Steve wanted me to call this post ‘When my waters broke’, and you’ll see why: it’s another tale of well-intentioned incompetence, I’m afraid. Apparently, losing one’s RV on the first day of travelling (see previous blog here) was only the start of our troubles. It turns out there is a lot, lot more that can go wrong.
A false sense of security
We set off to France with only a carry-on water container and a couple of plastic bottles of eau. But hey, we are going straight to a campsite and it’s going to be fine.
At the lovely Municipal sight in Sees, we fill our water tank to the one-third level because we only plan to stay a night or two. We reckon that amount will be sufficient, plus it’ll save us loads of emptying time when we de-camp.
We think we are being really clever here. We are not.
For some reason, by Friday evening we’ve run out of water, and we genuinely have no idea why. We’ve done no laundry and have used the shower block to get clean. Oh well – we’re going to move on in the morning, anyway, and it’s always best to drive without loads of water sloshing around. I put a bucket of water by the loo to flush with, and fill up jugs and water bottles at the tap, to keep us going.
De-camping
We’ve got this down to about half an hour or so, if we really shift.
First, we pack all the heavy things into my car. Then I put everything that isn’t nailed down into a secure place – so kettle, books, fruit bowl, toothbrush pot, spare loo roll, foot stool etc., etc., etc., all safely stowed, mostly in sinks. We lift all the mats, fold down the table, and bring in the slide-out.
The awning needs to be rolled back in and secured, and the outside chairs flattened and stored. Then all the levellers have to be raised and the boards beneath them packed into side lockers. We disconnect from the electricity and unplug everything else. We wind down the TV aerial, do a last check, and are ready to move.
Then, to set up camp again, the whole lot gets reversed, except the levellers can take ages to get right as it’s me sitting on the floor with a spirit level and one finger on the button.
But…
We don’t go the next day because my CFS kicks in, and I have to have a rest day. Then Steve realises that the adaptors he’s been sold, to connect to the French LPG tanks, are incorrect. This is a concern, as we’re getting low on gas now (for the cooking, and heating the water, and keeping the fridge and freezer going when we were driving).
He contacts the Company that sold them, who admit they’ve had a ‘bad batch’. They agree to send a replacement by courier, to arrive on Monday morning. Today is Saturday, but it shouldn’t be a problem: I am resting and we’ve planned a day out for Sunday. How much water will we really need? So, out of sheer laziness, we spend another two days with the bucket system.
To make good use of the time, Steve does all the jobs that have accrued including fixing the washer on the bathroom sink. Our ancient taps are ones that normally face east and west, except the cold tap is now facing north, and he thinks I’ve over-tightened it and it will break soon.
By Monday afternoon we are fed up with the lack of water, and are getting impatient. Just before the campsite closes, the bloody gas adaptors finally arrive. But it is now too late to travel, so we spend another night with buckets and water bottles. This whole luxe-camping thing is beginning to be a bit of a joke.
On Tuesday morning we enthusiastically de-camp. We empty the waste, and then connect the hose to put some much-needed water back into our tank. We usually go for just enough to flush the loo, and make a few cups of tea en route, but this time we’re going for a goodly amount, as we don’t want to be stuck without water again.
And that’s when my waters break
Or something does, because water suddenly starts pouring out of Georgie and flooding the tarmac. I quickly turn off the hose, and contemplate the idea that the reason our water ran out so quickly is that we clearly have a massive leak somewhere. Shit, shit, shit, shit.
So we have no choice but to drive off towards Saumur with the bucket system in place again. Trying to keep the loo-water bucket steady in the bath whilst driving isn’t easy, as it’s one of those fold flat affairs and it keeps collapsing. But we get there.
Grown-up problems
We find an Aire to spend the night in, and investigate the water problem. We’re very unsure what will happen if we try to put water in Georgie. Damp is the very devil in an RV.
Our water tank is under our bed, and Steve checks everything under there. It seems to be dry – ergo, the leak must be in the pipework. Oh hell. Probably under the bathroom sink then, behind that tiny little cupboard, or under all the built-in and carpeted side panels. Double shit and hell.
And that’s when I look in the sink, which is hard to see, because this is where I put all the bathroom things that mustn’t roll around when we are travelling.
And it’s full of water.
‘Er, Steve – you know when you fixed that tap?’ I say.
‘Yes, why?’ he replies, innocently.
‘Well, I think you fucked something up, sweetheart’, (or words to that effect) I say.
But seriously, what could he have done to the pipework, to make water come into the bathroom sink instead of filling the tank? He’s brilliant at this sort of thing: it doesn’t make sense.
Well, we just have to find out, because our buckets are empty again. So we try to connect to the water and electricity at the Aire, only to find they are both switched off. We leave Georgie there, and drive around Saumur until we find a campsite that can accommodate us. It’s getting late now, we still have the sodding buckets, and the additional problem of what to do about the leak.
And the embarrassing bit is…
We screech into the campsite and hook up the hose. I’m standing in the bathroom this time, ready to yell at Steve to turn the water off if it starts to gush, and flood the van. He turns it on and water promptly starts pouring out of the bathroom tap.
Out of instinct, I turn the tap all the way off, i.e. back facing north – the way it was before he ‘fixed’ it.
And the water stops. It just stops. I turn it on; water comes out, I turn it off; it stops. Also, the tank fills up properly and the loo flushes.
The tap may look wrong, but it doesn’t leak. In fact, nothing leaks. We’ve gone eight days – EIGHT DAYS – without water, because we’ve been trying to fill the tank with the bloody tap still on.
Honestly, I know I’ve said to everyone, ‘come and stay, whenever you want’, but we are complete arses and you’re better off where you are.
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