Take Nothing For Granted

          Now that we have all had our clocks re-set to summertime, the longer days stir us from our winter hibernation and call us to action. Maybe that’s why the Easter break that follows is such a popular time for getting away. Airports are mobbed, motorways clogged and trains crowded, all with travellers desperate to avail themselves of the therapeutic benefits of rest and recreation. But by my reckoning, the price paid in stress, lost time and seasonally-adjusted (inflated) costs exceeds the value of the supposed benefits. That’s why it’s my preference to stay at home and really relax.

          This year, however, we compromised a little and accepted an informal invitation to join family members for a day or two in Cornwall, where they have taken a house by the beach. No stress, as it’s just an hour’s drive for us when the roads are not busy. But now it seems that karma has come to bite us and we will be staying put, box-bingeing instead.

          Last weekend, our elderly campervan packed up on the A38 a few miles west of Exeter and had to be towed home. “You’ll need to replace the clutch,” said Toby the towman – a very friendly chap who described our van as “lush”, by which I took him to mean desirable, though I couldn’t have agreed less at the time. By Monday morning, having recovered my composure, I cycled, first thing, up to Frank’s garage to see if he could do the repair before Easter. “We can’t fit your van on our ramp,” he said, “try Charlie on Manor Street.” So, within five minutes I was at Charlie’s garage. “Would love to,” he said, “but we’re closing for Easter, and I can’t fit it in before then. Try Sam around the corner.” I had never before noticed Sam’s garage but there it was and Sam said “Yes, we can do it on Wednesday.” “Great,” said I, not even bothering to ask for a quote, though sufficiently grounded to mention that the vehicle was immobile. “Can you tow it in?” I asked. “No,” he said, “but Charlie can do that. Vehicle recovery is his speciality.”  Back to Charlie’s, where I pre-paid his modest fee and handed him the keys. “This is quite a network you guys have,” I said, feeling lucky to benefit from its informal but efficient operation. He took a drag on his cigarette and looked at me as if to say, “Is there some other way of working?”

          When I got home and announced the good news, my Other Half informed me that her bike had a lacerated rear tyre and, unless I could get it fixed straight away, she would need to use mine to get her to the next of the many essential meetings in her calendar. Not only that, but there was a problem with her computer and the electric kettle had ceased to work. I was in for a busy day.

          On Wednesday, Charlie came to fetch the van – after I had phoned to remind him. We then set off on foot (the bike tyre is non-standard and had to be ordered in) to an afternoon showing of Other Peoples’ Children, a very Parisian film and the perfect antidote to a wet Wednesday. ‘En route’, as they say, Sam phoned to inform me that the van would need a replacement gearbox as well as a clutch, which would mean double the cost and no chance of getting it back before Easter. “C’est la vie,” was our joint reaction as we contemplated a few more days of depleted personal transport options. As for that Easter break, we might just take a few leisurely hikes and, in the evenings, polish off seasons 2 & 3 of Ted Lasso.