And the campervan rocked

It's been a while since my campervan rocked
At night it's always securely locked
It's designed for one, night or day
And certainly no room for play.

But tonight my campervan rocks
Almost bouncing off its chocks.
Checking the security of things
Unintentionally testing the springs

When I've seen other vans rocking and shaking
It's because of enthusiastic love making
I'd like to say that's what happened to me
But imagination outstrips the reality.

The clouds had gathered all through the day
And the wind had come in over the bay.
Those who were camping felt it the most
Especially those of us close to the coast

The camp site was shaded with ancient trees
Not the best place in an Antarctic Breeze
I steered clear of  where the foliage was dense
And hunkered down close in to a fence.

Thunder and lightning came again and again
The metal roof was hammered with rain
The campervan huddled down into the hedge
With not much protection there at the edge.

But the rain on the roof

It's been a while since my campervan rocked

At night it's always securely locked

It's designed for one, night or day

And certainly no room for play.

But tonight my campervan rocks

Almost bouncing off its chocks.

Checking the security of things

Unintentionally testing the springs

When I've seen other vans rocking and shaking

It's because of enthusiastic love making

I'd like to say that's what happened to me

But imagination outstrips the reality.

The clouds had gathered all through the day

And the wind had come in over the bay.

Those who were camping felt it the most

Especially those of us close to the coast

The camp site was shaded with ancient trees

Not the best place in an Antarctic breeze.

I steered clear of where the foliage was dense

And hunkered down close in to a fence.

Thunder and lightning came again and again

The metal roof was hammered with rain

The campervan huddled down into the hedge

With not much protection there at the edge.

It reminds me of childhood and sleeping at night

Relishing the sound of rain in the fading light,

Knowing the thunder will ease by and by

While the rain sings a natural lullaby.

So, although my van rocked madly that night,

I remained calm and tucked in tight

Other vans rocking might mean more fun

But I was asleep before the rain had begun.

Broken Windows

Your windows are broken said the voice on the phone.
I hadn't noticed I said and I am here at home.
No, Windows 10 he persisted. I'm referring to that
I don't have ten windows. This is a very small flat.
I can see that the kitchen and lounge windows are intact
I would have heard if others were broken  - in fact
There's no movement in the blinds or in the curtains.
This close to the beach, sea breezes are certain.

Your computer, he said. That's windows 10.
I can see it's causing you trouble again.
Let's see if we can fix it just over the phone.
If you give me your password, I can do it alone.
The first thing to do is to move your mouse.
I screamed, I don't have mice in the house.
If you are from the office of safety and health
You're wasting your time. I check it myself.

Which of my neighbours has made a call?
They're all so nosy. I'm sick of them all.
They ring the council if there's noise at night,
If the bin's left out or the parking's not right.
And now they're saying my house has mice.
Next thing they'll say is my kids have lice.
I got up one day and my hose had been slashed
And now you tell me my windows are smashed.

I sorry you have neighbours who are not so nice
But I'd like to check details of your device
If you can find on the back a metal label strip
It will have the make and model on it.
That's easy I say, I can read it from here.
The computer is battered but  the label is clear.
You probably think I haven't a clue
But I can give all the information to you.

I've had it a while but it's still going well.
There's nothing wrong with it, I can tell.
It's a Commodore 64 with an upgrade from 20.
There are dozens of disks, I've always had plenty.
The box is a bit faded but can be read at a pinch,
They are floppy disks sized 5 point 2 5 inch.
I 'm not sure they had those mouse things then
And I can't see anything like windows 10

I'm sorry Madam I have made a mistake
Your computer is quite a different make.
I have never actually seen one, even on show
But I know it was popular five decades ago.
Technology has moved on quite a bit
And you may not have kept up with it.
If I was you, I'd go to an antique fair
You might get a fortune from a collector there.

Cabin Fever

All my Solo friends are getting around
While my feet seem nailed to the ground
I faithfully follow their Facebook pages
And track their travels though all the stages.

I know where they stop and when they roam
While I'm stuck here, sick, at home.
I torture myself now every day
Checking to see where next they stay.

Camping at Mother of Ducks Lagoon
A magical place to be marooned.
Or on Kosciuszko's alpine track
Cool or cold with the wind at your back.

Heading off to yet another rally
Or exploring the lovely Hunter valley.
You can take off with the lift of a finger
Or settle down in a spot and linger.

The winter winds will make you shiver
Along the Murrumbidgee River.
Those in South Australia may stay
At Stony or Sandy or Streaky Bay

Camping by rivers and creeks and lakes,
A couple of days is all it takes
To establish yourself in the rustic peace
And settle again to a life of ease.

Then if the winds pick up or the sun's too hot
Your mobile home is all you've got.
Fold your table, toss your chair in the back
And once again, you hit the track.

The colourful names roll off your tongue
And memories of stories and tall tales spun.
Your visit here may be your last
Or you may be back when only days have passed.

So until I load the van and fire up the power
I get more envious by the hour.
Cabin Fever is almost impossible to treat.
It won't be cured till I drive off down the street.

Sandals

There's a certain kind of tourist
Whom I see everywhere I go
It's a woman of a certain age
Exploring the world happily solo.

She's somewhere from Northern Europe
Always tanned and blonde and fit,
With cargo shorts that show her legs
And sandals that team up with it.

