16A caravan

A caravan

The riviera

&

a stolen bike

16

1987

The group :- R.E.M.

The song :- it’s the end of the world as we know it

The group:- crowded house

The song:- don’t dream it’s over

The group :- madness

The song :- it must be love.

February

BON VOYAGE

We were just three friends, not great mates more casual friends, but together we all wanted the same ambitions, and one of them was to escape this dreary cold town that languished in the north west of England, I had just celebrated my twenty second birthday, and it was the first birthday in adult hood that I had being a single man, but I was finally coming to terms with that situation after some great adventures last year.

we sat in the goodies our local pub, nursing are third maybe fourth beer, considering life outside the northwest industrial town,

We were mulling over our choices, in life, and where we could go to increase the fun factor in those choices, when out of the blue Michael chips in with “fuck it I’m quitting work tomorrow! and we just go on Monday”

now that’s what jay and I were waiting for, Micheal to fucking grow a set,

to be fair we were going to go on Monday anyway,

we had already decided to fuck him off as he was such a fucking ditherer, and kept brushing us off with delaying tactics,

We toasted our decision, and laid out are plans for the best way forward to achieve our final goal,

which of course was we were going to the fucking French Riviera,

and we were going to live the life of luxury in a sexy little villa,

working in the best places plying our trades on the poor French bastards,

drinking their fine wines, and shagging their most sexiest of women, ( what could go wrong eh!) well you’d be surprised!

let’s just say things didn’t go exactly how we had envisaged it,

To start with we missed the London train which was supposed to be the easiest part of our journey,

now I could blame British rail, you know, leaves on the track and such,

but it was completely all our own doing,

Stupidly we had all decided to stay at my mums together, so we would not be late, also no one could pull out at the last minute if we were together,

so what harm could a couple of beers do before beddybyes,

as it happens it can throw all your fucking dreams out of the window,

you see the couple of beers turned into a session with the three of us all dropping into comas by five am,

So now we’re on the back foot,

We’re on catch up to get to Dover and the ferry to Calais, and let’s not forget the connecting train to Caans, before the final leg to a wonderful place called port Grimaud, Saint Tropez,

Luck though began to swing in our favour,

with the intervention of my old man, he kindly poured us into the back of his car,

and at speed, chased down the train,

Now as the train was a stopper we soon caught up and was aboard in just a couple of stops, and a few stone lighter I might add, from all the vomiting we did on the high speed chase,

now I’ve often looked back fondly at that incident and wondered was my fathers love for me so strong he did not want his middle child’s dreams shattered?

Or was it he wanted to see the fucking back of me and my mates as I regularly woke him and mum at weekends with my drunken antics

Who am I kidding,

the way he took off in a wheel spin before the car doors were even closed pretty much said it all.

London came and went without incident,

which was probably more to do with the fact we all fell asleep for pretty much all of the journey

The next session started soon after we left London,

we all felt some what refreshed, but in need of a cheeky livener,

And as usual things got a bit messy and we ended up drinking with some rugby team on the ferry from Dover to Calais,

and while we said our slurred goodbyes, and a promise to keep in touch, all that was really on our minds, was the life of Riley that lay ahead,

and with that thought in our heads and a dizziness from lashings of beer, we boarded the train for the final leg aboard the choo choo of dreams that we presumed would take us to our first destination of Caans,

where there would be a ride waiting for our transfer to Saint Tropez.

Several hours had passed and several ales been drunk since our departure from Paris,

and we sensed the train slowing to a stop,

now throughout this cross country train journey, not one of the three of us were conscious for all of the journey,

so please forgive the stupidity that lay upon our shoulders, and for the mess we got ourselves into, you see,

when we got off the train and joined the line in front of us with passports at the ready,

not one of us questioned this, and when the guards demanded how much money we would be taking across the border,

Not one of us questioned that,

And not one of us asked why their accents had a hint of Spanish to them,

unlike the French twang we were use to on board the super train,

And there was no questions asked when the stamp came down on our passports with a welcome to Spain my friends,

Yes you've got it,

we did not realise that we had entered a different country,

And without fucking question, we just walked from a French train across the border through many Spanish checks without a fucking clue,

just la la La’ing Along like a group of fucking fuckwits with butterflies circling above our heads and little puppie dogs running round our ankles,

