Adventures in Wellingtons

The Tortoise, The Sea Shanties and The Cafe of Nuns

2011-12-08T11:45:00.000-08:00

GOSH! What on earth happened there? I hear you cry. Where were you all that time, Mugridge? You deserted ‘all’ of us for so very long.

DON’T WORRY EVERYBODY! I’m HERE! Since I last wrote this, I have been to France where I helped to curate a theatre festival in a 13th century abbey, then we slept in a French car park for a few days, and now I am in Dorset, spending my days dressed as a tortoise, chasing my husband around in front of small children whilst wearing a crash helmet.

OF COURSE.

(I should explain for those people who think that this makes my husband and I exhibitionist perverts, we are not. We are performing ‘The Hare and the Tortoise’ in Dorset until Christmas Eve. So that clears that up)

I am currently sitting in our digs in Poole, in ‘Dolphin Cottage.’ We came to the realisation about 4 minutes after moving in that the emphasis should be on ‘dolphin’ rather than ‘cottage.’ There are no cottage-like accents to this house at all. No open fire, no thatched roof, no inconveniently chilly floor tiles. There are, however, ceramic dolphins EVERYWHERE. Tom accidentally sat on one the first week we were here, coming to the conclusion that Dorset dolphins have surprisingly sharp fins.

Having one place to be for 6 whole weeks has been, quite simply, heaven. After a year of being all over the place, never being in one home for more than 2 weeks, having somewhere to call home for over a month has been just what I needed. I got overexcited about cooking again just because I had a kitchen, and I’ve roasted ALL KINDS of crazy stuff. (by this I mean beetroot and once, carrots.)

An extended period of time by the sea has also left me feeling very creative. I have 2 weeks booked in as soon as the New Year begins to work on my next solo project and I keep having bursts of getting all giddy and writing down ideas. I decided to start 2012 off with a big exciting leap and I can’t imagine anything more exciting than 2 weeks in a rehearsal room with 2 inspiring people, very possibly listening to Van Halen really loud before each day’s work begins.

Enough of me being all giddy about the future, here are some memorable moments of the last few months:

1) Whilst wild- camping in France (NB- this does not, as several people have thought, mean ‘naked camping.’) we decided to be cavalier and ask a farmer if we could stay in his field. I think he was a bit confused, but he did look a bit like the farmer out of ‘Babe’ which made me feel less frightened that he was going to come out of his house with a big shovel and bludgeon us both to death.

2) During one afternoon of driving round French countryside a bit aimlessly, looking for somewhere to get a sandwich, the only place we found open was a café full of nuns. They were eating omelettes and talking about unemployment levels in Britain.

3) During rehearsals for The Hare and The Tortoise, I was suffering with knots in my shoulders (being a tortoise seems to involve being quite hunched) and so I decided to book myself in for a massage at The Lush Spa. I like Lush, I like strangers greasing me up. It was going to be a good afternoon. Imagine my delight (and inner monologue) when the massage unexpectedly turned out to be ‘sea-themed’ with a room ankle-deep in dry ice, a soundtrack of vigorous sea shanties and bird calls, and a cup of tea, shortbread and RUM at the end. Imagine it. Just imagine. Then imagine me on the massage table resisting the urge not to shout ‘THIS IS HILARIOUS AND I LOVE IT’ to the lovely polite French lady working magic on my shoulders. A ridiculous and perfect afternoon.

4) Due to suddenly having our evenings free (children watch theatre in the day?!I know!) my husband and I decided to ‘get into Buffy.’ NO THAT IS NOT RUDE. It turns out that I missed out massively as a teenager, as I didn’t even manage to catch one episode. Despite my irritation of Buffy often being dressed like a lady of the night (althought that MIGHT just be the 90s) and being quite often genuinely frightened, I am really enjoying it. Yes, I spent one episode behind a cushion due to an irrational fear of ventriloquist dummies, but when they start killing people and talking on their own, I think I’m allowed that one.

5) Solely based on the recommendation of a man who works in Lush (I’ve spent an expensive amount of time in that shop over the last 6 weeks) Tom and I took the train to Boscombe, 20 minutes away on the train from Poole, to visit a café where apparently, they do a good flapjack. Predictably, and in true Frankland style, the café was shut. We went to another café instead where we bought a lamp and the best tablecloth in the world. (true fact)

6) We went back to the recommended café the next day. We got there too late. It was shut again.

7) My bestest pal came down from London at the end of a tiring weekend wearing aforementioned crash helmet and running on the spot a lot to the cheers of many children. The two of us spent an entire day in pyjamas, watching classic and indeed classic films such as Home Alone 2. It was truly the most perfect and restful way to spend the day. Yes, we got up and went outside for an hour at the beginning of the day to forage for food (go to a café for eggs benedict) but we were promptly back in the pyjamas, eating cheese off a big board and working our way through The Vicar of Dibley Christmas Specials.

So, there you have it. The next 2 weeks before Christmas bring a move to The Lyric Theatre in Bridport where we perform until Christmas Eve, and a sad goodbye to Dolphin Cottage and the fibre-optic Christmas tree we found in a cupboard here.

This is tortoise, signing out for now.

Merry pre-Christmas Christmas, everyone

The Reflections, the Rhubarb Umbrella and the Unpacked Washbag

2011-09-26T09:06:00.000-07:00

And so, the tour is over. Well, the UK bit of it anyway.

217 shows, 1085 audience members, 22 venues, 5000 miles, 7 mechanics, 3 tow trucks, 2 shellfish-based food poisoning incidents, 2 kazoos.

I'm struggling to find any way of summing up the last 5 months in an easy way. There just isn't a way of putting it neatly. I've been beaming, I've been shattered, I've been on the hard shoulder of the M6, I've been in an art deco hotel with my favourite primary school teacher, I've been mostly in wellies.

And now, I've been home. The flat was waiting for us like a patient friend, welcoming us back and reminding me that we have a lot of stuff, most of which doesn't match any of the other stuff. I love it. The garden has once again been working a little harder than it needed to on producing giant, ungainly plants. Should I need a new umbrella in the next few months, I have a rhubarb plant that could provide me with several.

I haven't counted this properly, but I would estimate that I've been at home for roughly 12 days in the last 5 months-each time I think about this I wonder why on earth I haven't been shaken by feeling unsettled. I like to make nests (not ACTUAL nests, I'm not a BIRD, and even if I was, I'd be a really good one, like an emu who would build a cool house out of feathers and bits of twinkly stuff) As a general rule, I like to be in the same place for a while. Basically, I like to be somewhere for long enough to unpack my washbag. Yes, cotton wool pads, you CAN go in a little pot by the sink. When I look back over the last few months, I wonder why I don't feel that sense of chaos of having been in 22 different places, why I don't feel a smug sense of self congratulatory pride on having been able to deal with this nomadic life-not once was my washbag fully unpacked. Yes, sometimes the shampoo and conditioner stayed in the shower, but the nail clippers and exfoliating gloves remained firmly tucked away. On reflection (and I've been doing a lot of that in the last week since I finished the tour) the thing that has kept me settled has been Joni. My campervan. My constant. In the show, I talk a little about how doing the show in Joni is a little way towards being at home and at work at the same time and I didn't really realise how true that was until this week. Joni is full of our stuff (no, none of that matches anything either) she has been, for the duration of the tour, my little mini house on wheels.

That's right folks.

I'm a tortoise.

This notion of 'what is home' is something I'm being asked to think more about this week, as I am currently up in Manchester, working as creative mentor with a spoken word artist and theatre maker, Fergus Evans, on a new project about home and identity. It is fitting that I had to leave my little London nest once again for yet more days away from it, but that washbag is used to working hard so there's no reason to empty it quite yet. Through discussions, I came to an upsetting realisation that there was a point on tour when I started to call my various Travelodges 'home' which was a deeply depressing thought. Nobody wants to live in a house where the shower gel is nailed to the wall and you can play 'Count the stains' on any of the flat surfaces. Although, that is a good game.

Home is going to start being orange and on wheels again, as we are taking Joni to France next week to perform the show there, at the inaugural 'Festival de Pontlevoy.' At some point in between now and the 7th October, I have to remember how to speak French again, as the last thing I want to do it to perform to 5 solemnly confused faces who no idea what I'm talking about or why there are two men who performed in the 1970s who were both called 'Ronnie.' I need to translate my show, or at least some of it, as currently all I really have is 'Bonjour, je suis Laura Mugridge' and I'm not sure I can string that out for an hour. I also don't want to just rely on learning car-based vocab, whereby the show would just me pointing to stuff and saying 'Steering Wheel.....Clutch.....SEATBELT.'

We have left ourselves lots of time to get to and from the festival in the middle of France and will be ambling down through French woodland/motorways (we haven't looked properly at the map yet) and doing some writing. I'm always a little anxious when faced with my husband conversing with French people as he often makes words up, and once accidentally told an old lady selling watermelons that he was horny. I will need to supervise him heavily throughout our stay.

And Joni, beautiful, orange, tortoise shell Joni, will be returning to France, where she spent the first 30 years of her life. I'm hoping that being back in her homeland will suddenly mean she starts communicating with us, Herbie style.

I'll keep you all posted.

The Buddhist Nun, the Ghost Dog and the Pineapple Upside Down Cake

2011-09-16T03:03:00.000-07:00

I have never tried to write a blog after eating a full English breakfast, so let's give this a whirl shall we. If it suddenly becomes incomprehensible half way through, or just stops, you will know that I have either a) nodded off due to over consumption of meat or b) decided to go and have some more.

And so, here we are in the Trough of Bowland, a beautiful, wet, green, rolling hilled corner of Lancashire, ready to perform 4 shows today. Well, I'm obviously not ready just yet. I've got an awful lot of digesting to do before I'm ready to be that physically close to 5 other people. Last night, we arrived in Joni the campervan at The Parkers Arms, a beautiful pub restaurant tucked away in the hills and were greeted so enthusiastically I felt like an old friend. When you walk into a pub and the landlord shouts 'LAURA! COME IN! LOVELY TO SEE YOU!' even though he has never met you before, you know you're in good company. (NB-this would obviously be weird if your name wasn't Laura)

Since I last updated this blog, I have travelled many many miles. After flying down from Edinburgh to Cornwall (MUCH quicker than driving, just for the record) and spending a whole week doing nothing but eating and looking at the sea, we then drove IN ONE GO to the Wirral. I then performed the show in Salford, outside the Lowry, and now we have returned to gorgeous, cheese filled Lancashire, for the last few days of Running on Air in the UK. As always, if I were to write about all the adventures we'd had, I'd be here all day, so here are a few of the memorable moments:

1) On arriving at our little camping spot right by the sea in Cornwall, we were greeted by a 10 year old boy named Kelly, who climbed into Joni to demonstrate a selection of unsuccessful magic tricks. It didn't matter one bit that none of them worked, as he preceeded each 'reveal' with the phrase 'now then, things around here are about to change.'

2) There is nothing better than camping in Cornwall, nothing better at all. Our little camping spot was a bit of a secret spot, somewhere that isn't advertised, and somewhere we found completely by chance. Waking up in the morning with a view of the ocean, then drifting off to sleep with the sound of it lapping against the sand is something that will never fail to make me happy.

3) Whilst in Cornwall, Tom and I visited a country fair. We looked at some pictures of birds, we saw a man doing something strenuous to some granite, we missed the sheepdog trials, we were tricked in buying some cheese. We also happened upon a second hand clothing stall, at which I bought a 'St Ives Lifeguard' red hoodie. Only now we are out of Cornwall do I feel brave enough to wear this new purchase, as I was so scared I'd get myself into a position of having to rescue someone from some deep water that I left it in my bag until we were over the border. I do have my bronze swimming badge, but this only means that should I be unlucky enough to fall into a canal wearing my pyjamas, I'd be able to swim towards the edge, possibly picking up a plastic brick and swimming through a hoop on the way.

4) Whilst by the sea, I did a bit of 'surfing.' Now, I've put that in inverted commas because what I basically did was to lie on the board like a seal while Tom pushed me and I went 'weeeeeeee!' What I did discover, however, is that EVERYBODY looks cool in a wetsuit, holding a board. It's a sport unlike others, in that you don't have to really do anything at all apart from walk around on the beach, looking thoughtfully at the water, nodding your head and saying 'dude' every so often.

5) Whilst doing the show in Falmouth for a week, after the seaside retreat, we got to see lots of friends and family, and that made me really happy. They came to the show, they celebrated my birthday with me in a seafood restaurant where the food left your clothes smelling like they'd spend 4 years on the inside of a crab, they invited us into their houses for tasty food, proper showers and lovely chats in the garden. Should we ever end up in Cornwall, we'll be amongst champions.

6) During the drive from Cornwall to the Wirral (yes, that is an EXTREMELY LONG WAY) Tom started to feel a bit poorly, and we had to keep stopping so he could have a nap in the back of Joni (one of the great advantages of owning such a vehicle is the ease of being able to go to sleep at virtually any point in the day). By the time we reached our campsite, neither of us felt particularly brilliant. Without going into too much detail, what followed was a night-long double-whammy food poisoning extravaganza on a campsite with no toilet, an experience that heavily tested the romance element of our marriage. You really do know you've found the right person when they continue to look you in the eye, and indeed still love you, after seeing you vomit into a field at hourly intervals whilst wailing 'I just don't understand how there's anything left.' Good times.

