Thursday, 21 September 2017

A curtailed diary of a new motorhome owner.

The day I won the lottery was the day I’d taken the cat to the vets. She’d had all her jabs and I’d even had a certificate saying she was healthy enough to be taken abroad. A pussycat passport, provided ‘free of charge,’ by the vet who had just fleeced me half a month’s wages for the moggy MOT. I had no intention of taking Bosscat abroad, but it was nice to know I could if I wanted to. 
It wasn’t a real life-changing amount, the lottery win, not the vet fees. We were not talking millions. But, it was a welcome injection of cash into a bank balance that had been severely lacking equilibrium. In fact, it was enough to make one of my bucket list dreams come true. 
You see, I’d always wanted to buy one of those luxury motorhomes and travel around Europe; free to go wherever I pleased at a pace that suited me. And now with two hundred thousand British pounds in my account, I could happily take six months off work and get on the road. And thanks to my new cat passport, I could take Bosscat with me. 
Ellie was a beast. (Is it wrong to call your new five-ton motorhome after your ex-girlfriend?) It had all mod-cons, shower, toilet, two TVs, oven, satellite dish, loads of storage, triple lock security and a steering wheel that could convert to left or right-hand drive. To be honest it was nicer than my flat. Maybe six months could turn into forever. 
And it might have to, my boss had not been best pleased. I thought she’d be glad to see the back of the whinging, demotivated, barrel of frowns, but apparently, I’d become indispensable all of a sudden. I gave her an ultimatum, six months off, or I quit. As I started my journey, I had to get used to being unemployed.  
Day 1.
We set off at 7 am. Bosscat curled on the passenger seat, me feeling like the king of the road in my airline type, driver’s seat. Exploring Wales was first on my agenda. It was shocking how little I knew of my homeland. I headed up the A470, the road to heaven, stopping regularly to marvel at the view and to allow the beauty to take my breath. Bosscat slept most of the way, occasionally jumping down to use the litter tray or have a munch of food. I turned off the SatNav and turned left or right on a whim; exploring the mountains, lakes, and reservoirs. I had a bacon butty from one of the many snack vans dotted around the laybys. Then I headed down into Swansea and along to Mumbles and Caswell Bay, where I intended to set up base for the night. 
Spaghetti Bolognaise, red wine, the sunset over the Bristol Channel and Bosscat purring gently beside me. This was the life. 
Day 2
The next day I was up with the lark again. The birdsong, made me feel at one with nature as I lay awake in my gas-guzzling machine. I walked along the beach, feeling the cool sand between my toes as the sun introduced itself to the new day. I considered stripping off and running into the sea but there was a chill in the air so I turned and began to trudge back to the van. 
That was weird, there was smoke coming from the van. More than smoke, flames. Flames leaping into the air, the van was burning down. 
“Bosscat!” I shouted as a ran towards the van but the heat beat me back. “Bosscat.” 
I stood there staring at the flames. Everything I owned of any worth was now crackling and melting in the heat of the fire. Including the lovely Bosscat. A tear ran down my cheek. 
“Meow.” I looked down and saw my cat brushing at my legs. I bent down and picked up my moggy. 
“Looks like the dream is over, whiskers,” I said. 
“Meow,” she replied. 


  1. Reminded me of one of old stories:

  2. Could the Bosscat cause that the vanhome burnt down?

    1. That is a distinct possibility. :-) Maybe I could write the same story from the point of view of the cat :-)