Read 'em and weep...

Eighteen minutes.

That's what it said on the box.

I should have guessed that it was going to be trouble, as the erection time had already increased by 50% by the time the husband had re-read the box.

The awning, ladies.  I'm talking about the awning...

I had told the husband that because we couldn't have a run through at home (the awning arrived forty minutes before we left yesterday) that he should look on t'internet for a video of how to do it.  Well he did, but as it was speeded up (think Benny Hill final credit chase) I'm not too sure it was much help.

Having dropped Charlie's legs and connected up, the husband tipped the awning out onto the floor and started to attach it to the Wobble Box.  Did he follow the instructions?  What do you think ladies?  Why men think that they know better than a booklet of written instructions and pictures is beyond me, and it soon became apparent that the allotted time for putting up the awning was optimistic.  I suppose I have to concede that it only took eighteen minutes to put up.  But these weren't eighteen consecutive minutes I'm afraid.  They were broken up by various interludes which included:

Hunting for beer

Shouting 'Where's my bloody rubber mallet?' on several occasions

Raiding fridge for second beer

Searching for aforementioned mallet

Losing beer under awning (probably taken cover with the mallet)

Cursing

An hour and a half later, we had a passable awning connected to our Wobble Box.  I was slightly surprised to see it was still there this morning and not decorating our neighbour's caravan.  If that had happened, I like to picture them in their bed with Mavis saying, 'Harold, it's ever so dark out there.  We won't be going to the beach today'.

I also managed to cook my first meal in the Wobble Box last night as Miss R and Woody came to visit.  Pasta Bolognese - not very adventurous I know, but when you are trying to cook a meal in twenty two square inches of kitchen worktop you have to recognise your limits.  Washing up afterwards was even more challenging, and I am sure that Miss R washed two of my dinner plates at least three times.  

After dinner (and pudding) we played crib for a couple of hours.  Miss R and I let the boys win.  After the debacle with the awning, it was the least we could do.

Did I mention that we very nearly didn't make it here having got wedged down a narrower than single track lane?  Having eventually managed to break into an empty field and turn Charlie around, we headed back for the main road.  Unfortunately, having had to replace the gate after the husband had pulled back out of the field, there was no way I could get back into the car until we reached the top of the main road.

If you read in the local Devon newspaper this morning of a woman chasing a caravan  for half a mile whilst shouting, 'Slow down you bastard!' that will be me.

He said he wasn't laughing...