7) Somehow, some way, we managed to recover for the next day, however, and we headed for the wedding of two lovely friends of ours. I'd like to make it clear that we drove to another campsite that morning, where we managed to have a shower. Nobody likes a wedding guest with sick in their hair. The wedding was a real treat, full of smiles and ice cream and bunting and dancing. Take THAT, food poisoning.

8) After the first day of shows at The Lowry, Tom and I stayed with 2 super friends of ours in Manchester. We were tired, they presented us with a dinner consisting of only cheese. I need say no more about how much we love those guys.

9)Yesterday in my shows, I performed to my own mum (a natural on the slide whistle) a Buddhist nun (very good at the marracas) and a 6ft5 man who was one of the loveliest presences I've had in the front seat. Another treat from yesterday was the lady who announced towards the end of the show 'I'm terribly sorry, I've just realised that my top is on inside out.' We left her on her own in Joni for a little while after the show, to rectify the situation. Barbara, you made me smile a lot.

10) As requested, our arrival at my parents house on Wednesday evening was filled with snuggles, the best spaghetti bolognaise I've ever tasted, and a pineapple upside down cake. The combination of Team Mugridge and a retro feast made me really happy to be home.

11) Last night, whilst eating the delicious feast prepared for us by the chef here at the Parkers Arms, a huge white dog made his way right over to Tom and started to stare at him intently. The moment at which Tom realised this was happening was a joy to watch, as Tom had momentarily thought it was a ghost, which scared the living daylights out of him., making him screech like a tiny girl.

And so, another day of shows awaits. Sunday night will mark the end of the tour in the UK, as we then head off to France to perform it there. At some point I will be attempting to translate it into French, but right now I'm far too busy meeting the characters of Lancashire, and, let's not forget, digesting that full English breakfast.

The Germs, The Rollercoaster and The Emergency Jumper.

2011-08-28T10:33:00.000-07:00

Hello. How've you been? Your hair looks nice today. I hope it's not raining as much outside your window as it is outside mine. Well, it's not MY window, it's the window of the little flat I have been living in for a couple of weeks. It's in Edinburgh. And Edinburgh, it seems, is currently going through the Autumn to Winter changeover. It was so cold today I was instructed to bring my husband an emergency jumper. These, my friends, are chilly times. I have spent the last 2 days sneezing, as the Edinburgh germ monkey has taken me in its little tartan grip. I am sporting the ever-attractive red nose/puffy eyes/bits of soggy tissue spilling out of your handbag/olbas oil scented look that is ever so the rage north of the border once the festival hits.

Right now I am squirrelled away in a little corner of Edinburgh. This time tomorrow I will be snuggled down in Joni the beautiful orangey yellow campervan, at entirely the other end of the country. Cornwall, wonderful Cornwall. I don't care if it's raining, if it's foggy, if it's so cold I need to put on MY emergency cardigan, all I need is a little bit of peace and nature, where teenagers don't try to give me small pieces of card whilst walking like demon creatures next to me and wearing pointy shoes and singing into my face without accompaniment. I also need some vegetables. Or just ANY GREEN FOOD.

The festival has been exhausting and eye opening in equal measure. I have seen theatre that has inspired me, made me feel excited about making more work. I have seen theatre that has left me thinking a lot about the role of the audience in the telling of a story. I have seen theatre that made me incredibly proud of the man I married. I have seen one piece of theatre that made me so angry I had to take my jumper off.

It has, as always, been an emotional and financial rollercoaster. (the financial rollercoaster would just consist of one track that plummets steadily into the ground, then leaves you there, strapped in, until you manage to pedal your way out whilst screaming HELP ME to the people who pass by)

Joni the campervan has not been with us up here in Scotland. She is waiting patiently for us in Cornwall, sporting her lovely silvery jacket and full of camping accessories (including some melamine plates that I am PRETTY SURE I forgot to wash before getting the train up here. If Joni smells like a dead mackerel, or has grown mushroom clusters, then I only have myself to blame) We are flying from Edinburgh to Cornwall and I have already had to convince someone else to drive some of my luggage back for me, having bought a 1950s style peach dress with loads of netting, that is so poofy it won't actually fit into my bag. I was tempted to wear it onboard, but then decided that Mad Men chic possibly wasn't the most comfortable of choices on a plane. I was also nervous about getting the netting trapped in the moving walkways at the aiport and getting limbs ripped off, which wouldn't help with the relaxation I've got planned.

In terms of 'Running on Air' there is still some distance to go. Next stop is Falmouth, somewhere I am looking forward to immensely, not least because we are being parked really near a really good pasty shop. Lots of my husbands friends and family will be coming along and I'm excited about performing the show there, as much of the story is about Cornwall. It's somewhere I feel happy, somewhere I love to spend time and somewhere I can wear wellies all the time without judgement. I got married there, in an apocolyptic storm that was so awful it made the news.

I really can't wait to be back.

The Rhubarb, The Bra and the Eyepatch.

2011-08-02T02:46:00.000-07:00

Now then, I only have a little while to update this today as made a to-do list earlier and there are 29 things on there. I normally put things on to-do lists that are really easy to cross off, such as 'put shoes on before going out' and that way I can feel as if I am achieving something, but this time there is no room for that kind of frivolity.

Here is the problem- I have had a week off at home. At the beginning of the week off, I had absolutely no idea what to do with myself. Since the end of April I have been all over the darn place- filling my time with a) doing shows and b) waiting for RAC mechanics on the side of various UK motorways. Every moment has been filled with the tour, and for moments that were not filled with that. there was Downton Abbey and eating cheese and crackers. It's been pretty jampacked. (Jam, as well, there has been some of that too)

When presented with a week of enforced RELAXING , well I panicked. I felt lost within the vortex of a whole 14 hours of being awake and not actually working. Here are just a selection of things that I did to fill my time:

1) I completely reorganised my underwear drawer. I re-balled my socks, folded my pyjamas and realised that I do not own enough bras. I did, however, remember that I own a horrifically bright luminous pink bra that is so harmful to the eyes I had to hide it underneath my Superman pyjama bottoms.

2) I washed my front door. This is not a euphimism.

3) I harvested all the rhubarb for the garden and made every rhubarb recipe I could think of. (Well, I say 'I'. I OBVIOUSLY MEAN Jamie Oliver. ) I made rhubarb crumble, and, um, roasted rhubarb. OK, so maybe there were only 3 recipes in the book. The other one was
'Rhubarb Bellinis, ' which, in the book, look like the most wonderful thing you could possibly drink on a summer's evening before your husband leaves for Edinburgh for a month, sipping pink blushed cocktails delicately in the garden while the sun sets behind the trees.

What I essentially made was a warm, brown fizzing 2 layered mush, not dissimilar to a drinkable lava lamp. A cocktail is less sophisticated if you have to continue whisking it with a miniature fork whilst trying to pour it into your mouth.

THANKS A LOT JAMIE.

4) I bought a new yellow blanket from a charity shop. I did this on a day that was so hot even looking at the blanket made me overheat. With hindsight, a silly idea.

5) I drank some cider out of the fridge to test whether it had gone off or not.

And so, there we are. That is how I have spent my week off. I have now realised that I leave again on Thursday morning and there is no way I am going to fit in everything that I need to do. Having spent so much time cutting up rhubarb and drinking things out of the fridge just to clear some of the shelves, I am now in a desperate scramble to get everything done. I am dealing with this by a) writing this blog which is in no way making any dent on my list of tasks and b) trying to teach the cat to clean herself after rolling in piles of dust in the garden. I think you'll agree that those are both marvellous uses of my time.

Oh, and of course, I went to the allotment. I have really missed having a little haven to hang out in and I was so excited to see what changes there have been. I am delighted to report that I had 2 of the most perfect, tasty blueberries I have ever eaten. I would have had more, but our plant hadn't actually grown any more, so 2 it was. This morning my allotment buddy and I spent an hour digging for potatoes, finding them like little nuggets of gold. It felt like digging for treasure. I am tempted to try and find my eyepatch from when I was a child to feel like a real pirate.

We also spent a long while pulling diseased leaves off the courgette plants. But there's nothing exciting about that.

The Dolphins, the Swan and the Arran Jumper.

2011-07-13T05:32:00.000-07:00

Again, it's been too long, hasn't it.

I'm managing to catch a few moments in my little blog- writing corner as I am home for precisely 19 hours and have just enough time to a) write this and b) pop a wash on. I have an anorak to wash and that will not wait.

Since I last updated the blog, Joni and I have been to Reading, Ipswich, Cardiff, Hull, Kendal, Giggleswick, Holmfirth (where Last of the Summer Wine was filmed) back to London, then to Eastleigh, Newbury and back to London.

What's that? I hear you cry- Have you upgraded Joni to a different car that really LOVES going long distances in short spaces of time?

No.

No we haven't.

Now, Joni DID enjoy SOME of those miles. She enjoyed, for example, going up to the top of Kirkstone Pass outside of Kendal, where she pushed herself up with all her might, then sat proudly amongst the low cloud, looking beautiful for weary cyclists and walkers.

She did NOT, however, getting down again, and she preferred, instead, to basically roll down, then have an extremely dramatic breakdown at the bottom in a Booths carpark, where we were circled by 9 year old girls on bikes taunting us with 'ooh, your van's broken down, we heard a big bang.' YES THANK YOU VERY MUCH LADIES WE ARE AWARE OF THAT AND YES, OUR VAN MAY BE MAKING BANGING NOISES YOU CAN PROBABLY HEAR A NUMBER OF MILES AWAY BUT SHE IS STILL VERY PRETTY ON THE OUTSIDE THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

In short, the last few weeks have presented more engine problems than I ever thought it possible to appear. I have learned many new words of a mechanical nature, and although I am not entirely confident about using them in full sentences, Joni's mechanic has told me that I am least pronouncing them correctly.

We have been extremely unlucky with Joni's engine- one mystery problem was chased around and around for 3 weeks and 7 mechanics, spread all over the UK, scratched their heads and changed various things (I know all the names of those things, if you wanted to test me) The problem, which we eventually found in Hull, was a TEENY TINY piece of plastic in the fuel tank. Helpfully, the mechanic who found it has made it into a keyring for us, so we can forever remember the utter mechanical horror of Summer 2011.

The sheer number of breakdowns we have had has had a positive side to it, too. We have met a wonderful array of delightful RAC men, roadside mechanics, VW enthusiasts and petrol station attendants. Without wanting to sound like a big sap (this tour has turned me a bit emotional- probably something to do with the lack of sleep and sheer volume of raspberry jelly I have eaten) we have met some heroes. All you can hope for when you're tired and stranded on the side of the road is that someone kind will turn up, someone who doesn't taunt you for owning a classic car, someone who won't think you've got mental problems for doing a show inside a van. ('What? But where do the audience go while you're in the van? Do they watch it from another van? But what HAPPENS in there...?')

As with my last blog, the highs and lows have been all too numerous to list, so here is my Top Ten Memorable Moment from the last 5 weeks:

1) In on of my Hull shows, I met a man called Gary who has what can only be described as 'Gardening Tourettes.' At any given moment, he would interrupt me to tell me about another vegetable that he had recently planted. Towards the end of my show, when I am recounting quite an emotional encounter, during which I gained clarity about all sorts of things, Gary shouted 'I GREW SOME ROCKET' very closely into my face. Thanks Gary.

2)In Giggleswick, we met Katy, the wife of the headmaster of the boarding school there, who is currently in the middle of knitting an Arran jumper. She started making that jumper 27 years ago.

3) In Clapham (just outside of Giggleswick) Tom and I had had the wonderful and rare treat of camping for 2 nights and having a day to just....be. It was amazing. During the day, we went for a little walk into the village. We walked past a garden, with a lone plastic, 2D swan ornament. On that swan, was printed the word 'John.' That made us laugh for a long time.

4) In Cardiff, Joni was parked outside the Wales Millenium Centre. She was quite a sight, resting a little orangey yellow treat nestled underneath a huge and overwhelming building. On the Sunday night, Michael Ball was doing a solo concert inside the main auditorium. I have never seen so many pastel anoraks in one place. He sold 1900 tickets for his 8pm show. I sold 5. Needless to say, we were both sold out. I will now be popping myself in the same 'National Treasure bracket as Michael Ball. Any problems with that, I will deal with those personally.

5) In the show, I like to hope that I leave people wondering if my stories are real or not. In Ipswich, after my opening sentence of 'Hello, I'm Laura,' I was greeted with 'IS THAT YOUR REAL NAME?' There was clearly no hope for any sort of illusion with that audience. We dealt with that, and moved on. It turned out to be quite a lovely show.

6) I have mentioned before that sometimes, audiences members come back after they've seen the show and bring me gifts. You may remember that in Taunton, I received a chilli plant. You will be pleased to know that I have not killed it yet. In Eastleigh, I received a gift that I feel may be difficult to beat. A local man, who had not seen the show, arrived at the van in between shows, with a huge, framed painting of a family of dophins. In an oddly grumpy manner he announced 'This is for you. Put it up in your van' and marched off. On closer inspection, I am almost certain that the painting had been very recently ripped off a wall. We didn't manage to find that wall, so are now the proud owners of a slightly odd painting of some dolphins that does not fit in the van at all. If you are the owner of a newly empty wall, please do get in touch.