Those sandals are specially designed -
Sturdy leather, two toned, cream and black,
With toggled cord to adjust the width
And velcroed firmly across the back.

Somehow she seems so self-assured,
Despite the heat she always looks cool
Although she and her pack are loaded up
With every travel and hiking tool.

She has binoculars around her neck,
A fancy camera in her bag.
Her phone has all the gadgets
And she has guidebooks in her swag.

She knows the names of all our birds,
Finds the cheapest place to stop,
Can read a map of any town
And knows the best coffee shop.

I'd like to think I looked half as good
And had a simple style to choose
I am a long way from her poise and style
But I already have the shoes.

Old Age is so Sad

I wake in the morning with great delight
Pleased to know I've survived the night
I do a few stretches to prove I'm not dead.
Then carefully and creakily I climb out of bed

Hobble to the bathroom for a shower hot as hell
To clear the sinuses so I can breathe and smell.
During the night everything seems to freeze
So I use a hot towel on my titanium knees.

Take my teeth from the jar on the window sill
Scrub to remove the taste of the gel,
Push them into place with the tip of my tongue
Then grin into the mirror to check they are done.

Open a battery pack for my hearing aids
It's such a shame when the senses fail.
Plug up the holes in the sides of my head
So I might get a clue to what people have said.

Take my glass eye from its satin lined case
Make sure it's turned the right way on my face.
If the coloured bits are facing behind
It looks like I'm trying to read my own mind.

Eat a healthy breakfast of stewed prunes and oats
And a good serve of jam on my wholemeal toast.
A glass full of juice and a pot of strong tea
And I'm ready to face what the day holds for me.

With my coat over my shoulder and hat on my head
I go out for a newspaper to see who is dead
In my mind I do a jump and sideways heel click
As I slam the gate shut with my walking stick.

Treasure Chests

We all have too many things I've found
And there's so much stuff to carry around.
Even when there's nothing new to indulge
Our handbags are full and our wallets bulge.

And if we are out, as we usually are,
We transfer some of the junk to our car.
Most of us try to keep the front neat
And toss everything else in the back seat.

But it's the everyday things that cause a fuss
And create a storage problem for us -
Things like our change and the food store docket
That end up in a bag or deep in our pocket.

We don't have as many pockets as men
And always have more to cart round than them
However we do have  a certain leverage -
We can always drop things into our cleavage

You can't hide even a coin in our flat chested sisters
Or they look padded, uneven or lumpy or twisted.
It either shows as a tiny bump, flat and round
Or it falls straight through and onto the ground.

But bosomy women like Maria and me
Have storage that's easy to access and see.
We might curse our boobs, and the size that they are
But there's always a little more space in our bra.

The pirate kings when they find their treasure
Have been known to dance and sing with pleasure.
They dig up their swords, their jewels and gold plates
And divide them up with their crew and shipmates.

But Maria and I and our well-endowed friends
Have treasures to spare when each day ends
When we undo our bras and toss them aside
There is nothing to support and nothing to hide.

There's an avalanche of treasure, a whole day's horde
And it falls to the floor as our daily reward -
Gold coins and silver, recipes, phone numbers and more
Pens and pencils, keys, nail files and paper clips galore.

While our little A-cup sisters don't have a place to hide
They would be amazed what we can conceal inside.
A pocket knife, a crochet hook, a chocolate bar or two
And no one looking at us would have ever had a clue.

But although our values are more important by far
Our boobs are part, a big part, of who we are.
When other folk just see some great big breasts.
We thank the Lord often for our treasure chests.


Maria is our convoy leader as we head for Uluru and Alice Springs, She has facilitated a group of women who are enjoying each other's company, are looking out for each other, and are rapidly becoming good friends as we travel over 2000km in our various vehicles.

Let Me Out

Please, please let me out of here
The voice was faint but clear.
Please, if you can hear me
Just come and rescue me..

I was stopped in a quiet little park
There is rarely much noise after dark.
I am usually alone and don't think too much
About others who might be camping near us.

But what was the voice I heard so well?
Was there a message for me to tell?
It must have been coming from deep inside
Reminding me of things I'd tried to hide.

Was it the scribe who kept track of the years
And recorded my dreams and my fears
Reminding me that another decade had passed
And opportunities were disappearing fast?

Was it the voice of my conscience saying
That I'd got careless about church and praying                
And if I wanted to secure my place in the sky
There were some things that I should try?

Was it the little fat girl hidden inside
Still counting the fads and diets I'd tried,
Telling me that nobody else gave a damn
So relax and enjoy the person I am?

The questions still came thick and fast.
I needed to get a solution at last.
I'd get out and walk around for a bit
To let the cold air clear my head of it.

But as I stepped out into the dark
The quiet words now came loud and stark.
In the hope that the questions would begin to still
I used the words of Samuel: Lord what is your will?

Can't you hear me? Can't you see that I'm stuck
While you're sprouting all that religious stuff.
The child lock is on and I can't open the door
I've spent all night here on the floor.

The dog's been sick and the smell is rotten
If there's a spare key I have forgotten.
So please, pretty please, let me out if you can.
I've lost my enthusiasm for this new van.

Thanks to Lorraine (and her big dog Mena) who shared a journey in her new van.