Today Fiona towed the caravan for the last time for perhaps six months ahead. It was coming home from its annual service, which included two new tyres. One of the old ones had a slight bulge. The service manager didn't have to persuade me: I've experienced a blow-out. I asked for both tyres to be replaced.
Caravan tyres take a nastier hammering than car tyres get. When they're not being slowly squashed flat by the stationary load at home or on site, they're taking damage that the car can avoid, such as when going over speed bumps, or negotiating farm tracks. And you inevitably kerb them.
But that's not really the point of this post. The genital operation and the ensuing convalescence mean that there's no heavy pushing, pulling or lifting for me in the next few months. Crouching and bending are also unwise. All this rules out loading up, hitching up and taking to the road. The caravan, all serviced and ready to go, will have to stay put on my driveway until a proper period has elapsed. I suppose I'll get many chances to clean it up. That'll be something. A little every day.
I hope to have an orgy of caravan trips in September or October. But meanwhile no such outings, and therefore no holidays. I will still be able to get out for motoring jaunts in Fiona from April, but the demands of dilation will make sure that I stay fairly close to home.
So no dawn scenes like this: