# A Little Light Redding



## ingram (May 12, 2005)

AWAY FOR EASTER
Thursday morning, 10 am and we were ready and raring to go. Well, I was. Angie was still doing those things that should've been done yesterday, like combing hair, going to toilet and feeding the pigs.

She wanted to buy some cakes to take with us too; so that was a diversion to the garden centre; no, not a Seed Cake, but a Bakewell Tart. We just love Bakewell Tarts and these are made by Pittas Foods Ltd, London N22, wherever that is. Excellent! But first we needed some fuel.

Filled with diesel at Safeway using our 5p a litre off voucher; our reward for spending far too much on food. Leap into cab, start engine............oh! that turned over a bit slow........what's that red light?.......not charging..........back to home, move my car, move her car, Renault Master back on the drive.

Phone ECP for an alternator in case needed. Can get one for Friday; they're open Good Friday. Wow, that's good. Get the overalls on for some testing with the old faithful digital Fluke meter.

Do you know where the alternator *is* on the RM? Laying under van probing the output terminal which I can just about reach, Angie says the red light is going on and off. Well after a few hours jammed twixt chassis and driveway and the battery been on charge, we seem to have a fix, though I don't know what did it.

We decide to have some lunch and eventually get away about 2pm. That's 14.00 for you young people. We decide to give the cakes a miss; too far out of the way, now that we are late: we need to be heading north........

We are heading off for a rally with some Renault Master owning friends near Telford, Shropshire. Plan to visit Ironbridge and possibly one or two other places suggested to me by someone who knows the area.

An aside: After our return home a few days later, Angie is writing to her sister in New Zealand telling her where we have been. "Where was it we went" Angie asks me. "where that big metal bridge was?".................................End of aside.

The journey goes well; the red light stays off, we don't get lost and we don't stop. We arrive at the farm campsite about 6.30pm; down a country lane, turn into drive, nice looking house on the right, stables converted to holiday cottages on the left, drive round the back...........*stunned*.......what's this? It looks like a caravan scrapyard.

A couple of our friends are there already, but pitched in the concrete back yard. There is a field but it's very wet: lots of rain lately. We decide on the field, we don't fancy being crammed in the farmyard. Angie takes the gripmats and places them for me to drive straight on to, nose to the fence. We are not quite level but near enough. We sleep opposite way to usual so we are not 'heads down'. We prefer it as it happens.

The electric supply is a lead draped over the barbed wire fence. Hmm. Open the flap on the plug and water runs out. More Hmms! We shake it dryish and plug in. Get the kettle on for our well overdue cupoftheoldrosy, and after a few minutes the power goes off. Face appears at the window: it's the farmer. "You've put a kettle on haven't you?" he asks. "It's always kettles." There follows a discussion about kettles, the different types, and how it's always the kettles. I ask him what amperage the supply is. He doesn't know, but it's always the kettles!. We decide to use the gas one, and eventually get some tea down us necks.

It seems that this is going to be a recurring problem for the duration. If anyone puts on a kettle, or a heater, out goes the whole field. It seems that this farmer, although he is a very nice man, is as mean as can be, and won't spend any money on getting his power sorted. Still, it doesn't spoil the weekend and we get rather used to the sort of dull orange glow from the mains fluorescents.

We do like our toast for breakfast too, done in the electric toaster. Well, we found that after about ten minutes the bread got fed up and popped out raw. We had to keep putting it back in with a stern warning; "stay!" and eventually managed some lightly dried bread; hardly worthy to be called 'toast'.

Later on Thursday evening, yet another Renault Master arrived. He headed for the only other dry looking part of the field ........ only it wasn't. The 'van sunk on one side and settled at about 20 degrees off the vertical. I don't know how they managed to sleep, but next day it was out with the jacks and multiple blocks of wood to get it sort of upright.

Glorious weather on Friday and we just sat around relaxing most of the day and enjoying the super views. There were all these caravans stored in an adjacent field. They looked as though they'd been there for years: you know the sort of 1960's things you could tow behind a Ford Anglia. One of our group was keen on metal detecting and would have liked to have a go on the farm. I said if he found anything he'd probably dig up an old caravan.

