Back to bare metal

This is my caravan, a '2007' two-berth Elddis Avanté 362, as it was on 9th November 2006 at the Sussex Caravan Centre in Ashington, about to be bought by M--- and myself:

As you can see, it then cost a pound short of £11,000. Although bought in my name only, we each put up half. At her request, I refunded M---'s share to her on 6th July 2009, and I became the sole owner in all respects. My first thought was to sell it, thinking that I could not manage caravanning on my own. But an experimental outing convinced me that I could easily do it solo, and that selling the caravan would be a great mistake. It was an important holiday asset, albeit a depreciating one. But caravans depreciate only slowly. Even now, over sixteen years later, I might well get £1,000 for it in a private sale, possibly more. A dealer would ask as much as £4,000, such is the current demand for holiday accommodation on wheels. My target buyer would be a family wanting to try out caravanning without paying very much. Or (as was the fate of my previous caravan) I might sell it to an angler who just wanted a weekend base.

But I'm not selling yet. My mobile home-from-home is as nice to holiday in as it ever was. I've looked after it. The interior fittings and fabrics still look amazingly unworn, clean and inviting. It's still warm and comfortable. It's thoroughly roadworthy too, getting a comprehensive annual service. I've invested serious money in it in recent years, mainly to eliminate damp ingress - damp is every caravan's nemesis - with such things as a front end rebuild, a new double-glazed front window, and all the bodywork seams along both sides renewed. I want to enjoy the benefit of that work for a few more years, until my caravan is, say, 20 or 21 years old. Then I'll finally buy a replacement. It'll almost certainly have to be a used caravan - the nearest modern brand-new equivalent currently costs at least £20,000 - rather beyond my means! - but I can shop around, and will no doubt find something good for £12,000 or so. 

Meanwhile my caravan still looks pretty decent. Here it is, looking resplendent at Brora in northern Scotland on 9th September, not five months ago:

And here it is at Dunnet Bay, even further north, three days later:

This is not to say that when examined close up, there aren't many signs of its age. A caravan inevitably collects battle-scars. Road chippings, road tar, brushing against hedges, getting clunked by low boughs, and the dulling effect of the atmosphere on exterior surfaces, all gradually take away that sparkling showroom appearance. I won't say these blemishes aren't honourable: they are evidence of a long life going to nice places, of being used as the maker intended, and then beyond. And my goodness, my caravan is surely put to use more than most, and justifies owning a car like Fiona to pull it. 

Caravans actually get a terrible shaking from being towed. Every bump puts a strain on the bodywork and the fittings within. Sooner or later, things start to come apart. So inside my caravan, you can see (for instance) that the fridge-freezer has shifted a little, although presently stable. Shelves sag, and have to be fixed. Cupboard doors and roof hatches won't stay closed, and neat ways of securing them have to be devised. Makers use a lot of plastic to keep weight down, and that is likely to break after some years. I have little things to attend to after most trips. But it's only to be expected with such an old and well-used caravan, and after so many towing miles. Usually I can devise a low-cost or nil-cost solution within my very limited personal capabilities. It's very satisfying when such solutions work and look neat, especially as I don't rate myself highly as a skilled fixer. 

But recently something has happened that will permanently alter the exterior appearance of the caravan. 

The caravan is built on top of a strong, A-shaped galvanised steel frame, to which the wheels are attached. The front end of this frame projects forward beyond the caravan body, and it forms the towing arm onto which the towing assembly - the hitching-to-the-car mechanism, handbrake, jockey wheel, and car-to-caravan electrical cables - are bolted or clipped. It all looks exactly like the galvanised steel towing assembly on every other kind of trailer, such as a horse box. On caravans however, to make the front end look streamlined, stylish and elegant, most of the assembly is covered by a fairing. My caravan started out in 2006 with a white plastic fairing. It was still there last September. But now no more.  

Caravans are rather flimsy, and very vulnerable to damage. I well remember seeing what happened when a big container lorry, whose driver seemed to be chatting to another container lorry driver alongside on a three-lane dual carriageway, accidentally touched a caravan in the innermost lane. The entire side of the caravan disintegrated. Fortunately the traffic was dense, and we were all moving slowly at about 30 mph. Even so, it was shocking to see the effect of one very solid vehicle touching another that wasn't nearly as solid.   

