The Decathlon Tent Experience

Sounds like an amazing episode of The Big Bang Theory.

I have massively exciting news to share [you'll soon learn that I find most things exciting]!

I've finally bought a tent! After doing far too much research than was necessary, I opted for the Quechua 2-Seconds 2 (who names this shit?) A pop-up masterpiece, as it should be, considering it cost £45 from Decathalon. Which was cheaper than both Amazon and eBay. I hate green. I love red. The red tent was two-toned with orange. And now I own a green tent. I want to blend in with the trees and shit like a ninja. Not make cows want to attack me. Yes, I know that won't happen, but I'm scared of cows, and we can discuss the giant-milk-beasts another time.

I bought a sleeping bag too, a Vango Blah Blah 2 [can't be bothered to look]. It's a 3-season bag suitable from minus 2 - 20 degrees England. I also bought a Quechua A200 self-inflating mattress which was very comfortable. How do I know it was comfortable? Why I tested it of course.

Yes, in the middle of Decathalon. OK, so not in the middle-middle. I was in the camping section. I did't head over to football and freak out the Chavs. I'm saving that joy for next time. For those of you who don't know, Decathalon is a chain of ridiculously huge sports shops, that sell equipment for sports you didn't know existed until that very day. I found a safe area, put myself into a sleeping bag and plonked myself down onto the mattress. I say 'plonked', because I cannot for the life of me, zip myself into a mummy sleeping bag lying down. Therefore I got in from the top, and like a freaking caterpillar, wriggled into the desired position. People were looking at me as if I was crazy [this is not unusual]. Some even laughed at me, but I laughed back, which made them think I was crazier. But THEY were the crazy ones! At least I know I'm going to be comfortable. It could've been horrendous. Although admittedly, you can't lean on your side, your hips will not appreciate it - this is a strictly horizontal affair. But saying that, it was far more comfortable than the expensive sexy-looking offering from Quechua. What shocked me, was the amount of people that were buying the £5 pieces of foam, that would be more useful as a bath mat than a mattress.

Tested the tent whilst I was there too. They have them permanently pitched outside, which is great - if you're homeless. Not so great if you're a customer wanting to get inside one, as it was covered in leaves and Mc Donalds. Back inside, I found a sales assistant and asked her to clean it. Shocked, and not very good at English, she directed me to another sales assistant. And once she'd recovered from the shock of being asked to work, she decided it would be easier to open a new one. Note to self; always buy tents from the back of the pile. This probably goes against all the rules for pop-up tents, but I find them easier to put down than up. What? It's scary! One minute you have a small, safe disc in your hand and then BOOM a giant tent is flying towards your face. I have a feeling it's just me. I think the trick is to throw it far enough, so that it doesn't hit you, but not far enough to suggest you're giving it to the people across the field.

Gumtree Travel Partners; also known as the secret wife finding service

I decided to put an advert on the Gumtree, to find people to travel with. Well, that was a mistake and a half. What I hadn't anticipated was the barrage of calls and messages from overly-optimistic-Muslim-men trying to find a wife.

A few were genuinely interested in joining me on the adventure, however, the vast majority wanted to date me, shag me, pamper me, or marry me. One of them offered to 'have me for a month' as his girlfriend - no strings attached he said. Another wanted to give me £100 to drive to Wales first and 'spend time' with him. A third rang at 2am. Needless to say I shouted at him, and the human that called at 7am on a Sunday morning. They had the audacity to say I was rude. I shouted louder.

I should add, that at no point did this advert suggest sexy shenanigans and neither did it include a picture. Granted, I'm a cute looking human being, but I could have been the ugliest bitch on the planet. Seriously, I knew men could be desperate, but this was...desperate.

My favourite respondent was Graham, who very kindly offered to let me camp in his field. Thanks Graham, I think I will.

I don't want to go…

It's getting hard now, I'm getting scared, and worried about the what ifs.

What if I can't find any work? What if I'm stuck in the car for two weeks with nowhere to go? What if this happens? What if that happens?

I don't handle being on my own very well. This adventure is a huge personal challenge; the nights spent alone on the side of the road looming ever closer. How am I going to deal with all of this? I've always believed that the best way to learn is to just jump in, but am I setting myself up to drown?

What I know, is that I'm not happy in London. The live-to-work mentality. Working your ass off all week to rent a room. Or the idea of spending an extortionately large of money, and years of your life to 'train to be something'. Apparently, being a human being is not enough,  you have to 'be something'. I have absolutely no idea what I'm looking for, I just hope it slaps me in the face - hard.  

I'm not being very proactive about leaving either, I'm stalling. I want to say to everyone that I've changed my mind, but that would be embarrassing. I'd be admitting defeat before even trying. Sometimes being stubborn has its drawbacks. I feel like this is my chance. The one chance I've been waiting for to be me. To find out who I really am, without the input of family, friends and assorted well wishers. Yet realistically, I'm scared to find out who I really am. Think about it. What if I don't like me? I was trained as a child to be whatever my mother required, as and when she required it, so my thoughts and emotions at any given time were irrelevant. I learned to ignore them. And that ethos has stayed with me. That amongst other things, confuses people. To them I'm bubbly, eloquent and confident; but it's a way of life as opposed to the way I am. I find being talkative and bubbly prevents people from realising I'm hurting. People don't stop and ask what is wrong, when you're making them laugh all the time.