A few chickens were wandering around the field and were quick to spot anyone with food. When some were mythering around us, one of them got near the van, the lower parts of which are black, and recently polished. The chicken suddenly saw it's reflection, stopped, took a pace backwards, jerked it's head back looking startled, then crept forwards, lowered it's face right close to the van so it was staring into it's own eyes, then started vigorously pecking the paintwork. Ahh! Chicken and chips!

So, Saturday comes and we are off to Ironbridge. One of the group has brought his 15 seater minibus so we can leave the vans behind.

Bliss Hill at Ironbridge is the open air Victorian museum. It really is excellent. I was apprehensive about it. I thought it may be rather 'plastic' and just buildings with Victorian facades but nowt in them. Not so. *Really* worth the visit. The highlight for me was the 'Squatters Cottage'. Just two cosy little rooms with coal fires burning. 'He' was sitting by the fire making a rag rug. 'She' was going about various tasks, nagging him a bit all the while: I went into the bedroom and 'She' came in with coal for the fire. She spotted my bare feet in sandals. "Ooh! bare feet." she said. "Yes, I like bare feet." I replied. "So do I........ I likes bare anything, me!" she says.................

We visited a couple of the other museums: we had bought a 'passport' ticket that lets you in all of them. We didn't get to see them all but can use the ticket again to visit those we missed.

A great day out.

That evening, back at camp. A 'tugger' arrives with a huge caravan. The farmer puts him on the concrete right outside the cowshed where two calves are permanently peering out, dribbling; they spend all their time intaking at one end and outputting at the other. The farmer brings a great pile of 'silage' on his tractor and dumps it for the calves right next to the caravan. Hehehe

The story is that: the Tuggers, Mr & Mrs. set of for their pre-booked campsite and after about 6 or 7 hours travel, he says to her, "Where are the camp site details dear?". Well, it turns out that they have left them at home and they cannot, *for the life of them* remember the name of the site. Hehehehehehehehehe.

So they start phoning all the local ones with no success, but 'our' farmer, not one to turn away a few quid, says he has room for them. Hehehehehehehehe.

Next day it is Sunday and we are off to Bridgnorth; once more into the minibus, dear friends.
( with apologies to some bloke from History )

Bridgnorth; another nice place we've got ourselves into. We have a fishandchip lunch. Very nice piece of fish. Excuse me waxing lyrical about a bit of old fish but we just don't get that at home. It's a real treat.........

We get separated from the 'gang' in Bridgnorth and Angie and I do a *lot* of walking. Down *and* up the steps twixt high and low towns.

While down the low bit we find a huge antique market and auction rooms. In we go, and it is *huge*...............an hour or so spent browsing but actually nothing tempts us to spend.

After a couple of tiring but enjoyable days, we are going to head off to 'somewhere in Wales' on Monday. Don't know where, but probably 'north'.

We are on the road to Dolgellau; that's where we have decided on, and possibly the campsite in Blaenau Ffestiniog up amongst the 'grey'. Oh! what's that red light! Out comes the Fluke, just to check and yes, no charge! I decide to head for home; We don't want to be dead in a ditch somewhere. Of course the diesel will go on running with no battery, and we won't use much of that while it's daylight, and I did throw the battery charger in the van before we left home, and we do have the generator on board............but.............we are going home........

Heading south and the lights gone off: it's off for about ten miles. Out with the Fluke for another check: yes it's charging. Sit for a few minutes and think; spin a coin and it's OK U-turn and head north. The light comes on! Ahhhhhhhhh that's it......... definitely going home.......

We get as far as Abergavenny and head for a Club campsite, hoping there's room. There is. We have electric hook up and the fluorescents are dazzling and the toast is burned in minutes: forgot to turn it down from number 8.

There is a pub just a few yards away but we go for a walk and watch some sheep with their lambs. It's fascinating. There are sheep nearby home but it's different on holiday. We go back next morning to see them again before leaving.

An uneventful journey on Tuesday with the red light *off*: once over the Severn Bridge it's 'motorway avoidance' and we have a fairly pleasant A and B road trip. After some car shuffling the van is in it's place on the drive awaiting some serious Red Light diagnosis the next day. 

'Till the next time.
H


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