The techniques used for building caravans have changed in recent years, to make them more waterproof. They are still fragile affairs though. They can't be otherwise. You can build a caravan very stoutly - think of the shiny stainless-steel Airsteam trailers - but it will be heavy. That's not good. Modern-day fuel economy for the towing car demands lightness; but it's difficult to achieve without compromising on structural strength. So my caravan is nothing much more than an insulated aluminium box, braced by its internal fittings, with fibreglass front and rear panels. The thinnish aluminium has accrued some dents over the years, mainly on the nearside. The thicker fibreglass ends have lasted pretty well, the rear-end piece in particular still looking almost new. 

But the moulded plastic fairing covering the front towing arm is another matter. Although not very thin, it is still weaker than the fibreglass, and much more vulnerable to frost damage and other kinds of deterioration. And it will flex. It was all right for a long time. Then cracks began to develop, at the front end mainly. In 2016, after ten years, a piece fell out on my drive at home:

In the first of my 'Lucy repairs' (as my next door neighbour Kevin humorously calls them) I glued the thing together again. But by 2018, another 'Lucy repair' was necessary, adding metal bracing to hold the fairing together at its front end. In an effort to preserve some appearance, I swathed it all in white tape:

This did the job for a while. And most of the time, whether at home or on site, the towing assembly had a hitch cover draped over it - as seen in this shot, taken last September at Forfar:

But now there were cracks all over the fairing. It was clear that it wouldn't stay intact much longer. I'd already enquired about getting a new replacement. But no dice. They weren't made for my caravan any more. I might if lucky find a used one at a scrapyard, of course. But that wasn't a very appealing option. Then, on 24th October, when coming off the M48 motorway at Chepstow, I heard a funny scraping noise. And found this when I could stop safely in a layby:

Oh dear, what a horrible sight - although not of course unexpected. I picked up the piece that was hanging off (and had been trailing in the road), put it in Fiona's boot, and drove on. The fairing was obviously kaput. But I left the rest of it in place, as some protection from the rainy weather. Although really there was no need. The underside of the metal now exposed had shrugged off sixteen years of often dire weather already. Removing the rest of the fairing wouldn't cause any harm. But I would do that back at home, as some cleaning would be needed.

Two days ago I got on with it. I removed the remaining fairing - it was riddled with cracks, and brittle. The bare metal now revealed looked dirty, but otherwise in great condition. (The yellow thing is the hitchlock, an anti-theft device)

Where the towing arm met the body of the caravan, there was now a gap where weather could get in, and things inside the front storage locker could fall out. 

That would have to be blocked off - a straightforward job involving a piece of spare wood cut to shape, and secured with a couple of bolts. (Kevin next door said he'd see what he could do, but this is something I can manage myself if he hasn't got the time)

I cleaned off the stray grease and much of the accumulated dirt.

That would do for now. A proper job would have to await warmer weather. I reattached the hitchlock, then slipped the hitch cover over the front end.

Standing back, the loss of the fairing didn't look too awful. The towing assembly now had a utilitarian look, and there was nothing sleek or stylish about it any longer. But it was after all the 'business end' of the caravan and getting back to bare metal ought not to be inappropriate. When new, the galvanised metal would have had a silvery appearance. It was silvery no more, and I doubted whether further cleaning would restore its original look. I could paint it, of course: perhaps white, grey or black. Or red. But I probably wouldn't. Painting would draw attention to it - and make it harder to assess its condition at servicing-time.

There was of course a useful new benefit to be enjoyed. I could now step onto the metal frame to clean my front windows, and the roof directly above them, rather more easily than before. 

Future-proofing my current phone

Several people I know, who have Android phones, are thinking about a phone upgrade this spring. The Samsung Galaxy S23 range is due out soon, and the model to have is probably the Ultra. It'll have the best processor and the best camera. 

It will also have a large amount of on-board data storage - at least 512GB - and for me that would be the key feature. For modern phones - the ones I'd consider buying anyway - have all given up on adding extra data storage with microSD cards. So the built-in storage has to be sufficient for both present and future needs. 

I need a lot of data storage for my ever-growing selection of  'most important photos' - the ones I carry around with me to look at, and to show to others. At the moment there are some 58,000 of those, but this will surely increase to almost 90,000 in the next four years, which is how long I usually keep a new phone. Plus of course all the other things, like music and maps, that I also store on my phone. I wouldn't yet need as much as 1TB, although I'd take it, if offered at a reasonable price. But I think 512GB would be ample. 

That's it then: a new phone with 512GB of data storage on board. Yippee!

Except that I've had my current phone for only two years, and it won't be until 2025 before I seriously consider replacing it. 

My phone is a Samsung Galaxy S20+, and one key reason for buying it in 2021 - just as it was being replaced by the 2021 model - was so that I could enhance its data storage by inserting a microSD card. That hasn't been possible with more recent phones. Manufacturers have been trying to eliminate external slots and ports, to make their phones totally waterproof and dustproof, and generally ensure that they can't be meddled with (nor easily repaired, and their life thereby prolonged). For me it was essential to add extra storage for future needs. So getting 'last year's phone', to have that facility, made sense, quite apart from the lower purchase cost. And I haven't regretted my choice. It's a great phone, perfectly good enough for the next two years.

But the 256GB microSD card I'm still using in it will certainly not be sufficient for those two years. So I've been looking at buying a larger-capacity 512GB microSD card to pop in. I don't need anything very fancy. I don't need a superlatively fast card. I like Sandisk cards, and their 512GB Ultra card will do fine. Readers will know that Amazon are not at all my favourite online source, but they are offering that card right now for £38.99. Actually, with 'premium delivery', the price is in fact £43.98. Well, if I get it tomorrow, I can upgrade my phone's memory over the weekend. And £43.98 doesn't seem very much to future-proof my phone. I've placed my order. 

Of course I'll have to transfer the contents of the existing 256GB card to the new card, but that's easy. I just connect my phone by USB cable to my laptop, then insert the new card (which nests inside a standard-sized SD card holder) into the laptop's SD card slot. Then copy-and-paste the data across. And after that, physically swap cards in the phone. Suddenly, and almost magically, the phone will have oodles of fresh storage. Nirvana.

The only downside is that my next phone won't be able to take this new microSD. Nor indeed any card. So the new card will only have two year's use. And its capacity is far too large for my photographic needs: I get away with just an 8GB card in my Leica X Vario. I take stills only, and since each photo averages only 6MB in size, even a full day's shooting doesn't consume as much as 2GB. So if (as is becoming customary) I pass on my current S20+ phone in 2025 to a deserving friend, that 512GB card might as well go with it.  

UPDATE on 14th January

The new card arrived yesterday afternoon, and is now in my phone. It's nice to see the usable microSD space increase from 238GB to 477GB, and the proportion actually used reduce from 73% to only 37%. I've plenty of headroom now. More than enough.

It took several hours to copy-and-paste all the photo folders (139GB worth of them) onto the new card. It went smoothly and steadily, with no hitches, but the process wasn't especially fast. I suspect there were several electronic bottlenecks to inhibit rapid transfer. It ought to go noticeably faster with my next phone, with everything going straight into the phone's built-in memory - essentially like loading up a modern SSD. 

OVO wants more money each month - but I get a useful refund as well

I suppose that OVO must be one of the better energy companies, but even so they are proving difficult to get on with. They have just conducted a direct debit review, and have emailed me to say that in their opinion my monthly energy payment to them needs to increase by £28, from £186 to £214. This is their forward calculation for the next twelve months, based on the smart meter readings for electricity and gas (which seem spot on - no dispute there):

Estimated energy costs: £2,567

My monthly payments, with no increase: £2,232

Shortfall: £335

That looks reasonable, except that they are ignoring my current credit balance, £844.65, which would amply cover that shortfall - and probably maintain me in credit for the foreseeable future, especially if energy prices gradually drift downwards somewhat. At any rate, if you take that ongoing credit balance into account, there is presently no need whatever to increase my monthly payments. 

