The Righ' 'Ump

The Husband and I have survived our turbulent week of car drama. After our trusty VW Polo ( posthumously named the Red Baron) went the 'way of all meat', we finally acquired a second hand Peugeot 307 Estate. It's quite a lot of car with a hint of the volvo-driving-soccer-mom about it, but as it was within our means i.e. I didn't have to go on the game to afford it, we are quite pleased. The Silver Fox, as it shall hereto be named, has saved our marriage.

We have survived our first car trip in the Silver Fox from Eastbourne to Edinburgh with fairly little drama, except for a bout of road rage involving a dwarf (and that's not me being mean about the Husband, who at the same height as Tom Cruise assures me is 'almost average height first thing in the morning'):

Husband was working himself into quite a lather of vexation as the red car in front of us surgically attached itself to the preceding car's rear, in the manner of a hemorrhoid and with the discomfort of piles. The hemorrhoidal red devil then pulled into the fast lane and prevented any other cars from overtaking; cue a string of profanities from the Husband and a heated discussion about this 'Woman's' driving (spot the stereotype). When eventually the red devil pulled into the slow lane we sped up alongside her to discover that 'she' was in fact a diminutive 'he'. Of course realizing that he was cursing a midget the Husband changed his tune (as I have mentioned he has a soft spot for the vertically challenged) and commented on how the specially adapted car must be faulty affecting the dwarf's driving abilities.

The Silver Fox performed admirably on the journey considering the slow moving August Bank Holiday Weekend traffic. Due to the congested motorways we decided to pull in near Nottingham over night and visit Cousin Mental, his girlfriend and their dogs Sid and Nancy, who live on a canal boat and are currently touring the waterways of Britain. Cousin Mental (rhymes with Oriental) is a tattooed ex-biker, with a penchant for cider, who sports a Ginger Angel (i.e. a Ginger Mowhawk Mullet). I have never seen him wear a shirt with sleeves regardless of the weather, but this gives us a chance to gaze at his tattoo collection which includes a flaming skull and a chopper motorcycle. Cousin Mental's usual greeting is a massive lung-deflating bear hug and something along the lines of "'Allo Girlie." Cousin Mental is one of my favourite in-laws because of his rough and ready appearance and huge voice. He has a huge throaty laugh (which I've noticed that the Husband emulates when around him) and booming voice with the sort of English accent I'd previously only heard on T.V - we once asked him to spell the name of the town we where meeting him in, "Hodderson, Heytch - OH - D - nuvva D - ergh - son, Hodderson!"

We had a roaring old night with Mental and his lovely girlfriend involving a couple of ciders and a conversation about couples giving each other "The Righ' Ump" (The Right Hump for those of you partial to pronouncing all your consonants, the Right Hump is akin to the Arse-Ache, which is what the Husband was giving me last week). After a fair few ciders the Husband and I tottered over the lock gate to our little car where we spent a good hour attempting to reconfigure the seats in our new estate and blow up our air mattress for a kip in the back. The Husband was sure he had packed the foot pump, but as he couldn't find it spent 45 minutes of the hour blowing up the air bed manually, in between needing to lie down for fear of mock charging. Eventually he found the pump and we settled ourselves into the rear of the Silver Fox for a nice old kip.

Am pleased that new car can double as a mobile home, as the Husband and I do enjoy a spot of pikey living.