7) In the spirit of using my downtime on tour to work my way through various costume dramas, I can now add Little Dorrit to my list. I liked it, although this was mainly due to the unintentionally comic way in which Andy Serkis kept peeping round the side of trees in a French, sneaky manner.

8) In London, whilst doing the show in a very corporate square near Euston Station, Sandi Toksvig very kindly accepted my invitation to come along to see the show. I was a bit giddy to engage so closely with someone who has inspired my writing for many years, but I *think* I managed to hold it together and I had a really wonderful show with a warm and open audience. Joni is still reeling from hearing the best laugh in showbusiness.

9) An important part of the show is a story of how I climbed a hill to perform a gig to the elements, a few years ago, when I was feeling lost and low and in need of inspiration. In Kendal a few weeks ago, in the midst of a weekend of awful breakdowns and feeling incredibly weary, I climbed up to the top of Gummers Howe, which overlooks Lake Windermere, with 20 audience members, and recreated that gig, with the wind and the rain and the feeling that whatever happens, I must always remember how this feels. Always.

10) Also in Kendal, Joni met her husband to be. He is a T25 called Lionel. Details need to be worked out but needless to say, that wedding is going to ROCK.

The Scones, The Sickness and the DVD Boxset

2011-06-02T02:40:00.000-07:00

Well now, this is rather overdue isn't it.

If it's any consolation, I am writing this blog in my head pretty much all the time, the only problem comes when the internet in the places I'm staying costs more than the accommodation itself. Now, I know you can't read the blog from inside my head (that's a VERY good thing, believe me) but, trust me, it was HILARIOUS.

So, I've now been on tour for just over a month and would like to report that:

a) I am still alive (I think this is massively due to the high strength vitamin C I have been taking)

b) Joni the campervan is still alive (although she has given us a couple of scares)

c) I am still loving every second of it.

So far on our travels, we have been as far north as Paisley and as far south as Devon. Joni has been parked by the sea, by a gorgeous loch, and by some wheelie bins. Audiences have been, in equal measure, wonderful, kind, full of laughter, bonkers, unpredictable, baffled and surprised.

Today I am at home, in our little flat, squirrelled up in my little seat by the garden window. The cat is trying to get my attention to congratulate her on the killing of a dried leaf she has proudly brought in, and the sun is shining. I've been home since Monday evening and am off again tomorrow afternoon, heading for South Street in Reading. I have loved being at home for a little while- I get to see my husband, I get to remember how ridiculous my cat's behaviour is, I get to spend time on the allotment, and I get to eat warm food with real cutlery (although I did very much enjoy my Travelodge picnic involving eating crisps out of a tray I made from the lid of the cool box) There is something warming about being home, something magical about the chemistry of being back amongst familiar smells, waking up in my own bed, knowing what height the lightswitch is in the bathroom. I adore being here.

Having said that, I am enjoying being on tour far more than I ever anticipated. I am loving the adventure of it all- each day, each show, each minute of the show, is filled with unexpected surprises and treats. Turning up to each new place, the sound of Joni's engine babbling away like a happy tractor, hopping out to meet a new set of challenges and sights. The joy of the unknown has surpassed all expectations.

Now, if I wrote a blog about each place I'd been to, I'd be here until tomorrow evening, subsequently missing my journey down to Reading and, therefore, all my shows, so I am going to hit you with a list of top memorable moments. I would call them the 'highlights,' but that's not necessarily what they are.

1) In Morecambe, amidst the slightly apocolyptic weather on the seafront, my favourite teacher from primary school came to see my show. I think most of us have that teacher that we remember with huge fondness. Mrs Cornthwaite was mine. I felt giddy to see her- she looked exactly the same. I'd like to say that she thought I looked TOTALLY DIFFERENT to the bowl-haired, slightly crazy looking little girl with the thick glasses and the eyepatch, but sadly, this wasn't the case. We went out for dinner afterwards and ate mussels and talked and talked and talked. She bought me a selection of wonderful things for my allotment, and a new writing book. She remembered how I always loved to write and I was overwhelmed by this part of my past coming back and being so awesome.

2) Whilst sheltering from the rain in Williamson Park in Lancaster, two members of my audience from the day before came back to visit me and bring me homemade scones and tea in between shows. With homemade gooseberry jam. And a BABY (that was their baby, they weren't giving him to me as a gift- that would've been far too much) I was so touched by this and we sat and ate the surprise picnic in Joni while the Lancaster rained bashed the windows and made us feel like it was somehow November all over again.

3) In Taunton, a man asked me if he could bring his girlfriend into the show with him. He hadn't been able to get her a ticket and asked if I could 'squeeze her in,' possibly sitting on his knee. I had to explain that this wasn't really like going on a normal car journey, and that the whole '5 people at once' thing wasn't me being decadent, that is the ABSOLUTE MAXIMUM of people that can physically fit into Joni.

4) In Paisley, I saw a shop called 'MENACE- Continental Childrenswear.' That made me laugh for a long time.

5) In Harrogate, I overheard the following conversation in a toilet:

Lady 1) " Ooh, it smells nice in here, doesn't it?"
Lady 2) "Ooh yes, it does. 'Cause they don't often smell nice do they, toilets.."

JOY

6) In Lancaster, I had to get out of the camper about 4 minutes into the show to be violently sick. For a while, I think the audience thought it was part of the show, as I announced it very politely and calmly, but had they been able to hear my inner monologue, they would have heard me screaming QUICK! GET OUT OF MY WAY! I AM DEFINITELY GOING TO BE SICK AND I REALLY DON'T WANT TO DO IT IN HERE AS THAT WILL BE MASSIVELY TRAUMATIC FOR EVERYONE INVOLVED AND I WILL NEVER GET IT OUT OF THE CARPET.'

Needless to say, that is the last time I will be eating seafood in between shows.

It is also, hopefully the last time I will ever leave an entirely undigested mussel on the pavement outside a city centre Travelodge.

7) Also in Lancaster, I found myself standing in the street with 50 other people, most of whom were pensioners, wearing my Superman pyjamas. This was due to an unplanned fire alarm test. Thank goodness I wasn't wearing the cape. I may have had to explain to them all that I couldn't help, and the cape was purely aesthetic.

8) On the way home to London last week, Joni broke down. Three times. I spent most of the day on the hard shoulder of the M6, it took 14 hours to get from Lancashire to London and we arrived on the back of a tow truck. This was a really awful day and not one I want to go into too much as the anxiety fuelled weeping may kick in again.
Panic not, we figured out what the problem was and Joni went into Campervan Hospital for a day, but it did make me aware all over again about how owning a classic VW is truly a labour of love. I wouldn't have it any other way- I'm in this for the rough and the smooth, and it made me realise how precious Joni is to me and how much of a commitment it is to own her. I would say that she is now purring like a kitten, but that is a sound you are never going to hear coming from a VW. Think 'old man leopard with a cough.'

9) In Taunton, an audience member popped back the next day and left a chilli plant by Joni, for me to find. She had grown it in her own garden and wanted to give it to me for the allotment. Again, I was extremely touched by this lovely gesture. Although I do now feel a massive responsibility to not accidentally kill it by spraying it with Flash Kitchen Cleaner.

10) Over the last 2 weeks, I have watched the entirety of series one of 'Downton Abbey.'

I know that's nothing to do with the show. I just really, really liked it.

The Sunshine, The Ambush and the Slow Motion Montage

2011-05-02T10:07:00.000-07:00

And so, here we are.

On tour.

Yowsers.

I am hoping to update this frequently while I am away- the idea of writing this from a little window somewhere makes me happy. I am currently sitting in a hotel room in a swish hotel in Retford, (near Worksop, I THINK) and wearing a new jumper that I bought today. It makes me feel like Felicity Kendal in The Good Life. This is mainly because it looks like I've already owned it for about 20 years. I think it's a little way of taking the allotment with me on tour. My husband was reluctant to let me take a fruit bush in the van with me so looking like I should be holding a spade will have to suffice.

Leaving to go on tour on Friday was tricky- this was for 3 main reasons:

1) I am rubbish at packing. I tend to pack as many things as I can physically put in a bag, usually breaking a zip in the process as I have a very GET IN THERE- JUST GET IN YOU IDIOT approach. Packing for several months was a huge challenge for me, not only because I do not own a suitcase. I am now using a large bag designed for a golfer.

2)I kept getting distracted by the Royal Wedding. I say 'distracted'- what I actually mean is that I kept having to stop what I was doing to have a big cry. In short, I will cry at all weddings, no matter how tasteless/unemotional/misjudged they are. You could put a weasel in a white dress and I would cry at 'how beautiful' it looked. This is not to suggest that Kate Middleton looks like a wease. I think the general consensus is that she is a 'hottie'.

3) I was feeling a bit emotional anyway, about the idea of being away from home for several months. I was unbelievably excited about the tour- it's something I've been counting down to for a while- but I felt all teary about leaving Tom for a little while. I had my suspicions that these emotions were bubbling when I inexplicably burst into tears during an election montage in The West Wing the night before. Montages, like weddings, are guaranteed to make me cry. Particularly if there is any element of slow-motion.

Inspite of all this emotion, driving away from the house in beautiful Joni, beeping the horn and waving to Tom out of the window felt so incredibly exciting. The first few hours of driving were thrilling- my stage manager Beck who is with me, and I, ate several jelly babies, and I discovered Becky's INCREDIBLE talent for a terrifying accurate impression of a peacock. Quite a shock in such a small space but I enjoyed it immensely.

And, here I am now, having already done 8 shows. The first stop was The Junction in Cambridge, a festival of new, site specific and imtimate work. The sun was shining, the people were smiling, and it was so windy that I had constant fear of my dress blowing over my head, giving the audience far more than they had paid for. I felt nervous and exhilarating doing the show again after such a long break, but the people that Joni welcomed in through her doors were kind, enthusiastic and brought the sunshine in with them.

I did have one show, on Sunday that I will hereafter be referring to as 'The Great Ambush of 2011.' During the middle section of the show, it seems I was 'set upon' by approximately 20 local youths, who found it amusing to knock on all the windows, open the doors and rock the van, a experience that shocked me more than I would have predicted. What I try to do within the show is to create a tiny little world inside Joni- distant from reality. I want people to forget where they are for an hour, and feel that inside Joni is all that exists. An invasion from the outside world left me shaken as it was so unexpected. The audience with me during that show were truly wonderful, and after a small cry (YES I CRIED AGAIN- it's been an emotional week.) we continued our journey together. I doubt I will ever forget that show.

I will also never forget the fact that for the shows that followed that one- Joni and I were granted our very own security guard. How incredibly exciting. I felt like J-Lo, although 'L-Mug' is not a name I will be taking on. Due to the heat of the afternoon, I did have to insist that my burly security guard popped on a bit of suncream (I do worry) but he didn't protest, and the rest of the afternoon travelled along smoothly, with more lovely audience members and more sunshine.

Today we drive to Leeds. I have never been to Leeds. Apparently it's quite snazzy. Joni and I are excited.

More...much more to come....

The Feast, the Suitcase and David Tenant.

2011-04-21T08:56:00.001-07:00

Well, it's a beautiful sunny day again. It does seem that I often spent sunny days inside doing adminstrational tasks. I think that the sun inspires me to write. It also inspires me to eat Feast ice creams, a treat for which I currently have a seemingly unstoppable obsession. Managing to eat the outside ice cream bit without breaking the inside chocolate bit is surely one of life's great achievements. If I manage it, I often feel the need to approach the nearest person and shout 'LOOK! I DID IT! I AM THE ULTIMATE CHAMPION!' at them.

You'll be pleased to know that I have, up to now, managed to resist that urge.

I'll be heading down to the allotment in a little while, with Desert Island Discs in my ears. I have recently discovered their archives and am enjoying so much learning lots about some of my heroes. I am also enjoying the realisation that celebrities are not necessary cooler than me when it comes to music. Particularly David Tenant.

The allotment is coming along nicely, and is still providing me with the most wonderful of peaceful moments. We do need a new watering can, as the current one pours both out of the spout, and out of the bottom, soaking your wellies and your trousers from the knees downwards. It's very cooling, but I often leave the allotment looking suspiciously like I've wet myself.

The kitchen and bathroom are now full of tomato seedlings planted in cut off toilet rolls. I have only made the water/ Flash cleaner mistake once in the last few weeks, and to be honest, I don't those particular seeds were going to do that well anyway.

I will miss the allotment while I am away on tour. It has turned out to be a little haven for me. I am going to take a photo of it away with me, put it up in Joni the campervan, and make sure I take time to look at it and imagine myself back there when things get a bit too much. The tour is fast approaching- I leave a week tomorrow (yowsers, that's the first time I've written that down) and it is all starting to feel very real. I am incredibly excited about it, and also get waves of unbearable nausea about every 45 minutes when I remember what I am about to embark upon.