And I dare say that if I managed to get through to someone at OVO, they would agree. And that might win me a reprieve - until the next automatic direct debit review in three months' time! Then I'd have to go through the same hassle. 

OVO's payment model is very basic, and simply matches current payments with projected future charges, aiming to end up with a nil account balance twelve months ahead, reviewed and adjusted as we go along. That means pitching payments so that one builds up credit in the summer, but uses it up in the winter. Averaging-out costs like that is fine. But there's no room in such a model for building up an extra-large credit balance, and then using the excess to keep ongoing monthly payments lower than normal. If I stay with OVO, I'll have to go along with their way of doing things. 

They are very polite. At this point, they have only invited me to increase my monthly direct debit to cover that £335 shortfall. But they warn me that they will enforce an increase if I take no action, albeit with ten days' notice. I could sit tight and see what they really do. Maybe the upcoming January Energy Charges Statement will change the forward cost projection in my favour. It might. But I don't think it will. The worst of the winter must still lie ahead, with the likelihood of even higher consumption of gas for heating in the next three months. That will increase forward costs, and inevitably lead to a request for more than £214 per month. So I'll comply now, and earn some brownie points. It may be sound policy to be a 'good payer', so that I'm never considered for dire measures. 

But if OVO are going to get more from me for the next three months, and maybe beyond, then I want some of my credit balance refunded. They have a mechanism for this on their website. They won't give me all the credit balance back at once - they want to keep enough credit in hand  to cover the rest of my winter energy consumption - so I can't have the entire £844.65. But they will give me £285.65. That reduces my credit balance to only £559. That's OK. To be £559 ahead in mid-January seems about right. 

I've applied for that £285.65 refund, and OVO's immediate response tells me that this money will reach my bank account within ten days. It'll be useful to have. It is after all equivalent to ten monthly payments of £28, and if I save it, I won't notice the coming hike in my direct debit for nearly a year.

SEQUEL 1

Thursday 12th January: This surely can't be a coincidence. A man has come to read my gas meter. I'm guessing that when an overpayment refund is requested - an unusual event nowadays, I'd say - OVO's practice is to send someone to check the meter, even if it is a smart meter. Well, meters can be tampered with, and no doubt dishonest customers have contrived refunds in the past. Or perhaps it was just to ring my doorbell to assess whether the general situation looked pukka: that I was a genuine householder, actually resident at my given address. 

Anyway, I'll now have to wait until that man makes his report before the refund is released. 

Friday 13th January: Aha! An email from OVO promising the refund in four working days. It looks as if I passed the suspected security test!

SEQUEL 2

Monday 16th January: My bank account shows a credit of £285.65. As promised. Well, I now feel a little happier with OVO. 

But I still don't like their setting the level of the monthly direct debit without taking into account any accumulated credit balance over and above what is necessary. So I'll see whether I can get a further refund out of them.

Revisited

Just now I'm engaged in my annual winter pastime - scanning old photos, digitising them for easy access on my laptop and phone, and of course easy sharing. My nephew and niece have waited a long time for a better, much more comprehensive, collection of old family photographs. I may at last be able to supply them with that by the end of February. Back in November I estimated that I had around 2,000 prints to scan - say three months' work, on and off, with enhancement and captioning included. I've given it a lot of time, and it looks increasingly likely that I will indeed finish the whole thing this winter. 

I shot print film from the end of 1989 to the beginning of 2000, when I switched to digital photography. So these are old pictures from the 1990s, a decade long past. I was forty in 1992, so I am working my way through photos taken around thirty years ago. It's an interesting exercise. 

