It was a beautiful spring morning and I was enjoying listening to the birds cheeping and chirping in the garden, as I sipped my Earl Grey and nibbled on my Portuguese custard tart. We have a resident crow in our garden and an utterly demented pheasant who was always being trailed by his harem of adoring ladies. I was watching them with a benevolent eye, as the sun glistened off my splendid shiny coat. Top tip for a glossy coat here pals, sardines (to be eaten, not rolled in – sadly).

I was the only inhabitant of Spindle Towers that had managed to surface from our bed chambers thus far. This may have something to do with an impromptu visit the previous day to a spiffy new bar who were also expert purveyors of delightful cocktails. I am sure you have guessed that the pair of wallies who claim to own me (we all know the truth) enjoyed numerous exotic refreshments and were now having a careful and sedate morning recovering their equilibriums. I myself enjoyed a refreshing drink, but unlike them, I know when to stop so I can maintain my dignity. Seemingly I am the only being in the Towers who manages to do so. 

If you can picture the scene. 

One drink…A glowing sense of relaxation and well being, cheerfulness breaks through. 

Two drinks…A growing realisation that the world and its truths had been revealed to them in perfect clarity and they were in fact geniuses.

Three drinks…

Hector begins waxing lyrically about some peculiar new invention that he was going to make in his workshop, his arms wave about in the recognisable flailing ‘engineer’s animation’. He then begans to frantically make notes on the napkin with the waiters biro.

Muvver is curled up in her chair, wrapped in a thoughtfully provided fleece blanket and is tunelessly crooning Puff the Magic Dragon – as you will all know by now, her ‘go to lament’ in times of alcoholic perplexity. She begins to gently sway and a giant tear plops down her face as she experienced a fleeting vision of the beauty of the entire world.

Every time pals, this happens every single time they have as much as a sniff of booze. There is an upcoming family wedding and quite frankly I fear for the pair of them. These occasions are always recorded digitally, ready to provide hours of hilarity in the future. There is an infamous video of grandad Tom throwing some excellent shapes on the dance floor that is still spoken of in hushed tones and reverence. 

Back to today, Muvver eventually wafted very carefully into the kitchen, claimed a mug of emergency tea and informed me Hector was getting a tow bar fitted the following day. 

Well pals, I can barely begin to describe to you the images of this I had whirling through my pointy head. The first question of course was…where would he have it fitted…the various possibilities made me squint and my eyes began to water. The second question was of course couldn’t he have a collar and lead like I do? I began to formulate a reply, when it was explained to me that it was for the car, not Hector and was in readiness for….drum roll, ukulele twang and tooting trumpets…our new caravan – Florence! 

We had sadly waved goodbye to out faithful and beloved Mavis, Campervan extraordinaire and had drifted over to the dark side…to the world of caravanning! As we all know caravanning is the new sexy, and when I clapped my beady peepers on Florence, I was smitten! She is an Eriba, and is a dainty little thing like me. The best news of all is that I would have my own single bed in there, although I think we all know that I will end up on the big bed and my adoring staff will be sardined into mine.

There had apparently been some moments of confusion several days ago when Muvver mistakingly referred to the tow bar as a ball gag, which surprised the lady in the caravan shop. She kept a wide berth from Hector after that, although the nice gentleman gave us some free chocks as we left.

Naturally Muvver claims complete innocence in this wordy mistake. It was like the time they were in a garden centre, paying for their purchases and she asked Hector if he wanted her to hold his fat balls when he paid. I blame her gift for filth on an over exposure to carry on films at an early age…and her hero worshipping of Rik Mayall. Anyway, back to camping. We had planned our first trip away in Dorset and we were currently getting the important things sorted out…the soft furnishings, twinkly lights and a suitable snack store.

As we were off to the Jurassic coast, I was busy preparing my fossil finding outfit. I thought I would be traditional and stick to a hooped crinoline, button boots and a jaunty bonnet. Hector thought he might wear the same, although he also wanted a butterfly net for some reason. Muvver didn’t care what she wore although I expect she will look like a dishevelled bag lady in Dr Martens. 

So as the excitement is building for our next adventure, I must be off as it is time for my perambulation around the garden and to check the drainage in the lower field.

Until next time, pip pip!