Muddy Marge

Winton. nr: Bournemouth.

Oh, what a beautiful morning, well as far as the weather was concerned. By eight thirty the RAC patrolman had arrived. After some discussion and diagnosis of Marge her auxiliary belt was removed, which seemed to ease her problem, at the same time meaning she could now not be driven anywhere. It was decided she would be recovered to a garage near Bournemouth and that we'd probably be on our way home this afternoon. 

So, we sat outside the campsite reception and shop, by now the only people on the site and waited for the recovery vehicle. In fact, we waited for four hours.

At one o'clock a very large recovery truck appeared, the driver heavy handily loaded Marge on the back, tied her down and whisked her away. We felt bereft as she disappeared down the lane rocking and rolling. Don't worry Marge we will catch up with you soon, reassured by the driver that a taxi was en-route to collect us. Once again, we waited, and waited until two hours after Marge left the taxi arrived.

Finally, reunited with Marge the news was not good. The parts for her would not all arrive until Tuesday. What! Where would we stay?

Hotel stays at the moment are only for business. O.K. How would we get home if we left her.? We'd used our onward journey up to travel to the garage. And we couldn't return until Thursday as John has his second covid vaccination booked for Tuesday. Any suggestions anybody? A call to the RAC by the garage got things moving. Put Marge on another recovery vehicle and send her home! But what about us, we couldn't travel in the cab with the driver because of covid.

The garage staff seeing a few hundred pounds slipping away, suddenly announced parts would arrive at eight o' clock in the morning and we could sleep in Marge on the garage forecourt overnight. Mentally exhausted by the last eighteen hours, we unhappily had to go with it. 

Early evening we ventured out up the main street, comforted by the fact that the police station was fairly near by. Please Marge, don't attract attention like you normally do. In search of comfort food 'Lots of Rice' took our fancy and turned out to be a great choice.

Chinese food that smelt and tasted like Chinese food used to. 

We are a little sceptical about our overnight stop, it's the sort of place we would normally avoid. Angela just wants to return home now, but in her ear she can hear Marge say, 'toughen up girl'. 

Earlier John said, if he wrote his memoirs he'd call the them 'Out for a Drive'. What do you think Marge?

Hopefully we'll survive the night, and bring you news of a full recovery for Marge tomorrow.