Firstly, there is the technical interest. I consistently used a manually-focused Olympus OM-1N SLR camera, most often with a fast 50mm f/1.4 lens attached. So most of these shots share the same perspective. But I experimented a lot with different film stock, mostly colour but some of it black and white, from Konica, Fujifilm, Ilford and Kodak. The results lack the amazing sharpness, subtle tonality and clear shadow detail typical of modern digital rendition. On the other hand, these old prints have a particular 'look' that many contemporary people would say is attractive and special. That 'look' doesn't come through the scanning process quite intact, especially after I've done what I can to make details more distinct, to repair blown highlights, and to bring out shadow detail. But the enhanced result is still obviously derived from a print developed from a spool of negative film - something clearly very different from electronic capture. Putting this another way, although I personally prefer digital, I can perfectly see why some people have gone back to using film. (They also get to play with a huge variety of old equipment, cheap or expensive; but that's another story)

Secondly, these are all people shots, and it's extraordinary to see old friends again. It's hard not to be fascinated. Every print was captioned, so I know who they were, and where and when the shot was taken. Social occasions that had slipped my mind have now been remembered. And I can recall the voice and personality of nearly everyone. These pictures bring the past to life.

There is of course a sad aspect. Thirty years have now passed. What happened to these friends of the 1990s? We did not stay in touch. Have they prospered? Or have their lives been blighted by tragedy or ill-health? At the very least, all of them will be thirty years older and will show the signs of it, just as I do. The young will have grown middle-aged, and the middle-aged will now be old or dead. If we could meet again now, would we even recognise each other? And yet, looking at these pictures, I feel that in some instances it would be worth making an effort to get in touch.

I've pondered the wisdom of seeking out old friends before. See, for instance, my post Old Friends on 1st March 2021. I concluded then that if fate sent anyone back into my life, it would be right to meet up and see what resulted. 

Otherwise, it would be too much like a blind date. There might be pleasure, but the likelihood of disappointment would be high. The consequences of deliberately tracing old friends are just too uncertain. Even if prepared for a rebuff, it would still hurt if I actually got one. I don't think anybody would be impolite or angry with me - but who knows? Why risk being damaged? 

In any case, why intrude at all into other people's lives? Haven't we all moved on? Gone irrevocably down one road, to the exclusion of others? Life is a river than never flows backwards.

Or a further thought: why replace any fond memory they might still have of me - as I was thirty years ago, that is - with the much-changed modern version that they might not like? Is that a good or reasonable thing to do? How would I react if someone I used to know came unexpectedly to my door - cold-calling as it were - and expected me to respond to them with a warm welcome? I'm not sure I would cope. 

And yet... 

The curiosity to know what happened to these old friends, and to find out what they are like now, is very strong. We might, in our maturity, and with the benefit of thirty more years of living, have much to say to each other, and many things in common. People often live parallel lives. We might even be friends again, better than before.  

To make contact - or not to - is clearly going to be an ongoing question as I do further scanning. I need to make my mind up. It's a pressing issue, which can't wait too long. Anybody who was the same age as me back in the 1990s is now seventy. Time is running out!

Once Were Celebrities

The title of this post is a take on the 1994 New Zealand film Once Were Warriors, a difficult and downbeat film to watch. I saw it some years ago, and found it depressing and disturbing. In fact I could barely watch it to the end. It deals with modern-day Maori existence in city suburbs, and is about a family trapped in poverty, and how that circumstance leads to male degradation and loss of self-respect. For Maori men were once proud and honourable warriors, with a clear code to follow and uphold. Now they have turned into drunks and abusers, turning savagely on their women. A return to lost standards, away from such an environment, seems to be the only hope.  

It's funny how writing yesterday's post on Prince Harry's new book (to be officially published tomorrow) brought Once Were Warriors to mind. The parallels are not obvious: life in a Royal Family is definitely not a matter of poverty, deprivation and enforced idleness! Nevertheless, there is a denial of personal freedom to do what one likes, whenever one likes. It must be very hard to cope with. I can imagine feeling trapped. It's not a life I'd ever want, and I'm sure that - if they think about it - most people (in this country at least) will take the same view. Too many strict rules; too much uncongenial duty; nice clothes and houses, and the best of medical attention, but nowhere enough fun. Yes, you can be a style setter, and have celebrity status; but public adulation is a fickle thing and can wane. I'm quite sure that being well-known and admired is a poor exchange for the loss of anonymity, and free choice to do as one pleases.

