is there poodle in my noodle

Good morning friends and family from a rubbish-strewn car park in Dorchester, where we look out upon a gloomy and overcast Tuesday morning. A delapidated public toilet door swings sadly on its broken hinges and melancholy seagulls mew overhead, while rush-hour traffic rumbles by a few metres away. The stuff of sadness and despair you may think. But no; for us, it represents the first day of our European adventure; a blank canvass and an as-yet unwritten story of do and dare.

We have, since not long after our serendipitous rendez-vous on Tinder, been planning this excursion into the unknown. A journey that would put a bomb under our old predictable lives and force us to make big decisions about the next chapter. We would just see where the shrapnel fell; maybe it would conclude back in the familiar routines of the UK – or perhaps to a new life in sunnier climes. After six years of talking about it, here we are, peering out at this miserable car park, our excitement levels vibrating off the chart like a box of randy hamsters.

Longer-term van life is a concept we have regularly discussed with curious parties. The concept of quitting jobs, renting the house out, and living in a 10m² box with another human invites a host of responses ranging from ‘you lucky bastards’ to ‘have you completely lost your minds’.

Admittedly having no real bills to pay, no job and no commitments allows an enviable existence. Meanwhile it is also true that it presents a cohort of challenges which really counter the romantic notions of #vanlife. Living cheek by jowl with your beloved through times of extended inclement weather, unexpected bowel movements and raging PMT can push the most devoted couple to their limits. Maintaining a dignified standard of physical presentation, ensuring you don’t somehow end up in a commune with a mono-dread and dream catchers woven into a home-knitted stripey onesy. Last night, for example, I had to remind Jem that it was a sackable offence to wear crusty whiffy running trainers out for a birthday meal at Pizza Express as he could not be bothered to rummage around in the inpenetrable chocka-block boot for his fancy kicks.

We have taken up new hobbies to fill downtime. Jem has so far kitted himself a fancy new scarf and I have taken up crochet and am creating a mystery project 🤔

Crochet has become some kind of existential metaphor, where sometimes the outcome can look quite pleasing, and sometimes, with no rhyme or reason, it is just a wonky and slightly embarrassing mass of interlocking yet indistinguishable fluffy threads which unravel while flipping the proverbial bird.

My project, which started out as a 3 inch x 3 inch square, is growing legs and this morning Jem threatened to banish it from his beloved knitting bag as it was infringing on his wool stash. What will this wooly behemoth become? Who knows. The most important thing is to sit back and enjoy the process.

Anyway, we are now off into the grey mists of Dorchester, which hosts the Maumbury Rings, a Neolithic henge created some 2,500 years ago. Photos to follow!