I found myself in Cambridge last weekend and popped into The Junction theatre, which is my first stop next week. (I went to Cambridge on purpose, I didn't 'find myself' there after getting massively lost on my way back from Budgeons.) They interviewed me about the show, and I thought I'd pop that link in here. Please remember if you listen to it that I am 30, and not 11 like I sound:

http://audioboo.fm/boos/334710-junction-sampled-festival-podcast-interview-with-laura-mugridge-joni-part-one

Last week was a week of redevelopment of the show. The story is so autobiographical that I felt it needed to be updated. It was a week of hard work, tough at times, and involved many emotions, including euphoria, blind fear, disbelief and, principally, joy that I get to do this show all over again. It also involved an AWFUL lot of tea. I seemed to spend the entire time washing up mugs, but I am sure there was some rehearsal in there somewhere too.

Being on tour is a new experience for me. Generally, I like being at home. I like pottering about, I like writing from this little spot by the window. I like my husband.

I am in the process of putting together a 'Tour Survival Kit' to ease the worry of being away for so long. After realising that I probably needed a suitcase more than I needed 'fancy exfoliator for skin-treat,' I have reworked the list and come up with something more practical.

1) Suitcase (carrying all belongings in a selection of Sainsburys carrier bags is not correct behaviour for a woman in her 30s)
2)New washbag (old one has remnants of Lush solid shampoo bar that has been welded on to the side since 2004)
3) Notebook for musings
4) Superman pyjamas PLUS CAPE (it makes me feel magical, even when worn with sleepwear)
5) Series One of Quantum Leap (I can't afford the whole set so am doing it one series at a time)
6) Large supply of Sesame Snaps
7) Photo of allotment
8) Clothes

Now all that's sorted, I can concentrate on being exited. I've a feeling that's going to take up a lot of time. In the meantime, I am heading down to Devon on Saturday to join my husband who is away rehearsing a show with his dad. We will be spending the Easter weekend camping in Joni, giving her a last civilian treat before she switches into show mode. We will also be celebrating our 2nd wedding anniversary. It seems crazy that our wedding day, with its perfect magical moments, dancing until 2am and the 'worst weather that Cornwall has seen in 7 years' was two whole years ago. I can't wait to spend the day on Monday with that awesome bloke I married, and, of course, kicking his ass at backgammon. He may be handsome and brilliant, but he can be unbearably smug when he beats me at board games.

The Hula Hoop, the Seedlings and the Mystery Potatoes

2011-04-03T03:36:00.000-07:00

Goodness me, what a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the coffee is hot and the cat is going mental over a broken guitar string that she is attempting to communicate with by squeaking at it.

I have had an extremely busy few weeks, lots of time spent indoors, an upsetting amount of time on trains (typically carrying a selection of objects that raised eyebrows each time I got onto the tube) I wish I could say that in the last 2 weeks I hadn't knocked lots of stuff off a shelf in Tesco with a hula hoop and then got a lady's leg trapped in it, because alas, I can't.

I have been doing a project in a primary school in Essex, the target of which is being brave. We are asking the children to look outside of their comfort zone and take risks. If ever I go into school feeling low (which is quite often, due to the 5am starts that the job requires. I have been told I am 'pure evil' before 8.30am) then after 5 minutes with the children, their beaming faces, jumpers covered in mashed potato and grazes on their noses, I am beaming myself. I feel like I'm learning a lot from them- they are so open to new things, skipping fearlessly into the unknown, something that oftens renders me nervous.

My UK tour is an example of this. It starts in 26 days (gulp) and although I am full of excitement, I also feel a level of apprehension. It's just that I don't know what to expect from 'being on the road.' Will I get homesick? Will I turn into Spinal Tap? Will I live exclusively on Ginsters pasties for 4 months, like Alan Partridge? The possibilities are endless.

One thing I will miss is the allotment. That has been an unexpected surprise treat for the Spring. With a little bit of work whenever we can find a moment, the 4 of us have turned what looked like a slightly rubbish lawn into a plot just ready to get going.

Our kitchen is full of little seedlings, starting to peep their green heads out of the soil. My main worry is that I am going to accidentally spray them with kitchen cleaner like I did last year, but I am being much more careful this time. It turns out that courgette plants aren't massively keen on being covered in citrus multi purpose spray.

Our bathroom is full of potatoes, and if I'm honest, I can't remember why. I know we are waiting for something to happen. It could have happened already, but I wouldn't know if had as I can't remember what I'm looking out for. Chips?

This afternoon I am heading to that beautiful patch of peacefulness. It turns out that our little spot is the calm I've been looking for. I have to find a way to take a little bit of it away with me on tour.

A potato, perhaps?

the Dual Carriageway, the Treacle Tart and the Glorious New Song

2011-03-08T01:21:00.000-08:00

Good morning from my sunny little corner- the sun is beaming in through the door to the garden, the cat is scampering/prancing/jumping like a mental and I have a spring in my step (well I would if I was walking around, but that makes typing difficult)

There are several reasons for my chirpy mood.

a) It is sunny
b)I have discovered some new music recently and am in that first flush of love for a song that I cannot get to the end of without starting it again, like a child watching a Disney film.
c) I spent the entire weekend in a dressing gown.

Let me elaborate (I know that's what you wanted, I could sense it)

Actually, there isn't much elaborating to do on point a)- I think it's pretty standard for sunshine to make people happy. Unless, of course, there is a huge life threatening drought. That doesn't seem to be the case here

b) The song that is making my heart sing is this song:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-wsdC74-t2s

I was introduced to this album last night and woke up thinking about it. I will be taking this beautiful sound with me wherever I go today. ( I will take my headphones out when talking to people, but only if I think they are interesting enough to get my full attention. Otherwise they are staying IN) I love the first day of having found a new song-it feels like an exciting new relationship that you want to tell everyone about. I sometimes like to pretend I'm in a film when going about my daily business and enjoy choosing appropriate music for varying levels of emotional situations (Fleetwood Mac when running for a bus, for example)

Today's film will be a lovely one.

c) My weekend in a dressing gown was not due to me spending 2 days in some sort of sex nest. My husband was not involved at all. In fact, he was very understanding of the whole thing.

Two years ago, on my hen do (I hate the word 'do' in reference to a party, but I am going to bare it for the purposes of this sentence) I headed to Crawley for the weekend with 14 of my favourite people. Forget Prague, forget Paris, forget Blackpool-Crawley, my friends, is where the COOLIES hang out. And the coolies wear DRESSING GOWNS.

We spent the weekend in a wooden lodge somewhere leafy and wonderful just outside of Crawley. There is a golf course, there is a health club, there are some wonderful little lodges made out of wood that have underfloor heating. Three days were spent wearing dressing gowns, eating crisps and laughing til we cried at my cousin Catherine trying to hum the baseline from 'Good Vibrations.'

This time it was very similar.

There was four us returning to the lodges-we were four women desperate for a break. It's often so easy to forget the need for planning some time in to just 'be.' I spend so much time fitting one thing in to another in my schedule, ending up in a neverending game of Diary Tetris. This weekend was exactly what I needed.

All three days involved wearing elasticated waistband 'leisure trousers' until roughly 7pm, then changing in pyjamas. You'd be right in thinking that those two outfits are basically the same.

The highlight for me was the discovery of a present in silver paper, hidden in my luggage by my husband. What is it? I thought. Some treats for dinner? A little love note?

Wrong.

As if I wasn't already sure enough that I had married the right person, I opened the parcel to find a very small red and blue silky cape. My awesome husband had guessed, quite rightly, that the thing missing in my life is the finishing touches to my new Superman pyjamas.

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's a woman in her 30s wearing pyjamas designed for a child.

And a CAPE.

It goes without saying that my fellow lodge- dwellers set me a selection of superhero tasks to perform whilst in my heroic outfit, although I did find the cape a little snug in the neck area (for 'snug' please read 'slightly strangling.') This was due to the fact that it was designed for a 5 year old. I also find it highly amusing that my husband and I now own the rest of the outfit which he had to buy along with the cape. I have thought about dressing up the cat but I'm not sure she'll enjoy it as much as I would.

When not performing deeds of pyjama based bravery, we spent our time doing exactly what we wanted. Our motto of 'There is no judgement in Crawley' meant that no activity/ lack of activity/ strange choice of snack food/ excessive amount of snack food was frowned upon. Yes we ate treacle tart ALL DAY. But what happens in Crawley stays in Crawley.

Highlights were the face masks that made us look frighteningly like we were recreating the Black and White Minstrel Show, a few rounds of The Humming Game (no Beach Boys this time but there was a wonderful and surprising rendition of various 80s drum solos through the medium of hum) a country ramble that took us over a dual carriage way and through an estate, and the perfect and precious gift of a bit of quiet. I spent a few hours alone, just reading, just being. It was heavenly. The sun shone, the treacle tart seemed neverending, the box of wine made it impossible for us to tell exactly how much we'd actually drunk.

Perfect.

The Leaves, the Giant Fork and the BIG NEWS

2011-02-28T04:28:00.000-08:00

So here I am again, squirrelled up in my little study, watching a very grey day amuse itself outside the window. I spent hours clearing up leaves a few weeks ago and somehow, just to spite me, they have all come back. Our patio area once again looks like it has a brown bristly carpet and every time we open the kitchen door, we are attacked by overexcited leaves trying to make a bid for warmth.

The garden is looking pretty much exactly the same as it did when I last blogged. The giant cat toilet remains, although I think the cat is being a little more respectful after we had a 'little word' and the shed still looks like it was built by drunk people with no arms. There is one section of the garden that has a lot of green stuff in it. I say green stuff, but what I basically mean is 'a selection of unidentifiable plants that we don't understand and lots and lots of weeds.' The problem we have is telling what is weed and what is plant. It's a section of the garden we don't spend much time on- the vegetable area tends to get the most focus as, well, let's face it, I'm much more excited about things you can put in an omelette. My instinct with this section of the garden is to dig everything up and start again. I'd like to know what's there, and treat it all well and appropriately. I do feel a little guilty about this, however. It feels oddly like the gardening equivalent of ethnic cleansing. The previous tenants of this house obviously went to a lot of trouble planting all that, and I feel it would be wrong to tear everything out just so I have the satisfaction of being able to say 'LOOK- Look at THAT PLANT. That plant is definitely a HOSTA. And I know that because I PUT IT THERE.'

The BIG NEWS this time is pretty big, actually. It will mean more blogs, it will mean more anecdotes about how we did something wrong and ended up with a selection of freak like vegetables, it will mean more time outside.

That's right my friends, after 3 years on the waiting list, we have got our ALLOTMENT. If you were all here in my house I would now be enthusiastically high fiving you and wooping like a deranged teenage girl, but as you are not (and that's probably a good thing) I will sit quietly here with the lovely knowledge that there is a little patch of land 5 minutes away from our house that is just waiting for us. It's a little patch of stillness in crazy London- backing onto a reservoir and a cemetery (two areas not known for their noise disturbance) and I feel so lucky to have somewhere to head to when everything else all gets a bit much. Like Arthur from Eastenders, I have plans for a little shed where I can read, drink a beer in the summer and put photos up of impressive vegetables we have grown. We are sharing the plot with some friends of ours as life is busy, and our first 'meeting' yesterday was a joy- it involved a trip to the patch to go 'LOOK! Isn't this AWESOME' and a 'Vegetable Planning Meeting' (hereafter referred to as a VPM) which involved a big piece of paper and some massive pens. We have plans for a Fruit Corner, an Underground Corner, an Overground Corner and a 'Nearly Courgette' corner. I have managed to get over my disappointment that only one of those corners is named after a yoghurt.

The allotment was very quiet yesterday and we were the only people there, overexcitedly dividing our sections with green string and proudly placing the miniature scarecrow that I got from my mum in the post. If our patch is attacked by any miniature birds, they are going to freak OUT.

I'm looking forward to meeting more members of the allotment's community. The only person I've met so far was three years ago, when we initially put our names down on the waiting list. He was a lovely elderly man who was covered in bugs and smelled intensely of mint. He also turned out to be a local DJ and did us a rather terrifying Kenneth Williams impression for no apparent reason. If everyone is as lovely as he was, we are in for a treat.

I have a bit of time to myself this week so I plan on heading down there with a big fork (I love holding those as I like to pretend I'm a Borrower) to turn over the ground and get it ready for the new seeds. We haven't got a shed yet so if it rains, I am just going to carry on. Or, sit in the toilet block with a book and a flask.

It doesn't get more exciting than this.

The Lab Coats, The Jungle and the First Adventure of the Year.

2011-02-16T11:32:00.000-08:00

Well, whether it's actually the time for it, or whether massive global warming is beginning to have a horrific effect on the weather, Spring seems to be ever so slightly sprung. I have been waiting patiently and excitedly for daffodils to appear in the garden, and then, realising that we didn't actually plant any, have made a mental note to do that next year, to avoid disappointment.

In other garden news, we have cleared the vegetable patch in preparation for the new seeds for 2011. We have dug up the dried up, frozen remains of the vegetables from last year and left a beautiful, clear space for new life, accidentally creating what can only be described as a 'Massive Cat Toilet.' As I am not physically capable of being in the garden all day and all night, discouraging the cat from totally ruining all our hard work, I have had a stern word with her, and vowed to get the new seeds in soon. It's been exciting to think about what we might grow this year. Last year we went a bit planting-mental, saying 'AH HAHA HA gardening magazines, you don't know WHAT you're talking about- leaving space for things to grow? Oh no no no no..

