Eek, a leak!

A short post from me today. Made it over the water – sooo excited. And then we had a leak, which turned to two leaks. There is nothing that unnerves a Motorhome owner more than the sight of water in the van where it shouldn’t be.

before the deluge

Inspection showed that it has come in via the bolts that were used to fit the awning the other day. I have emailed the company with photos… I have tightened a couple of bolts (where I can reach) and it may have stemmed the flow a bit. But the bottom line is that the whole thing will need to come off, be refitted as a watertight whole.

In a fit of peak this morning we turned left and headed off to Germany where, possibly, we will hand Doris over to Hymer themselves and ask them to sort. It is, for me, that sort of problem. Whether or not we end up doing that depends on conversations we have the company tomorrow.

Less that, actually we’re in good spirits. Which surprises both of us!

I’ll keep you all informed.

Don’t let me…

It’s happening less and less, but today I wake plagued by that philosophical nagging that I really should be doing something more with my life. It used to happen quite a lot. You know, I’m 55 and, according to the British Government, I have 11 years of working life left – so why am I not rolling up my sleeves, catching the 7.15 to Waterloo and putting in a hard day’s graft? It’s a good question. More of which…

…I’m on Instagram (#rolandtheauthor) and I have posted everyday since last October. For me it was about getting a web-presence and, to a small extent, that has happened. My posts are daily routine stuff, but I do intersperse these photos/comments with the odd one about writing. Like the blog, it’s pretty mundane, dull stuff, but I’ve got into a routine and will keep at it. Until 2 days ago I followed a couple of hundred ‘book nerds’ and the odd publishing house. I guess I hoped that they would share my wonderful life, and scores of the people who follow them (some have 1000s of followers) would click onto my book(s) and start to enjoy Sam Green’s exploits. I’m pretty confident that hasn’t happened. And, from a visual feast perspective, most of their posts are about, well, books. But not in a deep and meaningful way – just flim-flam/book candy and a lot of Harry Potter.

dog walking…

Then, two days ago, Bex, our elder, shared with me #vanlifers – which is an instagrammer who lives full time in his/their vans(s) in the US. Now we’re talking! These are epic photos of people giving up the rat race and heading off into the sunset. The scenic photos are epic and those of their vans are fab. So, yesterday, I spent a good deal of time unfollowing my book people and started following people who are doing what we’re doing – but on steroids. Instagram is now a delight.

And whilst that has helped – as we prepare to head south to Croatia for 7 weeks – I have still woken with that nagging feeling that I really ought to be doing something more constructive than the guilty pleasure of doing b-all.

post 5km run…with Jen

And yet. Can I count myself as a writer? Two published novels, a third ready and waiting, and a screenplay in London somewhere? Is it the waiting that’s the problem? Is it the slow book sales (now at about 20 a week)? Is it a small flirtation with a friend of mine’s eco-business yesterday which I found really stimulating? Is it that I just can’t see my hand in front of my face?


We jumped ship because I am a workaholic. I don’t have a rheostat. People get everything from me – because I want them to think that I am good at what I do. And that, my three readers, is the thing I have to cling to. If I were to go back to work it would be all-consuming. I would be instantly irritable at home; making time for those people we love would be tricky and tiresome. Seeing my elderly and very frail parents would not happen (we saw them again earlier in the week – that’s 4 times this year already). And, as happened toward the end of my last job, stress levels might well finish me off. I have never had a breakdown – my Mum bought me up to hold all that back and keep all that in; and the Army cemented that resoluteness at the cost of who knows what. But I can tell you that I was close. I could feel that tears were never far away (I was dealing with some pretty difficult HR stuff at the time – which sucked at you like a Belizian leach). And I absolutely understand how some people wake up in the morning and say ‘I can’t go into work today’. And I saw at first hand C’s irregular tears as she dealt with some very difficult parents and children as a houseparent.

And I don’t want that. For either of us,. No sirree… 

So, don’t let me talk myself into going back to work full time. It may be that I have to remain an average writer. And we may have to continue to think very carefully about how we live our lives in an affordable way. But that’s got to be better than the alternative?