Where are we going?

Brexit...sigh. I do wish we had simply cast off back in 2016, waved a genial goodbye to continental Europe, and floated out into the Atlantic.

Now look at the pickle we are in. I'm well past blaming anybody, or trying to imagine how better it might have been done. It's very easy to criticise the present government for negotiating a poor deal that nobody likes, and which can't get passed in parliament. Who could have done any better? Really?

The fact was that the EU, as a political matter, would never have let the UK depart on terms we could have felt happy with. The UK could only be offered a punishing deal. The remaining members of the EU had to see that opting out of the EU was no easy option. Either pay a huge ransom, or live with ongoing control from Brussels. Or both. And this implacable approach has been consistently applied, so that all the other countries can see that hell awaits them if they do a Brexit themselves. Even if the policy of punishment means a souring in British-EU relations and ongoing costs for both sides. The European political principle overrides everything, trading convenience included. The EU can ignore Britain if it has to. Just as the US is effortlessly able to. That's how it is.

I just want to be done with it. 'No deal'? I don't say 'Bring it on' but I don't care too much. I clearly understand that it could mean a period of inconvenience, possibly shortages, and definitely higher prices for some things. But not necessarily chaos. Everyone would adapt. Everyone always does.

I want a definite outcome, for better or worse, and proceed from that. The endless arguments in parliament seem to get us nowhere, and there are many other pressing things needing attention.

Perhaps the most interesting thing to come out of all this will be a massive realignment of British politics, with fresh groupings that may coalesce into proper parties for ordinary people to weigh up and vote for. I think the old-style Conservative and Labour parties are finished. Both fatally riven by warring factions. Neither offering anything fresh. One (the Conservatives) led by a lady of impeccable devotion to public duty, but otherwise an inflexible and frustrating figure. The other (Labour) led by an uninspiring last-century man with tainted last-century views - another inflexible and frustrating figure. Both are tired, makeshift leaders thrust into roles they were never fitted for. They need to make way for younger people with different ideas. ASAP.

Although a natural Conservative voter, just as my father was, I often remind myself that in 1997 I actually voted Labour - because then New Labour looked modern, in touch, full of energy, and Tony Blair was such an attractive break from the past roll-call of idealists and dull union men. But it all came to nothing.

My disappointing New Labour Experiment will never be repeated. But I would consider voting for an alternative right-of-centre party - Conservatives take note! - if it contains common-sense people of clear ability, good judgement, reasonable integrity, political stamina, and a genuine willingness to take public opinion and modern realities into account. I've no time for a party that is concerned chiefly with its internal rules and its own immutable holy dogma.

Would I like to see the break-up of the UK? Certainly one country in Ireland. And if the people of Scotland want to become independent again, so be it. After all, new technology will make borders seamless and drive-through. You know: self-declaration online, mobile phone tracking, and clearance messages. It'll work, won't it?...of course it will...

Today's vote on whether to have, after all, a 'No-deal' Brexit will be a free vote, MPs voting with their individual conscience. I hope that their choice also takes into account the will of their constituents and the general feeling in the country. Which begs the question, do any of them really knew what people like me think?

Using cash in Scotland

My Scottish holiday is getting much closer. I'm away for a whole month. How much cash should I take with me?

Scotland may still be part of the UK, but really it's a different country, and it uses its own banknotes, issued by Scottish banks and not the Bank of England. I happen to like the Scottish banknotes very much, at least from the point of view of design and attractiveness. And of course, while in Scotland, using them is the most natural thing in the world. But once back in England, they are very difficult to spend without a great deal of argee-bargee. You can insist they are 'legal tender' as much as you like, but local shopkeepers in sunny Sussex will quibble. I suppose they don't demur too much in English towns close to the Border, but south of that it's a fact of life that nobody wants to accept those pretty Scottish banknotes.

'Just take them to your own bank, and exchange them for English banknotes,' you might say. Except that nowadays all my banking is online, and in any case I am not a customer of Barclays, Lloyds, NatWest, Santander, TSB, or any bank like that. I'm sure I would get the brush-off if I popped into one of those banks, flourished £50-worth of Scottish banknotes, and requested an exchange. 'Not on your nelly, madam,' would be the predictable reply. I hate being snubbed.

If I spend cash, I will inevitably end up with a collection of brave and proud Scottish banknotes, so the strategy must be to minimise my cash expenditure while in Scotland, and if possible blow whatever I have accumulated in North-of-Border currency on some kind of parting souvenir or event. Chipping in on a farewell meal with friends in Fife might be the best way.

But will I need to spend any cash? I hardly do at home in Sussex. Ancient I may be, a secret black and midnight hag, the queen of old crones, but I have embraced modern, electronic ways of paying, and have all but stopped handling notes and coin. A supply of pound coins for the Waitrose car park in Burgess Hill is really all I need. That and the occasional fiver for a hair salon tip.

Almost everything else goes on my credit card, usually via Google Pay on my phone. Out and about, I pay for parking with RingGo or PayByPhone, two of the big national parking apps. Even in pubs, I'll buy coffee and a sandwich using the phone. And I pay Nancy - the lady who does the weekly pilates class - by phone also, using another electronic method called PayM.

Is it too much to expect that that in Scotland I can be similarly cashless? I'm anticipating that in most populated areas, certainly in towns of any significance, I will be able to pay by phone. And if so, I won't need to use cash.