After watching our garden turn into an overgrown vegetable jungle, with runner beans fighting with beetroot for survival, and a pumpkin that was so desperate for some space it grew half way across the lawn, we have learned our lesson. This year, my friends, we are going for quality. Last year we followed the 'get as many seeds into the ground as we can physically manage' tactic. This year we will be much more selective.

In camping news, Joni the beautiful orange campervan had her first adventure of 2011 yesterday. She has spent the winter months snuggled up in her winter anorak and now her sunshine orange glow is once more beaming onto the patch of road outside our house. She took a few goes to start (wouldn't you if you'd been standing still with an anorak on for 3 months?) then ran like a dream on her first trip out

I would like to tell you that her first adventure was to a leafy glade somewhere wonderfully peaceful, where we parked next to a mountain stream and waited for wildlife to dance for us and flowers to grow up her sides.

It wasn't. It was to pick up 15 labcoats from Surrey Quays.

Don't ask.

I have not yet broken to her that she is going on a UK tour from the 30th April onwards but if she is half as excited as I am, she will be tooting her horn with glee. I sat in her outside the house yesterday as it went dark, feeling a rush of anticipation for the months to come- we will be travelling as far north as Glasgow, as far south as Plymouth, and I can't wait to meet the many people who will be climbing through her doors.

Look out Britain- Joni's going on the road..

The Collie Dog, the Cathedral and the 17 books.

2011-01-31T09:47:00.000-08:00

It's been a little while again hasn't it. This has been for 2 reasons.

a) Last week I booked myself up so much that I frequently found myself praying for both the cloning process and teleportation to be key parts of my life. ( I wished for this in particular on Thursday evening when I got in from work at 12.30am and had to get up again at 5am-there was a moment of 'there's clearly been some horrible mistake' when the alarm went off, but it turned out that the only mistake was me assuming I was some sort of super-human robot when booking in work)

b) The Boy and I went on a little holiday. Yes, an ACTUAL HOLIDAY. To a REAL FOREIGN COUNTRY.

Yes, that's right. We went to Wales.

We last went to Wales after our wedding in April 2009, disappearing for a week to a little cottage with an open fire and dangerously low doorframes to spend time sitting under a blanket eating cheese and watching The West Wing. (because, my friends, we know how to PARTY)

This trip was relatively similar. We rented a little cottage in St David's, Britain's smallest city. It earned this title as it is very small and has a MASSIVE cathedral. Each time we went into the 'city' we were the only 2 people there. We laughed at the man in the surf shop who announced to Tom that the sale had now finished, despite there being approximately 70 enormous red SALE signs hanging over our heads, we sat mesmerised and emotional by the choral rehearsal in the cathedral, and never stopped being bemused by the sandwich shop that closed for lunch. It was a lovely place, the only lowlight being the supermarket, which felt suspiciously like an American supermarket featured in one of those films about serial killers.

The cottage was a little corner of rural heaven- no phone reception, no internet, and lovely plates. There is nothing better than an evening spent in front of an open fire with a book. We had plenty of choice in the book department as, in typical holiday style, we brought an overwhelming amount with us. It was unlikely we'd ever actually get through 17 books in 6 days, but it was good to have the option.

A lovely holiday highlight was the furry black and white visitor who popped her head in every morning to greet us. Don't be alarmed- this wasn't a local, dressed in a panda suit, but a gentle and clever collie dog called Jess. Well, we spent the week calling her Jess- it turned out that her name was entirely different and we'd possibly spent several days massively confusing her. There was a lot of stick throwing involved in our relationship- kindling from the fire was used until chewed to pieces, then one day she turned up with what can only be described as half a tree, and the stakes were really raised.

I returned to London feeling lighter than before (I am obviously speaking metaphorically- the amount of food I consumed during that week is something I wouldn't be happy putting online) and since getting back, I have been searching for that stillness, that silence of having a few hours just being in one place, reading. It's something I strive for but often fail at. Life (and facebook) often get in the way and it's hard to take the time just to do nothing at all.

So this is resolution for 2011. To sometimes do nothing. Nothing at all.

Ooh, and buy some new plates.

A Little Brother, a Couple of Crumpets, and Macy Gray

2010-12-29T02:48:00.001-08:00

It's been a while since I wrote a blog. You may have noticed this, you may not have. You may run, dressing gowned to the computer every morning at 6am, desperate for more whimsical anecdotes about vegetables. "But how ARE they going to figure out how to keep their tomatoes alive this time?" you may ask yourself.

(We will water them. That's what we will do)

The lack of recent blogging can be blamed on puppets. Yes, you heard.

I've been performing a puppetry version of the 3 Little Pigs at the Albany Theatre in Deptford all month, wearing a tank top and having at least one pig on my hand at all times. It has been a brilliant, fun month, allowing me to perform with my ace husband (we figured that husband and wife puppetry isn't sinister unless we brought the puppets home and called them our children) It was an exhausting month, doing 2 or 3 shows a day, dealing with heckles like 'We want Tom- Tom is BETTER THAN YOU' and, inexplicably, one child shouted 'SPIDERWOLF' at me every time I came on stage. Time at home has been limited and has mainly been spent nursing our limbs (I don't know if 'puppeteer's forearm' is a real medical term, but it should be) and, well, talking about puppets. I haven't been by the computer enough, and so blogging has taken a back seat. The pigs were in the front.

II have been inspired to blog again by my little brother. I say 'little.' He is 25 and significantly taller than me. He also has a proper job and a car. He also often marinades things.

My wonderful little brother is travelling solo around China. For 3 weeks. Over Christmas. I was in awe of him when I first heard this news. The most adventurous thing I've ever done over Christmas was going directly into the lounge to greet my parents after a heavy night at the pub on Christmas Eve.

In short, he is having a wonderful time. He is travelling to the known and the unknown, meeting new people, eating new food (with varying degrees of success) and attempting to communicate in mimes that often leave people frightened and confused.

Right now, he is my hero. His blog has made me think about having adventures. Yes, his stories make me want to travel to the unknown, they make me want to grab my passport and disappear for a few weeks, and they make me want to embrace those parts of the world that currently only exist for me on Google Earth.

But they also make me excited for my own adventure, the one that I am on right now. (well, not RIGHT NOW- right now I am in my dressing gown, wondering whether or not to have jam or marmite on my crumpets- I will probably go for one of each, so it feels like a full meal)

As I sit here in my little spot by the window, watching the constant drizzle hit the garden and the cat sheltering uncomfortably under a bush (it hasn't yet occurred to her that she can just come inside) I am filled with anticipation and excitement about the year to come. I am going on tour around the UK with my show 'Running on Air' for a large portion of the Spring and Summer of 2011 and I cannot wait. It feels as though this has been a long time coming, and Joni and I are ready for it. Well, she needs to pop to the garage first for a check that she'll not only make it to the end of our road, but also to Glasgow, but we will be ready. We will. I am looking forward to be doing what I love every day, to meeting new people in the show, to convincing people it's OK to use a biscuit tin as a drum in front of complete strangers.

I am looking forward to making new work next year, to reading new books, making new meals and finding new songs that I want to listen to on repeat for hours (This is a trait I share with my brother who listened to 'I Try' by Macy Gray on constant repeat for roughly 4 months without a break back in 2001)

In short, I have decided that 2011 will be a year of adventures. Some of those will be in wellingtons, some of them will not.

The Cold, The Pumpkin and the Halloween Tomatoes

2010-11-11T07:02:00.000-08:00

So, here I am again, in my little corner of the study. The doors to the garden are NOT open today as it is unneccessarily chilly. I am being entertained by 2 things:

a) showtunes (currently on Chess- how I love Elaine Paige when I can't see her face)

b) the cat, who is chasing something invisible to everyone other than her and keeps leaping inexplicably into the air then looking disgruntled. Earlier she was eating some paper. She then moved on to tinfoil, at which point I intervened.

Through the window to the garden I can see the scarlet leaves of a *insert name of tree here* tree which is turning out to be very beautiful in autumn. I know I should know the names of things in the garden but I am giving myself small, manageable goals when it comes to that skill. I have spent the last few months focusing on vegetables. (I've done other things as well, I haven't just been sitting in the garden, staring intently at them)

In Vegetable World (that sounds like the best theme park EVER) the garden is looking a little less exciting as it was a few months ago. This is because the season changed (ah, nature) and also because we ate everything. We also assumed that as soon as it's not 30 degrees, tomatoes don't need water any more. This is NOT TRUE. Needless to say, our tomato plants now look like are dressed as dead zombie tomato plants, all ready for a late Halloween party. Imagine what tomato plants would look like if Tim Burton designed them. Welcome to our garden.

I have to admit that I have no idea what to do with any of our vegetables now we've eaten all the good bits. Do we dig them up? Do we leave them and wait for them to grow new good bits? I think a little bit of consultation with Mr Titchmarsh may be in order.

The pumpkins were particularly emotional to pick. We grew a great big one and a little one. They weren't orange, but a lovely deep yellow, the colour of the campervan. I chose to see this as a wonderful coincidence rather than seeing it as them not being ready yet. Unfortunately, we ate them the wrong way round. We picked the little one when we had 6 people round for lunch, resulting in everyone having ONE AND ONLY ONE tiny cube of pumpkin each, then the massive great big one when we had ONE person round for dinner, resulting in far too much pumpkin, far more than any of us could manage without feeling physically uncomfortable.

We will learn next year. That is, if we get any pumpkins next year. I really have no idea what happens now.

In campervan world, Joni is still bringing much needed sunshine to our street. The show will be going on tour in the Spring/Summer next year (when we may or may not have vegetables again) and we are all very excited. Well, I'm not sure that the cat is excited. When we came back from Edinburgh, it took her over a week to forgive us for going away and even then it was done with a look of 'well, we can all PRETEND that it didn't happen, but I have the RSPCA on speed dial..)

I can't wait to take Joni on the road. We are going to update the story that I tell and it will reflect the months between Edinburgh and the current day. Lots of adventures have been had and there are many more to be had. It's approaching the time of year when VWs don't like the weather (we learned that the hard way last year with an 11 hour journey between Edinburgh and Preston) so we know now that she needs to hide under a blanket until the Spring. What a wonderful idea.

The Rain, the Punch and the Parade

2010-10-04T13:39:00.000-07:00

This weekend, Tom and I tried something new. We were, I admit, a little nervous about it. Neither of us knew how it would go, we felt a mix of adrenalin and nerves, but both suspected that as soon as we'd done it once, we would want to do it a lot more.

Yes, you've guessed it. This weekend we went on our first VW adventure with the London Thames Valley VW club.

For the last few months, Joni has been a huge focus in our lives. She is the only campervan on our street, lighting it up with a little burst of orangey sunshine, she had an incredibly exciting time in Edinburgh, welcoming 295 people through her doors, then she covered hundreds of miles around the beautiful Highlands, providing us with a lovely warm nest in which to sleep in the middle of nature, protecting us from both murderers and panthers. (NB- she did not protect us from midges, but that is only because they are basically evil) This weekend was the first time she would spend a significant amount with other campervans. It felt a bit like a beauty contest for children, but this time the children were massive, and on the motorway. The event in question was the Brighton Breeze, an annual event where 750 aircooled campervans drive in convoy from London to Brighton, then park up on the seafront, looking pretty and causing massive congestion problems. We were EXCITED.

On Friday night, the night before the big event, we planned to meet a few other members of the LTV (London Thames Valley, darling) club at a campsite called WoWo which is about a 40 minute drive out of London. As always, Tom and I left home slightly later than expected. This was mainly due to us dithering about and making sure we had the right books to take away with us, despite the knowledge that we would have absolutely no time to do any reading over the weekend. Now we have bookshelves in Joni, it would be wrong not to fill them up. Did I NEED to take a book of Victoria Wood scripts away with me? No. Did the very presence of that book somehow make me feel like Joni is a more well rounded campervan with a fundamental knowledge of the subtle nuances of northern comedy? Of course.

We had spoken to other members of the club on the forum, all of us communicating through the guises of our forum names. Tom, known for his trend of thinking outside of the box, chose a cryptic name for us, that was close to impossible for strangers to decipher. Our name: TomandLaura.

Without going into lots of emotional detail about the people that we met, which would be easy to do, everyone was ace. They made us feel welcome, they told us stories of past events, they greeted Joni with waves and with smiles, and they admired the fact that she has a special area for keeping wellies.

The Saturday was a very lovely day indeed, despite it being one of the wettest days I've ever seen in Brighton. We didn't want to admit to other members of the club that this was almost definitely our fault, that we attract extreme weather wherever we go, and that had we decided to stay at home and just read books at home, it would probably have been a glorious day, instead of something out of a Channel Five 'When Camping Goes Bad' documentary. It wasn't, however, bad in the slightest. It was brilliant. The sight of 750 gorgeous shiny campervans all lined up in a big wet parade was a total treat. Each one of them told a story and each of the owners was beaming, whilst wearing some sort of heavy duty waterproof jacket. Us VW owners know how to do this PROPERLY.

