84. Parkinson's law

RUA DESEMBOCADURA DO MIÑO - Spain

After pumping an additional two bar of air into one of the Disco tyres with a bike pump yesterday, successively removing layers of clothing in the process, I decided that today would be a good day to get it checked / fixed. I was also very surprised to discover that our sturdy Halfords caravan steps are cracked around both struts and at risk of collapse. My surprise is that they are only a couple of months old but then on consideration, I think that the average modern caravan gets used for about seven to ten nights a year.  We had three weeks at Jago and Lucy's plus eighty days on the road so, I guess, we got ten years wear and tear out of the steps.

Roman and I set off for a local workshop that I saw had hoists, tyres etc. only to arrive at one o'clock as they closed.  They said, via my translate app that they were happy to repair the tyre at four o'clock and that the workshop down the road had a suitable welding facility. By the time we got there they were closed also.

Not easy, getting a Seagull to perch

The Glamper was in need of conversion to European gas bottles so at four Brian, Sheena Fyfe and I set of for our respective tasks. Dropped the Macs* of at the local supermarket for provisions as tomorrow everything is closed in remembrance of how a special baby was made quite a while ago, and went to get the steps welded.  Obliging chap dropped what he was doing and disappeared off into the basement where I could hear the happy sounds of a Tig spluttering.  He appeared after about ten minutes and as I took the steps, one of the struts rotated.  He looked surprised and disappeared off again.  We waited some more, out of courtesy as by now, though obliging, his welds were as effective as if I had convinced a local seagull to defecate on the steps.  He returned with a smile and refused all payment which was very good of him so I didn't have the heart to point out that his talents were wasted and that workmanship such as his is obviously Lyrical Abstraction and would be appreciated in the Tate Modern going by what I observed, the last time I was there.

Next, at the tyre shop, Fyfe and I waited while the two staff fluffed around with a dead radiator in a ancient Daihatsu Charade that I can only assume was in for palliative care as it looked beyond hope and would have been better attended had they called for a local Priest and a rosary. We watched with interest until one of them cut a length of old garden hose and fitted it to the catch tank.  At this point we retired and were just turning into the traffic when the elder mechanic arrived puffing and said he could do our tyre immediately.  With dread I returned, admired my newly refurbished wheels one last time and waited for the inevitable.  A screw was discovered, mid tyre, and the whole job completed with great efficiency for only ten Euro. Proves that assumptions aren't the brother of anyfhing.

What is that fitting?

Next we stopped in at the local service station for a euro fitting gas bottle as Brian and I had thought ahead and purchased both a propane and butane regulator to cover all options, back in France, long before the nonrefillable UK gas bottle ran out. The fitting of the propane regulator to the Glampa went well and we were chuffed with our own success and forethought.

Freshly provisioned and tyred we swung into the local gas station and discovered that all the bottles had the same fitting, a fitting that we had never seen before. Dam, need to go to another station. Ended up at a large supplier in Portugal only to discover that all the bottles have the same huge fitting, no valve, totally different to the French bottle in the Giantavan that we had set up for- bugger, home for dinner.

On arriving at the camp Brian thought to ask the manager.  He couldn't have been more obliging and insisted on accompanying us into the local village, into a tiny ally, into a tiny shop which was very like a Tardis, staffed by the inverse of Homebase staff - they were, friendly, experienced and knowledgeable.  A suitable fitting was produced, ridiculously cheaply and the manager explained that they had these bottles in stock, back at camp.  I got some paint for Teasel. Brian didn't mind paying a camp extortion as the manager had been so helpful.  Back at camp the bottle was produced for thirty euro, half of which was the deposit, a bargain!  Had we known this at the onset it would have totally spoilt a great afternoon out for us lads.


*Brian and Sheena MacDonald