So there we have it,

standing on a railway platform in Spain looking back at France, all in a line, with rucksacks in hand,

buttoning up our jeans and fastening ones belts, after a very intense and solid personalised body search, from some very enthusiastic Spanish border control, scratching our heads on what to do next,

when jay came up with a class idea, “let’s take a stroll down the village connected to this station, find a boozer regroup

have a beer or two, and see what comes up” “Fucking great idea” we both answered in unison, and off we trotted,

the strangest sound echoed around our ears as we past through the station waiting room to the village that lay ahead, it was in fact the music from the Clint Eastwood western the good, the bad, & the ugly, and as we strolled down the dirt paths that lay in front of us, you could sense the silence

with the faint echoes of that classic western blowing with the tumbleweed in the wind, there was an Erie feeling of loneliness,

there were shutters on all the run down low level concrete buildings, and all were locked down,

the village with white washed wall houses reminded me of a Mexican village that always gets ransacked by marauding bandits in many a western movie, was deserted or so it seemed,

just when we had given up on finding a bar and drink, we heard a scratching sound from a distance just off an ally to our left and some sort of grunting sounds from behind, we all managed a look to each other,

then to the left and behind,

and it took no time before we all had it off on our toes like billy whizz!

we had to, it would have been unfair for us to be devoured by the pack of dogs that were now on our tails ready to chew our arses off! The race was on,

could we get to that out building on the edge of town before the mangy looking inbred pack of wolf like creatures caught up,

or is this the time, to choose my best friend out of the two,

then trip the other one up, it would be a worthwhile sacrifice,

thus giving us the time to make it ta safety

but as it was, luck decided to shine on our side,

as we entered the field of dreams on the way to the out building, the sound of gun fire ripped across the sky which startled us all, and we did what any brave little soldier would have done we dived for cover,

but ultimately the sounds of gun fire scared off the pack,

we heard yelps and barks and the sweet sound of paws scattering off into the distance, we had no idea from where the gun shots came, and had no

fucking interest in finding out either,

for all we knew it could have been Clint Eastwood himself,

all we wanted was to get back on track and get back into fucking France,

so all that was needed for this simple matter to be resolved was a short stroll back across a water logged field, up the dirt paths,

past the shuttered up ghost houses full of nobody’s, avoiding pack hounds along the way, and of course gun toting invisible strangers,

then dodge a few Randy Spanish border guards with an unsavoury interest in arse holes,

and voila! Home an dry,

Jobs a fucking gooden,

And so, it all started off well squish squash as we go,

feet getting stuck in the mire, but not to worry things could be much worse than wet feet,

“for fuck sake” cry’s jay, “I’ve gone and lost my fucking Reebok”,

he seemed to have lost his left trainer in the shitted up waterlogged field,

Then Mike chirps up with “just fucking leave it will you, just keep moving, can you not hear the sound of that engine roaring”

and with that, we spot some sort of harvester heading our way,

and as it gets closer it seemed to be firing shit out of its sides, which in hindsight was such an accurate description, as it was a muck cropper spaying its contents all over the fields and the three of us for good measure,

so when we finally reach the outskirts of the ghost town we were literally full of shit,

stinking to high heaven and one trainer short of a full deck,

but hey things could be worse, at least the sun was shining,

BEND OVER

The screaming that came out of the interrogation room, where jay was taken after his cheeky back chat to the Spanish guards, was a noise to be hold,

I said to Micheal, “they must be using something some what bigger than the fist for this internal examination”,

the silly fuck should have kept his mouth shut like mike and me, and he too would now be back on French soil,

the guards I’d say definitely had the right to want to know why three young lads wanted to leave the country they had just arrived in, and also what the story was behind the state we arrived back in

but jay being jay just took the piss, and was now paying the price with a special treat,

when he finally arrived back to us in France, his eyes were glazed over, red and watery and his gait had definitely change,

I’d put him in the John Wayne category of walks.

So second time lucky,

and with a pact of sobriety made,

at least till we arrive to our intended destination,

as we do not wish to be travelling around fucking Europe like drunken fucking nomads bouncing off each country all year,

anyway I don’t think jays arse could take it,

and this seemed to do the trick, we boarded a lovely French train travelling mostly all along the cost, and with just one change we arrived at the right place just the wrong time on the wrong day,

Of course there was no lift waiting to take us to port grimaud the place of our home for the near future,

so we had to get a bus,

which was no mean feat, but we did it and we were proud of ourselves,

we found the camp site no trouble, but now to find jays parents friends who are putting us up and putting us to work,

which was near on impossibly in the dark, and on a massive camp site that we have never seen before, but what we did find was the club house, so let the party begin,

I feel as though I’ve pissed myself, and my eyes,Christ my eyes, there stinging to buggery,

And the sound of the high seas swishing around in my ears, am I dreaming? No that’s when I realised they I very well may have pissed myself, as I was wet, very wet indeed,

infact I seemed to be floating in piss,

drifting is what I was actually doing as I recall,

I opened my eyes to the dark clouds and unfriendly sky,

I was on a beach,

the waves of the sea were enjoying lapping at my half dressed body, and as I turned to get to my knees, I noticed jay and Micheal sat a couple of feet away,

just short of the waves giggling like two bitches sharing a joke at a friends expense

Apparently after the best night of partying with some of the local caravaning communities, we realised we had nowhere to stay,

so as a collective we decided it would be fun to spend the rest of the night sleeping on the beach close to the camp, before seeking our respective employers, and so it was,

except early that morning, the boys neglected to wake me when they realise the waters edge was getting closer,

in affect they left me to fucking drown, but there take on it was for me to take advantage of an early bath.