The evening event took place up at Brighton Racecourse, where we all camped, laughed at the fact that it was so foggy we couldn't actually see any of the other vehicles, then danced the night away to a Madness tribute band. After coming to terms with the fact that it is impossible to look demure whilst dancing to 'Baggy Trousers,' we had a very lovely evening. Highlights of the night were the sight of people wearing wellies, sitting on camping chairs and helping themselves to drinks out of their own coolboxes, whilst sitting in what can only be described as a massive Working Mens Club, a punch that contained so much alcohol I was worried about people smoking near it, and a poodle who was wearing a shellsuit with no irony whatsoever.

When it came to hometime on Sunday morning, we pulled away from our new friends with a sense of something that was just beginning. We also had massive hangovers, but chose not to focus on that. The best part of the weekend was spending time with people who know exactly what it's like to own a car that, at any point, may stop. That is surely part of the adventure- we all know that we could give it all up and get a 'normal car'- one that will drive from A to B without worry. But that's why we do it- it's the adventure that counts. An event from the weekend that sums this up was the awful experience of seeing the engine of a Beetle owned by a member of our group, go up in flames. It was a horrible few moments when time seemed to stand still, and we all felt our hearts wrench as it became harder to extinguish the flames. We all ran from our vehicles, and even when the fire was out, nobody could quite believe what had happened. I have no doubt that the beautiful Beetle will be back on the road though, soon, as its owners have such passion for it. There is a real sense of support that comes with being a member of the VW community. People know what it's like to see or hear something go wrong with their beloved bus, van or car. And it's always good to know that there will be someone else on the road, probably wearing a waterproof jacket, who will stop and offer their help.

Who wants to go straight from A to B, when you could go on a detour and find a poodle wearing a shellsuit...

A Macventure PART TWO

2010-10-01T07:11:00.001-07:00

All I really did in my last post was to tell you about our fears of wild camping. That was very negative of me, wasn't it. Luckily, we didn't get mauled to death by an escaped panther or battered to a pulp by an axe murderer. We did get some pretty nasty midge bites, but good old Tom took most of the hit, much like a fleshy human shield. It turns out that midges are extremely clever and not only will they find the TINIEST of teeny TINY holes in insect-proof window netting stuff (not the official title for that, but I have no idea what it's actually called) but they will then find a comfortable little spot within your campervan, hang out there for over a week and continue to feast on your wrists/ankles/cheeks until you find yourself screaming WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME in the middle of the night.

'Luckily' (you'll see why I have included the ' ' in a moment) Tom managed to find an incredible contraption in Boots before we left, which looks a bit like an asthma inhaler, but administers what can only be described as an electric shock to the midge or mosquito bite. It makes a funny snapping noise and is the equivalent of giving your bite a smack so it hurts a little bit for a moment then stops itching. I was understandably reluctant to use this, and chose instead to stick with the traditional system of getting cranky and rubbing the bite against a bit of velcro or across a pair of corduroy trousers until it gets really painful. Worryingly, Tom found that electrocuting a particular bite on the inside of his arm made his hand spasm. Even more worryingly, he seemed to be really enjoying himself, and had a proper big giggle every time it happened. You have to find your own fun in the wilderness. Tom's fun involved being bitten by a hungry Scottish insect, then electrocuting himself with a device available from a high street chemist.

Over the course of 8 days, we drove from Edinburgh, up to the most north-westerly point of the UK, then back again. I can honestly say that the Highlands are the most beautiful part of the world- with incredibly diverse landscapes, sights, hidden treats and surprises. One moment we were driving along the bluest of lochs, the sky a bright turquoise, the next we were engulfed in fog, not able to see 2 metres infront of us. The tip to drive up the south side of Loch Ness was a great piece of advice- it's a really gorgeous road, with lots of places to stop and spot the monster. We didn't see him, although Tom did confess to me that he has felt, from an early age, that he is going to be the one that does.

Wild camping was a learning experience, and I can truly say that weeing in a bucket became surprisingly mundane after the first two or three times. (I should point out that the bucket just cuts down on unwanted prickling from heather/thistles, and was not in any way of storing waste) There is something very primal about washing your hair in a carpark and a rite of passage I'm glad I have now experienced. Once we'd got over the fear of being approached by people asking us to move on, it became an adventure looking for somewhere to park up and spend the night, and each time we started to panic as it got dark, a perfect place would present itself and welcome us in. We stayed by the foot of Glen Coe, in a carpark on the edge of the sea, in a meadow-like field in a beautiful little fishermans village on the east coast, and in a national park that provided the beautiful backdrop in Monarch of the Glen.

One low point was a night spent on the edge of a cliff in Durness where we experienced the worst winds they had had for over 20 years. Once again, this could only really happen to the Franklands, and as we sat wide awake in Joni, not sleeping a wink, trying to drink from a miniature bottle of port, which turned out to be over 3 years out of date, therefore making us both feel queasy, it was ALMOST funny.

It's a shame that wild camping is not legal in England, although thinking about it more, there are fewer places where it would actually work. There is a lot more space in the Highlands, bigger areas of unadulterated nature. At first we were taken aback by the silence whenever we stopped (silence is not an option when we are driving- Joni's engine is working beautifully now but sneaking up on anyone without them hearing us would be like trying to smuggle King Kong silently through a cymbal factory.) The contrast of her whirring engine and the perfect, clear silence of an afternoon tea stop was one of the best bits of the journey. After the giddy madness of Edinburgh, being surrounded by peace and quiet was something we never took for granted.

The three of us can't wait to go back...

A Macventure (see what I did there) PART ONE

2010-09-27T08:04:00.000-07:00

Goodness me, this is a LOT later than I had expected. Since getting back from our jaunt around the Highlands, I have been swept up in a whirlwind of trying to figure out what my life is when it isn't doing 3 shows a day in Joni. This has involved an upsetting amount of admin, and, more worryingly, doing work that isn't that much fun.

I have been wanting to write about our Northern Adventure (so good I gave it capital letters) for a while but only today have I had a nice, quiet spot by the window, a cup of tea and a few hours free. I have scones to make today, but this feels more important, just for now.

The most exciting and daunting part of our adventure was the prospect of wild camping. In Scotland, it is legal to park up and camp by a mountain, or a loch, or any other kind of beautiful Scottish wonderfulness. You don't have to drive around in the dark, looking for a campsite that inevitably turns out to be slightly less nice than real nature and costs £28 for the pleasure of having a toilet block that plays Radio 2 all night. (*coughCARAVAN CLUB cough*)

This was a pretty exciting prospect, but also a slightly unnerving one, as it meant that we were completely in charge of our own nighttime destiny. If you have been following my blog from the beginning, you will know that Tom and I are not known for our organisational skills, especially when it comes to finding places. Any places at all.

During a conversation we had whilst heading north into the wilderness, it was revealed that Tom and I had 3 main fears regarding wild camping. These fears, in no particular order were:

a) midges

b) murderers

c) panthers

Now, let me explain this list. The first was Tom's fear, triggered by absolutely EVERYBODY we spoke to about the Highlands saying 'watch out for the midges, they will literally eat you alive.'

Personally, I have developed a no-fail system of avoiding midge and mosquito bites. It involves standing near Tom as they cannot get enough of that tasty Frankland morsel, but this did not seem to pacify Tom at all.

The second fear- murderers- was mainly mine. Thinking logically about it, the vast majority of murderers tend to crop up in urban areas and not loiter in the more uninhabited sections of northern Scotland, ready to pounce on tired Festival performers, but you can never be too careful. The last thing we wanted was for one of us to get attacked by an axe murderer just as we were getting really stuck in to a really meaty game of backgammon.

The third fear- panthers- was not something we had originally considered when planning our holiday. This brand new fear was triggered by a good friend of mine choosing a phone catch-up in a service station to announce the fact that there was in fact a panther on the loose in the Highlands. It seems to me that there is always some sort of wildcat on the loose at any given time, and that zoos should really learn to lock things, but as I am fundamentally against zoos, I was pleased that the little scamp was probably having a whale of a time, chasing sheep, hiding behind tufts of heather, pretending to be a rock, that sort of thing. It did, however, mean we were both slightly nervous about being ripped from the campervan then being mauled to death whilst having an afternoon nap or early evening game of Travel Scrabble. In this case, however, my fears were eased by the knowledge that the massive amount of midge repellent that Tom had applied was probably potent enough to deter significantly larger pests. Chances are, a panther would be knocked out before getting anywhere nearer than 20 metres. Job done.

As well as these 3 main fears, I also had several questions that were playing on my mind when it came to braving unknown countryside without the safety of a campsite at the end of a long day. These questions were

a) will we find somewhere to camp that is nice? (and safe from panthers/murderers/bloodthirsty midges)

b)are we REALLY allowed to just park wherever we like?

c) will Tom still love me once he has seen me wee in a bucket?

Luckily, the answer to all three of these questions was 'yes.'

Into the Wild...

2010-08-31T03:33:00.000-07:00

And so, it's all done. The Festival is over. I am physically and mentally broken, but so very happy.

It's all been a bit of a whirlwind. 295 people have now seen my show- I had my last one yesterday at 1pm and managed to cry quite a lot at the end. I hope the audience knew that I was being weepy because it was my final show, and not that I manage to force tears out at the end of every performance. That would have made for a very draining month. After 59 shows in 26 days, I felt a mix of relief, adrenalin, joy, tears, exhilaration and exhaustion.

We were not allowed to leave the Pleasance Courtyard until 11.30pm because of site rules and so after the 1pm show, we felt in suspended in a strange state of waiting.. We had to load Joni up with all our stuff (us Franklands are not known for our skill of travelling light- our packing for a camping holiday involves a ukelele, at least 12 books and an 8ft surfboard.

At 11.30pm, we pulled away from our little corner of the Courtyard- we beeped the horn at the few people who were still there (incidentally, one of those people turned out to be Tim Vine) and we felt so proud of Joni. The triumphant departure was marred slightly when we had to stop and move some bins so we could get out without taking the wing mirrors off, but then we were DEFINITELY OFF, forging our way over the cobbles and out of the Courtyard Archway, headed for the unknown (well, our friend's house in Port Seton, but I was being poignantly metaphorical)

And here we are now in Port Seton, in a beautiful fisherman's cottage, getting Joni ready for her trip up to the Highlands. We are heading straight North, up to the very top, where I can't wait for 2 weeks of nothing- just beautiful peace and quiet, sea air and using Joni as a proper campervan once more. She has worked so hard over the last month, supporting me through my shows, staying sturdy and beautiful in the middle of the Pleasance, and welcoming all those lovely people in through her sliding door. I can't wait to go to sleep in her again and cook bacon on the stove in the morning. It's my birthday while we're away and I can't think of a nicer way to spend it.

I will update this when I get back, as I am turning my phone and computer well and truly OFF as from now. We are going to be wild camping (which is legal in Scotland, but not England) and so I apologise to anyone who sees me as soon as I get back. I am likely to look a bit like I've gone feral. Who knows, I may even grow a beard like Tom.

This is Joni and I signing off for now.

Until the next time...Happy Camping

x

The Final Week, the Visit from Preston and the City that Never Sleeps

2010-08-24T09:15:00.000-07:00

Well, I certainly intended to update my blog much more than this.

But, this in Edinburgh. And in Edinburgh things are not normal, not as expected and almost never involve making sensible decisions.

I cannot believe I am saying this, but I am now 43 shows in. I have met some extremely lovely people, had a very exciting run of reviews, very unexpectedly won a Fringe First and, most importantly, am still having a lovely time. I know this sounds silly to say, but I have had emotional, awful Edinburghs in the past, where I have been both ill and fed up, often at the same time, and I am so pleased to say that neither of those things have happened yet.

I have met people who have surprised me, people who have made me laugh, people who have sung their hearts out and people who have nearly broken my tape recorder. My parents came to see the show on Friday last week and it was so lovely to have them sitting inside Joni. My dad was significantly less adept at operating a tape recorder than expected, and I think my mum felt a bit travel sick, but it was really nice to see them. Sometimes you need to see people from the normal world to remind you that this is all real

We are heading to the Highlands next Tuesday, and I know that Joni will need a holiday as much as Tom and I do. I am excited about the week to come but cannot wait to head out into nature, full of midges and fresh air and waking up to the sound of rain on the roof. Awesome.

Tonight I am going to see some comedy in the Courtyard and I am looking forward to it all. I had a day off yesterday and I need to get my momentum back.

I will write more tomorrow but I wanted to check in as I haven't managed to blog for ages.

Sorry if this all sounds a bit smug today- I'm just having fun. Happy days.

The Rain, the Lawnmower Museum and the best campervan in the world

2010-08-06T10:26:00.000-07:00

Greeting from Scotland!

And so, here we are, in amazing, consuming, beautiful, WET, whirlwind Edinburgh. I am already resigned to the fact that my wellies will now be my permanent shoes, that none of my summer dresses will make it out of my suitcase, and that getting trenchfoot is a very real possibility.

I am already 6 shows in, which feels crazy, as the festival only really started today. I am loving every minute of it. It is such a a treat to be doing what I love every day. Twice.

We have bought a cover for Joni as she is parked in such a prominent part of the Pleasance Courtyard. Tom and I have found it very difficult to sit having a post show cider, watching people leaning on her in a casual manner. I have branded these people 'VTs' - Van Touchers. I feel like getting myself a tuxedo and dark glasses, wrestling the VTs to the ground with the vicious cry of DON'T TOUCH MY VAAAAAAAAN..

