ancient energies that permeate the land.

Something I had always wanted was a beautiful, show stopping floor.  And through UKHardwoods I found what I was after - they are a wonderful father and son sawmill in North Devon who not only work with sustainable, responsibly managed woodland, but their entire set up (huge machines included) runs off solar from their solar farm.  I went to visit them and decided on beautiful full length (4.3 metres) 20cm wide English oak planks that were sourced from an Estate only 20 miles away.  

Upon their arrival I enrolled the help of a lovely local builder and general handyman of amazingness, Simon, to help me cut and lay them.  I think it took us the best part of an hour just to decide in what order to lay them down! So many lovely grains and patterns and colours.  Eventually we decided and cut them to length.  But I was still in for a treat, the wood was unwaxed so I had the enormous pleasure (absolutely not being sarcastic - it is so satisfying!) of waxing the floor and watching the colours and markings come up so beautifully.  

Following this timeline it is now November and Puck has moved to North Devon.  I had a bit of an ebay spree (as you can see by the sideboard in the previous pic that will become the basis of my kitchen!) and purchased a pair of gorgeous French windows that I wanted to fit to the back of the truck.  However, I was not going to balls it up.  This was a job for a real carpenter.  It just so happens that my darling godfather has an equally lovely, generous friend living in North Devon who owns a farm.  He also happens to manage woodland, has a very comprehensive woodworking shop, and a resident carpenter. It can't get any better than that I hear you say! But yes it can.. this carpenter is (as you would imagine) also lovely, and after eagerly accepting the challenge, was on a time limit and wanted to get it completed ASAP.  So there I was, surrounded by interested lovely people who were eager to get the job done quickly.  

Well, the woodwork was beautiful and now I have not only a charming pair of doors hung, but a beautiful frame and the space for a window too:

The last few weeks have been absolutely torrential rain in Devon, so the poor little truck has been having quite a winter.  Fortunately she seems to be holding up just fine, and last week she moved back to her old spot in Ashburton.   Now that I have stopped work, the plan is to drive her up to mum and dad's so that dad and I can potter together and hopefully get all structural projects finished by the time Spring really springs. 

So it's farewell for now! I promise to send much more regular updates! On both the truck and life.. One of my thoughts for the summer is to drive over to mainland Europe and challenge myself to live without money for six months.  Working on the ethos of exchanging goods and services instead of cash, I hope to learn about myself, the communities around me and develop every and any aspect of my life through the challenges and moments of inspiration.  I'd love to know your thoughts!

PS for those of you who have not met the latest member of the Parker family - this is Skyla my dog!! She's a staffie/whippet cross, 1.5 yrs old.. I've had her 4 months and she is an absolute dream.  She has a pet passport so will be joining me on my adventures! 

Demolition 101

Having lived in Puku for a couple of weeks now, I've been itching to gut the interior and begin the transformation from trusty horse lorry to Amazing Adventure truck of Awesomeness. I have a little leather notebook dedicated to Puku that I write/sketch/draw in every day.  I have everything from scale floor plans to hanging vege garden ideas scribbled inside.  All very daydreamy and exciting.

Finally, today was the day we took hammers and crowbars to the interior: After a punishing 24 hour shift at work I woke early this morning, poked my dad with my toe as he slept in the cabin below and encouraged him to get on the road - we were driving Puku down to her next home in Oxfordshire where she will be worked on by my dad and I (and a vast array of other interested friends) over the next few weeks.

Coffee in hand, trundling along the M56, miles were passing painfully slowly. Huge great articulated lorries were overtaking us by the dozen and we couldn't work out why - didn't they have the same speed limit as us? Another hour passed and without a radio we were wondering if we could keep eachother company for the endless hours we looked to be in the road.  Then slowly a sinking feeling filled me, our speedometer was in km/hr.. we (when I say we, I mean Dad) had been piously driving along the motorway at 60kph, that's 37 mph. For two hours. That's a grand total of 84 miles. Ouch.

Shaking our heads and with every bone in our bodies tickled with laughter we sped off into the horizon and arrived home by lunchtime.  Aside from taking a large tree branch off whilst reversing (my fault this time), we arrived home without hazard and set about dismantling the interior dividers that separates the horse and the living compartments. Easier said than done. This box had been made to last. Crowbars, circular saws and plenty other pieces of kit have been employed throughout this afternoon to fell the partition and dismantle the seating.

Tired and extremely satisfied, tonight I sleep in my old bedroom in the house as the dust settles in Puku and we get ready for round two tomorrow..

Here are a few pics from today:

Puku looking pretty pleased with herself hanging out with the HGV's:

The 'before' shot:

The first screw coming out!

Half way there.. a lot more work than it looks!

Getting there..

Nasty tack-on panelling and hideous horsey paraphernalia all had to go!

Et voilà! Day one complete. Next stop? Taking off the rest of the panelling, including the roof, pulling up the floor in the horse half and binning that horrible little sink/hob combo!! Not that I didn't love having it last week to cook my bangers and mash with.. ❤️

Week one in pictures..