So we gather our belongings, although somewhat damp, and made for the reception on site to seek information as to where jays friends could be located?

It turns out we were just two hundred yards away, as they live in a luxury static caravan with a sea view, and as it happens with a view of three pricks as well, it developed that they were watching over breakfast the antics of three young pricks sleeping on the beach and nearly drowning for there sins,

After breakfast of coffee and pâté on crackers, (have you tasted pâté? Fucking minging)

We were dropped at a caravan on the other side of the camp, by our now new employers, we were to move in with two old mates from home who had come out before turn of the year and had acquired an eight birth caravan to use as living accommodation fo the season,

now it was the end of February, so it was pretty bloody cold,

but we had a job to do and that was to move dozens of very fucking big caravans, by hand may I add, to there rightful plots before the summer season begins,

and although the weather was only around 15 degrees during the day, the lot of us were sweating are bollocks off

And that’s when the realisation hit us,

we need easier fucking jobs, and once we had finished setting up the camp site there was another site that needed some work, by then we'd had enough and within weeks jay was the first to go, he fucked off to a restaurant called the salad table in a part of port grimaud that looks just like a little Venice, lots of water ways, with little boats dragging holiday makers sound looking lost, and all burnt to fuck from lying on the beach Until the moon appears to tell them to fuck off now, you’re pretty much well done on both sides,

And then they then feel obliged to do the touristy bit,

so they go around and around the water ways till they think there happy,

the salad table sat right on one of these waterways, and jays job of choice was that of a waiter, or in other words that’s all he could fucking get, but very well paid indeed

The very next morning I turn up at the salad table cap in hand drunk as a skunk on my way home from the night before, a fucking good night I’m told by all accounts? So I request an audience with the owner, and I state my case for the job of a waiter alongside my old mucker jay, well suffice to say I did not get the job,

but Peter, Peter head, the owner, definitely took a shine to the young looking boy stood before him,

big blue eyes, gleaming white shiny teeth, a cheeky grin, great arse, and the tendency to forget everything when having alcohol on board, what is not to like ,

well peter obviously did like, as I got the job of dishwasher so fuck off!

Ya gotta start somewhere right, “the only way is up” as Peter reminded me, Often,

Ok so not the most glamorous of jobs but the hours were good, the money was good and the crack was good, and free food to boot,

the only down side for me was being chased subtly by a fucking randy old long blond haired Second hand hippy, who owned a classy restaurant and wanted to shag young boys, probably? Or maybe he could just be the friendliest of blokes,

so a week into the job, and I was summoned one Monday morning,

Well I was to accompany peter on a road trip, now get this,

I was accompanying him in his big camper van,

out to the fucking worldliness, if you can believe that, told pick up some fucking building materials that he needed to finish off some building work at the restaurant,

what fuckin building work? I’m sure i would have noticed the odd fucking wall missing,

or there not being a fucking roof on the establishment,

and anyway why take a camper van when his fucking flat back lorry surely would have suited such a trip?

So many unanswered questions? Well fucked if I'm going anywhere with Peter fucking head,

Yes I went, (what possibly could go wrong)

well the trip started in silence, I was sat in the passages seat gripping the leather upholstery( Déjà vu came to mine) and staring outta the windshield straight ahead like a fucking owl never blinking,

my mouth dry as a desert and sweat enveloping my whole body, and things got earily quieter as the miles clocked up on the odometer, when finally I just broke and shouted out,

“Please for the love of god what is it you want from me,

I’m on fucking pins here sat in silence in my own fucking bodily fluids!”