But I won't.

Not now we've got the cover.

I am writing a column for Three Weeks newspaper, called 'Last Week in the Van' where I list 10 things that have happened in Joni so far. I'm not going to give it away, but am going to give you a current highlight.

Today, in my show I had a lovely couple called Brian and Sue, who turn out to be the owners of the Lawnmover Museum in Southport. I didn't know that such a place existed, but they proved it to me by giving me a leaflet. Their tag line is 'When the Growing Gets Tough, the Tough Get Mowing.'

This made me love them even more

The Last Push, The Neighbours and the Pumpkin that took over the World..

2010-07-26T09:42:00.000-07:00

Sorry you've had to wait a bit longer than normal than this one. It turns out that making a solo show and renovating a campervan at the same time is quite a lot of work.

Joni is still in the process of getting a makeover and although at the moment, she is looking worse each day, it's a bit like she is going through those few days after you do a facemask and your skin goes all bonkers. Pretty soon, she will be looking wonderful- she's got new cupboards going in, new fabric on her roof (the inside, not the outside, that'd be insane) and a carpet of gorgeous glossy astoturf carpet. (this does oddly smell of uncooked meat, but I'm hoping that's just a 'new smell' and doesn't indicate that it's been in a butcher's window with mince nestling on it for the last few months)

Making the show is going pretty well- I had a brief hiccup on Saturday when I had to go for a walk round the block in the middle of the runthrough to have a little cry, but then I threw some forks, punched the toilet door, and all was fine again.

We have been in Joni outside the house every day for a week and we keep sporadically frightening the neighbours by suddenly emerging onto the pavement in a kind of HA HA WE'VE BEEN HERE ALL ALONG sort or way. I suspect that some of them have started to think we've been kicked out of our house and are now sleeping in the van outside, but we are trying to convince them otherwise by wearing really different outfits every day and saying 'SO, the SHOW WE ARE DOING..' as loudly as possible.

I was interviewed for Radio 2 today which was extremely exciting. I was extremely nervous and for some reason decided that not having a kazoo was the main obstacle to the show not being ready yet. The interview will be played on the Claudia Winkleman show on Friday evening so I hope I come across as someone who is doing something interesting in a quirky space, rather than someone who is obsessed by old school comical instruments.

In other news, the garden is looking pretty wonderful. The pumpkin plant appears to be doing well on its mission to take over the world (it has now attached itself to most of the other plants and has grown quite a long way across the lawn) and we managed to have a courgette omelette with the most wonderful, green beautiful courgette there ever was. It did, however, feel a little strange eating vegetables in front of other vegetables, a bit like we were saying 'Ah ha ha, this is what will happen to you soon, GROW GROW MY PRETTIES..'

SO, all is growing. Vegetables are growing and the show is growing.

Come on August, I'm (almost) ready for you.

I just need that kazoo..

The Rain, the Unexpected Vegetable Forest and the Outdoor Makeover

2010-07-16T13:43:00.000-07:00

And so, it rained.

Don't try and deny it, it's what everyone wanted (my dad was delighted)

We can all pretend that we like loads of sunshine but when push comes to shove, what we REALLY want is to have a great big massive moan about having to take our umbrellas out with us again.

I always feel a huge conflict during the event of heavy rain. There is a huge part of me that wants to run, freely and without inhibitions, into the street, dance in the rain and let the water soak me through in a joyous manner. There is, however, another part of me that imagines the inevitably irritating process afterwards, trying to get mud off the carpet, having to have a warm bath to avoid catching a chill, and generally feeling like a bit of a wally.

Chances are, if you pause to go and put an anorak on, the moment has passed.

The garden is looking, to quote Alan Titchmarsh, bloody amazing (I've never actually heard him say that but he's an enthusiastic fellow and I imagine he's said it at some point, possibly upon completing a brilliant patio)

Everything has grown a LOT. Except the grass seeds. They have all died a painful and crispy death. This is mainly because we both forgot about them and they have therefore had no water at all for about 2 weeks.

We now have three strawberries. This is very exciting. Tom and I are both nervous about eating any of them, however, due to a fear that we have either accidentally spawned something poisonous, or that they are not ready yet, despite being the perfect size and colour.

We have teeny tiny courgettes. And we have learned from previous experience that we shouldn't pick them yet. This lesson was learned the hard way when we picked and ate some spring onions that actually turned out to be leeks that had been picked 6 months too early.

In the meantime, at the other side of the house, Joni the campervan is being fancied up and prepared for her journey up to Edinburgh in (gulp) two weeks time. After an hour's work on her interior, she is now looking significantly WORSE than she did before, but we keep telling ourselves that it has to get worse before it gets better. Tom did spend somewhere in the reason of 4 hours scratching the glue of a tiny patch of paintwork, and I have, of course, told him that he is my hero. This weekend will be mainly spent in Joni outside the house, trying not to electrocute ourselves on any loose wiring and talking about how excited we are to head up to Edinburgh in our beautiful orange bus. At the moment she is going through the campervan equivalent of getting a manicure, a pedicure, a facemask, a hairmask, a chemical peel and an eyebrow sort out. Unlike humans, however, poor Joni is getting all this in the street and is being left there overnight.

She seems to have created a bit of a buzz on our street, which is totally heartwarming. People keep stopping to say hello when we are near her, and neighbours are wishing us well for our month away.

It's very exciting indeed.

The Sun, The Tiny Strawberry and the Tomato Mirage.

2010-07-03T06:59:00.001-07:00

Goodness me it's a bit hot isn't it. I am not complaining- I like having problems sleeping and having a purple face, but I don't think the garden is particularly enjoying it. Everything is looking a bit crispy and despite my attempts to keep it watered as much as I can, this is proving to be quite tricky when all we have is a watering can that holds about as much water as my own hands, and has a broken spraying bit that keeps falling off, unleashing an impromptu gush at any given moment.

Someone mentioned earlier in the week that it might rain overnight, and I actually found myself saying 'well, the garden needs it.'

It was at that point that I actually became my dad.

It feels too grown up to buy a hosepipe. I can't support that sort of lavish water spraying. Although I am tempted to get a sprinkler, then Tom and I can put our swimming costumes on in the early evening, dare each other to run through it, then have an ice lolly. It'd be like we were 8.

On a positive note, we have successfully produced ONE STRAWBERRY. It's little, it's alone. It's perfect. I can't bring myself to pick it until it has friends, but let's just say that in a few weeks time, it's very possible that Tom and I will be having a TINY Wimbledon party dessert. Maybe we can drink a thimble of champagne each and call it a 'micro- soiree.' I'm sure it's been done in Hoxton.

It also turns out that both Tom and I, independently of each other, have become VERY excited about seeing the several tomatoes that the plant has produced, had a little celebration in our own heads, then realised that it was actually the picture of some tomatoes on the seed packet. I love the fact that we BOTH did this, and am amused by the idea that Juniper the cat knew all along, and sat looking at us with veiled embarrassment for her gullible parents.

In other news, it's full steam ahead for my show Running on Air at the Fringe Festival this year. Joni is getting pimped up, I found the best curtain material in the entire world (yes, that's right) in a charity shop in Orpington, and as I was frighteningly informed earlier this week, it's 33 days until the beginning of the festival. Time to start taking those multi-vitamins.

I am, in equal measures, incredibly excited and terrifyingly nervous- this is my first solo show and, as it is so autobiographical, I have at times found it difficult to articulate how I feel and how I want this to manifest itself in the show. Earlier this week I got a little lost. I was unable to see the path ahead and had a bit of a panic. Actually it was a huge panic. I threw a notebook at a chest of drawers. It was tough.

I never thought I'd write this, but 24 hours in Stafford sorted me right out.

I have realised the power of being up high. I sat alone up a little hill by the castle for a few hours and found inspiration again, like a new breeze.

I'm back.

And I'm excited.

The Flags, The Pigeons and the out of town adventure

2010-06-22T09:18:00.000-07:00

And so, last night we used Joni the beautiful camper van for the thing she is truly made for.

No, not that.

We went on an adventure.

Now, there is a difference between an adventure and an 'adventure'- the latter being the way in which Tom brands horrendous experiences where we drive round in the dark a lot, looking for somewhere to sleep.

Last night was somewhere inbetween.

As a reaction to doing lots of things all at once and being very busy all of the time, we decided to disappear for the night and go somewhere really peaceful, somewhere we could wake up in the morning and be aware of...nothing. It was going to be heaven.

After a brief chat with a friend recently who mentioned a lovely deserted beach in Kent, we decided to head there. In typical Frankland style, we didn't check the map VERY carefully, we didn't note down the address of any campsites and I didn't pack any socks.

We did, however, remember to roast a selection of vegetables to have with our camping cous cous.

On arriving on Sheppey Island, about 90 minutes away from home, we were surprised to find that it was a little bit like going on holiday in Croydon. Now, don't get me wrong, I like Croydon- it has a very nice if massively confusing shopping centre and I often end up meeting old friends unexpectedly at the train station. But it is not my first choice for a holiday destination.

If it wasn't for the football, I'd be very nervous about the sheer volume of England flags on the island, and there were lots of people shouting at each other in the car park at Tesco. It is fair to say that we were feeling a little nervous about finding somewhere to sleep.

After stopping in at various holiday parks, we once again fell victim to not driving a static caravan. It was reminiscent of a trip to Brighton during which we met the rudest woman IN THE WORLD EVER who was very mean about Joni as she didn't have Broadband or armchairs. When looking through campsite reviews, we tend to look for reviews that criticise the site for being 'a bit basic.' Not for the ones where the toilets have underfloor heating and Radio 2 piped into the shower block. (that was an actual place. Never, I repeat NEVER, go camping in Taunton)

As it began to get dark, and I began to lose my sense of humour (and the comfort of my feet due to the lack of socks) we eventually found a campsite with a little corner, just for us. It wasn't picturesque (although I THINK I could see the sea through some brambles, through the hedge, through some barbed wire, and through a line of static caravans) but it was just what we needed. A little corner, just for us.

When we go anywhere at all, I often imagine an aerial view. Last night I imagined in the aerial view that on the other side of the hedge there was the most beautiful campsite, a lush green field, apple trees, little pond,perfect sea view, deers wandering through the grass, free wine, fresh croissants for breakfast..that sort of thing. And there we were, on the other side of the hedge, parked very close to a bush that seemed to be producing mosquitos at an alarming rate, a toilet with no locks on and a skip that pigeons kept flying out of.

And you know what..

It was perfect.

The Patch of Madness, the Cat Temple and the Upside Down Courgette

2010-06-13T11:41:00.000-07:00

Hello campers (sorry, I just had to do that once, I won't do it again, I promise)

Despite the massive patch of overgrown madness and the fact that the shed that is leaning so much to the left I am nervous to even touch it for fear of being flattened, the garden is looking pretty wonderful at the moment.

The matchsticks seem to be deterring the cat from using the seedling area as the toilet, the spinach plant is now taller than Tom (yes, I know that's weird, and we're not entirely sure it's actually spinach, but we are eating it anyway) and the courgette that we accidentally grew upside down is flourishing beautifully, despite being the courgette equivalent of a hunchback.

The huge patch of flowery madness is in desperate need of an afternoon's attention-I KNOW there are some actual plants in there but at the moment they are difficult to spot amongst a frightening number of what I can only describe as 'unwanted weedy type green things.'

The biggest surprise of the last week was revealed when Tom cut back the ivy on the wall by the kitchen door. I love the ivy, but if we left it any longer, we wouldn't be able to get out of the kitchen. On cutting it back, Tom has uncovered a stone plaque on the wall, adorned with the facade of a house, with a cat on the steps to the door. Also on the facade, on either side of the door, are 2 areas for candles.

It is fair to say that this was the LEAST expected thing to find on a wall. It made me wonder if that is why our garden is attracting the evil cat from next door. Perhaps it has been lured there by some sort of cat spirit? If we light candles on it, will we attract cats from all of south east London? It's tempting to give it a whirl. Watch this space. And, watch your cat.

Work in Progress, Matchstick Deterrents and a Beautiful Blue Bike

2010-06-06T11:36:00.000-07:00

And so, you may have noticed that I haven't blogged for a while. WHY WHY? I hear you ask. Calm down, I will tell you.

Well, it's because I have been making my first solo show- it's called 'Running on Air' and it's being premiered at the Edinburgh Fringe in August.

I am very excited about it. So very excited. It's being performed to 5 people at once, who will be joining me in Joni, the most beautiful yellow camper van. I think she is excited too, although it is harder to tell.

Tom and I are making the show together, which is very lovely. And so, we spent 6 days in a windowless basement and emerged, blinking, like little moles from a burrow, with an idea of the show and how it works. It was the most wonderful of weeks.

During the week, in the brief, fleeting time we spent at home, we managed to get the vegetables into the garden. No longer will our bathroom be filled with containers full of soil. We set them free into the wilds of the garden, like taking our children to primary school for the first time.

Hopefully when we do take our children to primary school for the first time, we won't have to worry about cats defecating on them. Which is where the similarity ends.