Day 1 and I'm in! Along with all my belongings.. Thank goodness for all that space in the horse part:

I walked to the local cafe for takeout and a rainbow appeared overhead on my way home!  Must be a good omen:

Home, tired, hungry and happy. Supper number one, not the most glamorous of meals but food has never tasted so good!

Hmm, night falls. Didn't think about electricity. 

Day three and electricity came, for a short while.. until I moved the truck, forgetting she was plugged in, and snapped the hook up. Mr Clarke (my A-level physics teacher) would have been proud: I stripped the wires (with a bread knife), re-connected the ends, insulated them with spare cable covering and crossed my fingers. Well, more like, crossed my fingers, moved the gas bottle out the way, hid behind a wall and flicked the switch:

And hey presto! My newly purchased LED sticky-back wall lighting shone into existence:

and so I got busy putting it up. It provides a much warmer glow than the picture portrays..

(you'll be pleased to hear that since then, not only has my lovely neighbour fixed my cable properly, but I have installed a massive solar panel to give me all the energy I need 😎)

Day four and trouble is brewing. One of the flat owners is out to get me. Gypsies and traveller folk are very common up here (unlike hippies, who seem to stick to the warm, tolerant womb of the South West) and have a very bad rep. I've heard second and third hand that this person wants me gone, despite everyone else being wonderful and warm and welcoming.  I put this sign in my window to try and speak with him - he's not introduced himself and doesn't live in the building so I have no way of being able to talk to him.  You'll see I've signed Dr Parker - that's because he thinks it's a man living here!! That's how little he knows! 

Nevertheless, home improvements continue! Saturday morning I went to a really sweet little garden centre. I got so excited and nearly bought everything in sight! I have plans to put hooks on the outside of Puku to hang box planters so that I can have flowers, herbs and veggies growing.. This visit I made do with some Busy Lizzie's (apt I thought!), a Moroccan mint so I could make tea, and some sunflower plants to bring happy sunshine vibes:

I still need a few more old pots to make it look pretty, but it's a joy coming home to a green step:

Celebrate! Not only do I have cute plants but I have gas. I swapped my old bottle today (Sunday) and just in time - the weather has turned so the stove is doubling up as a heater.. I can not wait to cook a lazy Sunday breakfast next weekend!! 

I LOVE my neighbours ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I came home to this! I can only surmise that this is their response to Martin the Mean saying I have to leave the back yard by tomorrow...  Brilliant!!!! He can't argue with that!!

That's it for now... I'll let you all know how Martin the Mean takes the blockade..

The morning after the night before..

I'm sitting on my sofa, sipping some french press, listening to the morning chorus as the sun streams in through the open windows and door.  I don't think I've been this excited about waking up since I stopped believing in Father Christmas...

Going to sleep up in my little cubby hole last night was so lovely, it felt like a cocoon. There's room for my queen sized mattress so I'm not exactly slumming it but height is a premium - with the mattress there I can't sit up tall in bed... but to be fair right now I don't care! In a week I suspect my view will have shifted towards one of structural design, welding and roof heightening. Or just blasphemy.

As for personal grooming/living, there are a few "must buy" items: the obvious (I mentioned last night),a gas tank to allow me to start cooking, and a brown water tank to collect my waste water - brushing my teeth last night I realised my sink emptied onto the path beneath me. Holding frothy toothpaste in my mouth whilst putting on shoes to go and find a suitable spot to spit reminded me of the many pieces to this puzzle, and the long long road to conversion I have ahead of me. 

This was just meant to be a little hurrah! piece.. I have to get to work :) but now the ball is rolling and the mighty project has begun I will be sharing the ride: the good, the bad and the ugly, as often as I get the time..

The simple things give the greatest pleasure: my first morning, my first coffee.

And the realisation of the chaos within! Usually when my house is in chaos it reflects my mind, but today I have great clarity and calmness.

The day has finally come!!

As I lie here, nestled in my duvet, my whole body is fizzing with excitement.  My toes are subconsciously curling and I can't stop smiling. I think you have guessed why...  I am no longer in my airy, double glazed Georgian flat, I am tucked away in Puku's little sleeping cabin for the very first time.

At about 7pm tonight, after several hours of packing and cleaning, I set the burglar alarm and closed the door of my flat for the very last time.  I squeaked with excitement, bounced down the stairs and drove my car, laden with my worldly possessions, off towards my new home. Not far mind you: three streets and thirty seconds later I swung into my new driveway to be greeted by Puku peeking at me from behind the dangling branches of a beautiful horse chestnut tree.

This may seem like a fairly simple undertaking, but the journey we have both been on just to get to this point is worthy of a moments reflection and and celebration.  This is my dream coming true. 

Some people see vehicles as mere objects, but this old girl has a beautiful energy.  She feels like a grandmother, inviting you in to her gentle, loving, mischeivous heart. And as I began to unload my boxes, I sensed a new partnership, a vow to future adventures, form. Which may explain why the pair of us have already had a scrape with the local law enforcement..

But that's a tale for another day.  Right now I need to figure out how I'm going to pee. In my excited flurry to move in I seem to have neglected to plan for natures most basic of callings..

Mmm, bubbles and beautiful views.

Meal number one amongst all my piles of possessions? It has to be take away as I sit and dream about the interior design challenges ahead of me!