What, you may say, have you never aspired to famous? Well, of course I did when young. I wanted to sing, and have a string of hits. Who didn't? And later, there were idle dreams of my own hour-long Christmas Special on every TV channel. Readers can take great comfort in the happy fact that such fantasies never came to be. I'm glad too: the hectic, high-pressure life of a star has all too often led to rapid burnout, health problems, and an early death. My own under-the-radar life let me retire at fifty-two, and enjoy a jolly good time thereafter doing simple things. I couldn't have had that if I'd chased any kind of celebrity, and particularly if I'd become a member of the Royal Family. Not that either were ever possibilities. Being talentless and lacking in eye-appeal has saved me from much!

It's always been a maxim with me that 'everything has a price'. It may of course be a price one is willing to pay. I rate anonymity above fame, because I value the freedom to go anywhere I want without being recognised. Nobody will bother me. Nothing is expected of me. I don't have to behave. I can be myself. The price - foregoing prestige, privilege, attention and public adulation - is well worth it for what I do get instead. 

Some crave the opposite. There's no right way here, so long as you do realistically consider the consequences of seeking a high profile, and feel comfortable with the outcome. It's unfortunate that some don't think it through well enough.

Perhaps tragedy looms

Hmm. Another revelation from Prince Harry. Am I shocked and surprised? No. Do I care? I'm afraid not, and I won't be buying his new book, Spare. But I do see the signs of coming tragedy.

The everyday doings of the Royal Family, and stories about them, have always seemed remote from my own life, and have rarely had any personal impact. I admit to being touched by the Queen Mother's death in 2002, because I had met her. I was much moved by the Queen's Covid-lockdown address in 2020, and her promise that 'we'll meet again', because hope for the future was needed and she struck exactly the right note. Then on one evening last September, when in Scotland, tears came to my eyes as I heard on the radio of the Queen's death. It was the end of an era. She'd come to the throne in the same year as I was born, and now she'd gone. 

But really that's about it for personal impact. 

Both those Royal Ladies may have had their bad moments in private, but they accepted the strictures of their jobs as well as the privileges. Whether they hated the tiresome court protocol or not, they both wore a quiet smile, behaving at all times faultlessly and diplomatically, and earning worldwide respect for doing so. I don't doubt for an instant that beneath the façade both had many weaknesses, and were prey to such things as self-doubt, anxiety, and weariness, and could be faulted on any of the failings that ordinary people get criticised for. They were real persons, after all. We all know now that the Queen could giggle; but she hid things like that if they would undermine her public image, and to the last remained imperturbable and inspirational, the world's Number One Woman.

I don't think Prince Harry's position is the same. The standard of behaviour isn't nearly so onerous. But he still has a duty to maintain respect for the institution he was born into. He might well complain that he didn't choose to be a prince, but that's the way it is; and he has certainly used that status to get attention. Is he bound by the 'don't explain and never complain' maxim? Not to the extent that his father now is. But in Prince Harry's shoes I would still feel obliged to be discreet, and to take care what I reveal to the public. Once it's out there, there will be consequences.

This new book of his has been very much discussed already, as the Spanish version has been published ahead of the English one. I'm hoping that something has been lost in retranslation. For instance, that odd reference to his wearing a 'necklace' which broke when his brother got hold of him and shoved him to the floor - surely it was in fact a man's neck chain? I'm expecting to hear that the 'proper' version is worded differently. 

Even so, the discussion has centred on a string of disclosures, none of them particularly shocking, that do not show Prince Harry in the best light. If these are the highlights of the book, then the rest of it must be dull. 

I dare say the general intention is to reveal that he was undervalued, bullied and misunderstood, the victim of a relentless palace misinformation campaign that got unbearable once he met Meghan. I certainly do think that life in such an artificial environment must be difficult and frustrating to anyone hoping for a chance to live their own life, and follow their own star - whatever the perks. And to that extent I don't blame Prince Harry for feeling rebellious. But to publish a book about it?

I can't help feeling he is consciously re-enacting parts of his mother's life, possibly to expose the palace machine once and for all, but maybe with some other motive too. Who knows where it might end. Diana's death still casts a long shadow, and must still haunt the new King. It clearly haunts her younger son. I think another tragedy is in the making here, if Prince Harry remans determined to self-destruct.