Peters head did not move but I can see his eyeballs moving towards my direction, which was I feat in its self for me to see, as my eye’s are still fixed straight ahead burning holes into the tarmac with my stare,

the van comes to a complete stop, and peter swivels in his seat, he lays his right hand on me knee, I turn my head to face him,

and as our eyes meet he burst into fuckin hysterics,

well it seems my fuckwit mate, jay was behind this prank, and peter fucking head was only too keen to go along with it!

it seems peter was picking up some paint for a friends villa on the beach, ( which I have to paint by the way! but I’ll leave that story for anther time) and jay thought it’d be hilarious for peter to take me along and show some interest in me, and see how it plays out,

the utter prick, well I’ll tell you how it played out,

I lost two stone in fucking sweat, and I will always believe it was that day that was the cause of my hair loss in my later years,

oh and it got peter head a black eye,

So back at the ranch and the lads and I are getting ready for a big night out when Micheal arrives back at the caravan with two cockney geezers,

he introduces them as our new roomies, he’d meet up with them on occasions, when me and jay were working late at the restaurant, and promised them a bed since they were being evicted from there villa,

so from three we were five, and now we are seven ,the magnificent seven,( have you noticed a lot of western references in this chapter, I just realised)

The evening started at the campsite club house, all seven of us were out together, there was jay me Micheal, then Keith and Brian who were old school mates from warrington, then Alan and the shifty Dave the rave, from London,

now Davey was something of a jack the lad, a skinny lookin six ft lad, with a sparkle in his eyes and a sparkle to his shiny white teeth when he smiled, full of chat and full of shite, as I was soon to learn,

now Davey apparently was setting up a bicycle hire shop and was always on the look out for a bargain, and as the beers flowed he seemed to latch onto me, with stories of riches and the things he’d done, and the things he was gonna do, now don’t forget he was no more than twenty one, so probably had done fuck all, but I was listening, because he was also fun and entertaining, and like me had an eye for the girls,

But this night he had no girls in mind, for his sole purpose for this evenings joviality was to purchase bikes for his dream,

and I was the chosen one to help,

so after a few ales, Dave wondered if I could spare half an hour at a push, as he was to pick up a couple of good second hand bikes from a bloke at the near by sports centre, now as we were all moving onto some fancy boozer I thought why not, a little detour, pick up the bikes, drop them off at the premises that he’d secured earlier in the week, then back on the pop with the lads for a jolly good night out, all within the thirty mins stated by the honest Dave, and with a few scoops in it for me, result,

We arrived at the sports centre within ten minutes, and honest Davey, as I now like to refer to him is shuffling around looking rather jumpy,

his eyes seemed to be darting in all directions, when he points to two bikes chained outside the centre, and in a whisper says “Pierre has left the key in the saddle bag” so we can take them now as I have paid the man in full earlier"

now call me nieve but I at this point did not suspect a thing, and still did not suspect any wrong doing when there was no key,

and if by magic some chain cutters appeared from beneath honest davey’s coat,

The chain dropped to the floor and settled motionless on the gravel next to the untouched lock, jut as the doors of the sports centre swung open,

at the same time I turned to ask honest davey should we not be waiting for this Pierre fella,

but honest Davey was just dust rising from the gravel (playing havoc with my sinuses I might add) as the back wheels of one of the bikes, wheel spun and took off, with a wave and a cheesy grin from honest Davey, and shouting see you at camp, and off he shot,

I took a breath, turned to the commotion not two hundred yards up the stairs at the sports centre, where there were teo gendarmes looking, mouths open, and fingers pointing at me, and me all alone, and ranting some French shite as they looked ready to take flight,

fuck this for a game of soldiers I thought,

and was on the saddle of the second bike and off like a fucking grey hound out of the traps,

i was like a lightening bolt on fucking speed, my legs and feet were at one with the peddles as I glided like a Gazelle over the grasslands of Africa,

and I had to be because the two French fucking gendarmes were on their trotters in pursuit of honest davey and me,

and they were fast, very fucking fast, faster than me I fear,

so drastic action was essential to give oneself a little advantage,

The gendarmes are now closing in on crooked fucking davey because I kicked the bastard just hard enough as I way past him, just enough for his bike to take a wobble, and cascade down a banking at the side of the road and into a ditch, "who’s laughing now you cockney fucking rebel" was my passing comment as I disappeared into the distance.

And a quick check behind me as I slowed my pace,

and when I was sure I was not followed, I turned into the camp site and to the spot where cocky crooked honest davey’s lock up should be,

but all I could see was a big second hand tatty family tent that had seen better days,

and definitely would not stand up to a minor rain shower,

I was also shocked to see davey sat on a deck chair next to the tent, smoking a rolly,

a beer in hand and a smile on his battered mud caked face, he definitely would not pull the woman of choice tonight! his torn trackkies he was wearing stank of shit, in fact he stank of shit, he looked like shit, and he had probably been rolling around in shit, so all in all you would think he’d had a pretty shitty day,

but no Davey just nodded and spoke quietly,

he said “fair play you northern bellend, all’s fare in love and war”

with that he stood put a stinky arm around me opened the zip of the tent where there was a graveyard of bicycles and bicycle parts on top of each other,

the One i was riding would be joining this pile of shite shortly,

I turned to honest davey looked him in the eyes and said you have got to be kiddin me,

With that we smiled to each other,

and I wondered what tomorrow would bring