This is the challenge for me. This is what I'm scared of. Not where to work, or how to get money; but how to be alone and find myself whilst not have another breakdown in the process.  

Volunteering with the brown stuff

That's right, I volunteered with the brown stuff, and no, not shit although it tastes like it.

What a day it was. A crash course in not dropping hot things, pressing buttons and making foamy milk. Turns out making the milk-foam-thing is quite scary. Might have something to do with the fact that anything hot - which is neither a cup of tea or a radiator - is dangerous and should be avoided. Not a useful attitude when working in a coffee shop.

It started off rather boring, as most introductions do, whilst they settled into the idea of someone new being there. I then had to go stay awake for the part where they start from the beginning, as if you were 5 years old. So finally after all that jazz, I could get on with the business of making coffee!

At this point I should probably remind you that I hate coffee, and believe me, I've tried to like it. I've been to every chain, tried every type, with and without white chocolate awesomeness. I have no idea of the difference between them; I call them all 'crappa-lappa-frappa-chinos'. And that worked for me. What I did know, however, was the double espresso; as it was a very traumatic experience for me, and the taste will be forever etched into my mind. It shall never be drunk again. Yet now, as if by magic, I can make cappuccinos,  little-shots-from-hell,  Americanos,  mochachinos, flat whites and continental triple-layer lattes. Check me and my bad self out. 

I'm a true sales woman at heart, especially if I like the product. They had some homemade flapjack bites and they were fantastic, so I made it my mission to tell everyone they were. Nearly sold out of them within the first two hours. One man said he didn't want any more, because he'd 'get fat'. He was already fat, so I said 'don't you mean fat-er?' I knew he'd laugh because I'm 'fat' too. We're allowed to joke about it. His noticeably smaller friend looked as if I'd slapped him in the face. 'Calm down' I reassured him, 'you weren't supposed to get it'. Such a nice way to earn a £2 tip.

Turns out they weren't homemade; unless you consider Asda to be your kitchen.

Stage two - ditching the junk

Yesterday I went a little mad - well slightly more mad than usual. I've started stage two of the clearing out. Stage one being to throw away the obvious things I don't need. Shoes are overrated and I've only got two feet.

Now it's getting serious. I'm sorting piles of stuff that are staying, coming and going. It is my intention to leave only one suitcase behind at mum's. And that ladies and gentlemen, is optimism.

So far so good, the going pile is larger than the staying. Remarkably, the jewellery box I bought at the bootsale for a fiver, costs £125 new. Well helloooo eBay - I should get £30 for that! Speaking of the dreaded eBay - I put eight auctions on last night, ranging from shoes to a velvet cloak - which incidentally is awesome. My best eBay auction tip - wrap for postage as soon as you've listed it. Nothing worse than being bombarded with multiple sales and not being in the mood to wrap - which for me is all the time. Not to mention having to walk to the Piss Off.

Today I've carried on the excitement and have been sorting out even more nonsense. I've now got a box for giving to other people. No sense throwing away what a friend could use. You'd be surprised at how much crap you don't need, and how much they'll want to horde it.

I should probably add that I'm closing down my vintage pottery shop for this journey. It was something that I'd convinced myself I wanted in life, and for a time I really did. And then I became depressed, quickly. Everyday staring at the same walls, walking the same route. I lasted 6 months. That was impressive for me.

As we've established that planning is for normal people, I'm simply going to head out once everything is sold. That should be in two weeks! How freaking scary is that.

HA! Speaking of scary, I 'accidentally' told my mum, I'll 'probably' sleep in the car most nights and she was less than impressed. Apparently, parents worry about your safety. When I suggested she buy me a camper-van, her concerns quickly faded.

Love - apparently there is a monetary limit.

Spontaneity vs. Planning - The beginning of an adventure.

Welcome to the beginning of my blog. 

You should get comfortable, this may take a while.

***** ***** *****

To go now or to go later? That's the long and short of it.

I loathe responsibilities, one of the main reasons for my wanting to simply get up and leave. Sadly, there are things that need addressing. For a start, I'll need money and I haven't much of that. I already have a car, an Astra named Ozlo. He's not very big though, so I'm thinking of buying another one before I leave. 

Hundreds of questions flood into my mind. When to leave? How much money should I save first? How am I going to save this money? How am I going to earn money on the road? Should I head north or west? Can I survive on chips alone? Where will I pee? How long is too long between showers?

Meh. Far too much to think about - better to just wing it. Spontaneity always wins in my world. Why do I convince myself I'll plan something, yet never do?

Most humans I've spoken to say I'm brave for what I intend to do. Perhaps they don't think I'm shitting bricks. I am.

And here it is; the plan. Not that there is much of it.

Drive around England.
Exchange skills for food and accommodation. 
Make money for petrol.
Don't die.

Sounds simple enough.