Poor Juniper. Just as she's learned that we don't want her to use the lounge carpet as a toilet, we start being fussy about where she goes in the garden. Instead of

a) sitting in the garden all day and all night to stop her from going or
b) hiring someone to do this for us

we decided to adorn the garden with matchsticks. I honestly have no idea if this will work but it makes me feel better. Who wants to go to the toilet on something that has sharp sticks pointing out of it? Not me.

In other news, I bought my first bike as a grown up. I'd had enough of watching Tom sail off into the distance, pedalling like a smug, happy free spirit whilst I waited for the 343 for about an hour, getting more and more cross.

And so I bought Hercules. He is a blue 1960s pushbike and I love him. He is just shiny enough to be beautiful, and just battered enough to deter thieves. I am so very excited about spending the summer whistling my way down country lanes, feeling like I'm in a French film and laughing at people who are still waiting for the 343. Ah Ha ha ha ha...fools..

And as soon as I pluck up enough courage to actually go out on the bike, I'm sure this will all be very pleasant indeed.

Beauty Contests, Rain and Simon Callow

2010-05-19T08:15:00.000-07:00

I am fundamentally against beauty contests- watching trussed up entrants being paraded about in their finery, being judged by the public purely on their physical attributes and being expected to be perfect, beautiful, silent objects

This, however, goes out of the window when it comes to campervans.

On Sunday, Tom and I took Joni to her first beauty contest. OK, so they call it an 'event' or 'fair' or whatever, but it is basically a chance to parade your VW in front of loads of strangers and invite people to tell you how beautiful and shiny she is. Certain categories would simply not be acceptable for a human beauty contest ('Best Dent' being one of those)

And she was, so very beautiful and so very, very shiny. We felt like new parents, displaying our offspring to the world and generally being all proud of Joni and wanting to stand next to her saying 'yes, I know, she IS beautiful, isn't she' in a slightly smug manner. We got to see lots of really beautiful VWs, all looking gorgeous and shiny and awesome, even in the rain.

The event was in Berkshire and was hosted by the Thames Valley VW Owners Club (yes, we are members, I have never seen Tom so excited as when he received his membership card) and it was one of the most entertaining experiences I've ever had on a Sunday. Despite it raining dramatically for quite a long time, we had a lovely time. Highlights include a group of grown men, all drunk, all with their faces painted like tigers or Spiderman, and a dog that looked like Simon Callow.

Although Joni did not win any awards (my theory is that she was parked too far away from the ice cream van and not enough people were able to appreciate her properly) we were both warmed by how cool she looked. It made me even happier to know that we have her, and that there are many more adventures to be had.

In other news, I accidentally sprayed our courgettes with kitchen cleaner today. This could result in one of two things:

1) They die instantly

2)In a year's time, we have a very foamy, but very clean, soup.

Bluebells, Rejection and Watering Wilf

2010-05-11T10:04:00.000-07:00

And so, the sunflowers are definitely dead. But, in true Norman Bates style, they are still in their pots, still in the kitchen by the window, and I am still watering them. Despite their limp, brown floppy appearance, I cannot accept that they are really gone. I can sense that gardening is going to be quite an emotional hobby for me. The Gardeners World magazine makes it look so jolly. The truth is that it is filled with rejection and loss.

The garden now seems to be full of bluebells which are giving it a wild appearance that I am claiming all credit for. There is so much to do but I need to figure out what those things are before I start blindly waving a spade around.

On the plus side, I am not frightened of the compost bin anymore. Admittedly, my first visit to it was in the dark, and as someone who has never been that close to rotting things before, I was nervous that I would be attacked by worms, or bitten by angry sleeping badgers. As neither of those things happened, I am now feeling much more relaxed about it. I am also now making meals where I KNOW there will be raw leftovers so I can go and add to the compost. I like the feeling of popping my wellies on and spending a few tiny moments walking to the back of the garden, especially after the sun goes down and I can enjoy a little moment of rural peace.

Another element of our new garden that has provoked much discussion is our new gnome.

Now, I have always wondered if I would, upon acquiring a garden, get a gnome. There seems to be a lot of them about, not all of whom are displayed ironically. Once I had decided that yes, we should have one, and no, I wasn't going to involve Tom in the decision, the purchase was done extremely quickly. It was almost as though thinking about it too much would, inevitably, end up in no gnome at all.

And so, we are now the proud parents of Watering Wilf. He came from Amazon. (no, not THE Amazon, that would be ridiculous) In turns out, you can buy gnomes on the internet. Welcome to 2010.

On the negative side, when he turned up, he was significantly less classy than he had looked in his photo. I felt cheated, like someone who has signed up to Guardian Soulmates then been disappointed to meet their date. Except in this case, the date was standing in my garden wearing a pointy green hat and carrying a watering can.

On the plus side, he was MUCH smaller than I was expecting.

You win some, you lose some.

In this case, I have gained a gnome, but lost a little bit of class.

It's a decision I can live with.

Sunflowers, pumpkins and emotional rollercoasters

2010-05-06T02:03:00.000-07:00

And so, my friends, I have sad news.

Margot and Jerry, the only 2 entrants in the sunflower growing competition, are not looking well. Not well at all.

At first, it was Jerry who fell. Naturally, I was filled with glee, as this was not my entrant. Margot was still doing well. Yes, she was a little droopy, but wouldn't you be if you had to stand in a kitchen for several weeks, buried up to your knees in soil.

But now they are both basically dead. Pretty much. We haven't had a funeral for them yet - we're not ruling out all hope, but it's not looking good.

On the plus side, the pumpkins are doing marvellously, and Clive the Chive is also flourishing. This time next year, we're going to be having a pretty amazing pumpkin and chive soup.

I remember taking part in a lupin growing competition at primary school and, unlike ALL OTHER competitions, I actually did quite well. My lupin flourished, I took it home, planted it in the garden, gave it constant love and then it got greenfly and was brutally destroyed.

It's quite an emotional hobby, gardening.

Flapjacks, National Trust Car Parks and Alan Turner

2010-05-03T05:22:00.000-07:00

I'm writing 2 in one day today, so I can catch up. I may need to have a lie down after all this writing.

You may remember that in my last post, I said that we shouldn't do London- Cornwall in one go, whilst in Joni the camper van.

Neither should we do Cornwall- London.

So we didn't. We decided to stop off with some very lovely friends near Bristol. Sensible, see?

Now, I really can't explain why, but wherever Tom and I go, we have 'adventures'. I've put that in quotations because we often have to rebrand ridiculous situations, most of which involve getting lost, breaking down, turning up at the wrong place, driving around aimlessly at night, getting trapped in places, or just generally being awful at getting things right.

If you say it's an adventure, it's easier to

a) get out of and
b) not get cross

On Wednesday, we appeared to be in the position of NOT having an adventure. In short, it was all going very well. We left the campsite in plenty of time, managed to get the marquee, sorry, awning, down, Joni was running beautifully (due to a few hours spent with a very clever, if slightly frightening, mechanic) and the sun was shining. This NEVER happens, certainly not all in one go.

It was this optimism that prompted us to stop off at a National Trust property for a cup of tea and the cakes that we had bought that morning (Tom had some sort of epic fruit shortbread, I opted for a Rocky Road because I am naturally more continental)

Our stop off point of choice was the Lydford Gorge waterfall car park near Okehampton. As I said, the sun was shining, we were feeling perky and excited about hanging out in Joni with the door open, making other visitors feel smug that we have our own stove and therefore do not need to pay £8 for 2 cups of tea and a dry scone.

I have no idea what prompted the next collection of actions, but we both decided to get out of the campervan, shut our doors and head to the welcome hut.

Now, I say 'shut' our doors, what I actually mean is 'lock.'

Before I carry on, I will point out that Tom has locked himself out of his own car FOUR TIMES in the last six months. I'm just dropping that in. The RAC already think that he is a wally.

An opinion that they have now confirmed.

In short, what began as a slightly smugly optimistic 'ha ha we have loads of time to spare' stop off turned into TWO HOURS spent sitting on the floor of a National Trust car park without coats. The welcome hut closed, the tea room shut, the sun went down.

We were having another 'adventure.'

It was 90 minutes in that a lone car arrived in the car park. An older man in innappropriately short shorts hopped out of his car and, without really even saying hello, launched into an enthusiastic speech about how his son also has a Volkswagen.

It wasn't clear until 20 minutes later who this man actually was. Tom and I stood almost silently, as this man performed what can only be described as a monologue on how he used to own a farm, how pigs are just like humans as 'if they don't like their neighbour, they WILL kill them', how everyone in Tavistock knows his son, and how he 'likes a good fight.'

It then transpired that Alan (that was his name, Alan, Alan Turner, 'Dan's dad)' had come to clean the toilets.

At some point, while Alan was pausing for breath, we managed to point out that we were locked out of our vehicle, and we weren't just enjoying an afternoon in a deserted car park.

This is when Alan really came into his own.

The next half hour was spent breaking into Joni using the handle of a bucket from the back of Alan's car. When we got the door open I have never

a) seen Tom more proud of himself

b)seen an old man in shorts happier

c)called the RAC with a more triumphant HA HA WE DON'T NEED YOU ANYMORE WE BROKE IN OURSELVES USING THE HANDLE OF A BUCKET.

Needless to say, we were then cold, late for dinner and still totally bewildered by Alan Turner.

But we were having another of our very special 'adventures.'

I'm now not going to on how the camper van did actually break down once we were 10 minutes away from the car park, how I had to drink water directly from the kettle as we'd left our water bottle behind, or how I had to rescue my phone charger from out of the sink.

I am going to focus on the wonder that is...Alan Turner.

Thanks Alan.

x

The couple, the campsite and the oversized awning.

2010-05-03T03:15:00.000-07:00

Hello all

Right, so when I said that I would write more after lunch, I didn't plan on lunch lasting several days. Sorry about that.

I spent most of last week in Cornwall. I adore Cornwall, it's a bit like being in a film. A really good film. I will live there one day. And buy lots of knitwear, even more than I have already.

We have found the best campsite in the world. Now, I'm not going to tell you where it is. I'm sorry. You see, there are probably at least 400,000-500,000 people following this blog (ish) and if you all turn up at once, then we won't get our favourite spot. The shower block will be very cramped, and there'll be no chance of getting our towels in the tumble dryer.

We drove down there in one go. The thing we learned from that journey is that we shouldn't do it in one go. Joni the camper van doesn't like it. She wanted to stop somewhere in the Somerset area, have a little rest, perhaps a pub meal and a sleep. But we ploughed on. We listened to the second leadership debate, we ate travel sweets, we talked about how we shouldn't do the journey in one go the next time. Good times were had.

Now to the campsite. It is the most beautiful place in the whole world. And, almost empty. There is nothing more lovely then jumping out of a camper van (or, sometimes falling out as the passenger door hinges are a bit dodgy) and finding yourself in a clifftop haven of fresh air, wind, usually rain, and the sound of the sea. It's that peace. Heaven.

And the best thing about turning up to a campsite in a camper van is the fact that you don't have to then prove yourself to other people there that you CAN put a tent up in high winds without shouting at each other. You just turn the engine off.

At least, that's what normally happens. But this time it was different. You see, our latest family present from Tom's side is an awning. (now, I have always, for some inexplicable reason, got the words 'awning,' 'urn' and 'aga' mixed up- I have no idea why. It's similar to Robert de Niro, Dustin Hoffman and Al Pacino, who occupy exactly the same space in my head, and for this reason, I really have no idea which one is which)

This time, I have checked. It's definitely an awning. We've never put it up before and decided to choose this time to do it. We were told it was a bit like a porch, but incredibly difficult to put up, and we should prepare ourselves for a massive test of our marriage, and advised to have alcohol ready for afterwards.

Surprisingly, the whole process was extremely straightforward. This was mainly due to the fact that Tom did it by himself while I unpacked the picnic hamper.

Now, I have often thought that going camping with 18 of my closest friends would be a lovely experience. And, thanks to the BIGGEST AWNING IN THE WORLD, this is now a very real possibility.

Imagine a snail. Now imagine it without a shell, but with a marquee.

There was no way we could fill that space. Even when we put up a table and put Tom's surfboard diagonally on the floor. I kept feeling the need to talk loudly about the 'other people that were arriving soon' to justify such a huge attachment.

Oddly, I learned to love the awning. It was handy to keep things in. Like the miniature aromatherapy herb garden that I bought for Tom as an anniversary present. I might always travel with an awning, and treat it like a giant handbag.

x

The adventure begins

2010-04-29T04:19:00.001-07:00

Hello chaps

So, this is my first ever blog. I'm not entirely sure how it works, so if I accidentally delete Youtube, or manage to set up a live feed from my bathroom, can someone please let me know?

I am currently sitting at my new favourite spot in our flat, next to the windows to the garden, watching the cat looking nervous in front of the door, as she once again doubts that she knows how to work the catflap. She did once run at it so hard, she knocked it off its hinges. Hopefully this will never happen again.

We have just returned from a week in beautiful beautiful Cornwall (yes, I know I wrote that twice, I meant to. It is truly lovely) Needless to say, in true Frankland style, we had several adventures, some planned, some not, some totally ridiculous and involving 2 hours in a National Trust car park for no useful reason.

I will write about those once I have had my lunch.

Ooh, the sun is coming out.

Ace