Inverness will be fine, as good as any city further south. Possibly Dingwall, Ullapool, Tain, Dornoch, Brora, Helmsdale, Wick and Thurso will be OK. Elsewhere - say Lairg, Lochinver, Scourie, Durness, Tongue, Bettyhill and John o'Groats - well, I'm not so sure. And in the remotest parts of the far north, I will almost certainly have to fall back on using real plastic - maybe even paper and metal. So if I turn up at Achiltibuie, Inchnadamph, Kylesku or Crask for lunch or afternoon tea, I will need my tucked-away Emergency Payment Kit.

What lovely, romantic names...and what stunning scenery awaits! Here's a selection from my last foray into the far north-west in 2010:

These shots were taken on the road between Gairloch and Poolewe; at Kinlochbervie; at Rhiconich; by the Kyle of Durness; in Smoo Cave; and by Loch Eriboll. I intend to see some of these locations again.

The caravan's deeper-than-usual spring clean is almost complete. I'll be preparing my long list of Things To Pack in the next day or so. 

I wonder if I have any Scottish banknotes left over from my last trip to Scotland in 2017? I'd better look. Who knows, perhaps English currency (if I have to spend it) won't be so welcome  North of the Border...?

One down, two left running

I refer of course to my three PPI claims that I set in motion at the end of January.

The one that has failed was the least likely of any success. I was pursuing it as executrix for my late father. He died ten years ago, in 2009, and the claim was about unnecessary PPI he might well have been saddled with when taking out a small mortgage on a house in Hampshire in 1980. The only definite things I knew (from Dad's meticulous handwritten accounts book, in which he listed out his monthly bills in columns, spreadsheet-style) were that (a) there were mortgage payments in 1984, which continued to 1996 when the mortgage must have been paid off; and (b) Dad would have got that mortgage from Girobank, who were insisting on PPI without the option in the early 1980s (it happened to me, with my own Girobank mortgage in 1983); (c) Girobank was taken over by Alliance & Leicester. But I had no mortgage reference, no PPI policy number, and no old bank statements that showed premiums being paid during the 1980s and 1990s.

It was however still worth a shot.

But today I got a letter from Santander (who eventually absorbed Alliance & Leicester, and are now responsible for any PPI claims) telling me that they can't trace any PPI in Dad's name, and that they won't do more research without some documentation to identify the policy and/or the linked loan. Which I lack.

Although I felt justified in asking Santander to look into the question of PPI, Dad's accounts book is not enough on its own, especially as he never mentions PPI in it. It's only my own supposition that PPI was included in his monthly mortgage repayments. I think it's pointless taking the claim further - to the Ombudsman perhaps - without a scrap of original documentation to show that there definitely was a PPI policy in force. So I'm letting this particular claim go.

I still have my two personal claims to pursue, and these are much more promising. I have some original documents; mortgage and policy references to quote; and a complete run of old bank statements to prove in each case that premiums of a definite amount were actually paid for several years. Surely sufficient to trace whatever there may be in the cobwebby vaults of Alliance & Leicester and NatWest Bank. But failing that, enough for the banks handling the claims (Santander and Royal Bank of Scotland) to agree there was PPI, and to get on with computing what I should get back.

This evolving saga is demonstrating what I thought at the outset - that claiming PPI might well be hard work. And with no certain chance of success, despite all the stories of big yields. I believe my two remaining claims should succeed, but I'm not counting on it. I should know something definite about them before the end of this month, because there's a two-month time limit on giving me a proper reply. Beyond that, I can take matters to the Ombudsman. And I think I will probably have to.

Bung-ho!

A post on bungs for my water containers? Well, I think you'll grant that it's got to be more interesting than a post on Brexit.

My Bung Quest was short-lived. I enquired at Burgess Hill, hoping that the hardware store there would have a range of rubber stoppers for canisters and jars which would also fit a water container used in a caravan. But no. The guys looked, but they had nothing like that. They recommended a brewing-equipment supplier. I decided that would be for another day. Meanwhile I'd drive into Brighton, and see what Dockerills in the North Laine could do for me.

No rubber bungs for canisters or jars there either. But it was time to think laterally. What else might do the trick? It had to be like the cork in a bottle, only wider, and made of rubber or something similar. Could a rubber door stop be pressed into service, for instance? No, not really wide or deep enough. Then I saw the rubber ferrules for walking sticks. Aha!

I had one of the water containers with me, and we (that was the young chap serving me, and myself) experimented with different types of rubber ferrule. The young chap found the right one first. It wasn't a tight fit in the spout of the container, but it wasn't likely to drop out either. I bought two for £3.20, one for each container.

Back home, I made a more considered assessment. Yes, this really could work well. The new 'bungs' would replace screw-on taps that had never been much good, since the thread wasn't watertight.

And now, after nine years' use, the threads were crumbling.

The containers themselves were stout and in excellent condition, and although presently a bit grimy on the outside, would scrub up as good as new.

This is how the new bungs would pop in.

It seemed to be a pretty good solution. The rubber ferrules had a bit of weight, and wouldn't get dislodged in any likely circumstance. Those water-heavy containers had never once fallen over on their side, neither in the caravan nor when carried in the boot of my car.

Naturally I sterilised the new bungs in boiling water. And scrubbed the containers clean. Soon I had two rejuvenated water containers all ready to go.

It was worth doing. You can't buy quite this kind of 10-litre container any more in caravan or camping accessory shops. The nearest equivalent has a different, squatter, shape with an uncomfortable handle, an unnecessary tap, and costs £17.99. Say £36 to have two of them. But by reusing my old ones with an improvised bung, I reckon I've saved myself around £33.

The only possible snag that I can see is that these rubber ferrules have a metal disc inside which might rust. But I suppose I could coat the metal with nail varnish, or glue, to stop any rust developing. (And I did: using clear UHU glue to seal the metal in)

Keeping the doors shut

Now that I've invested so much money on a major repair job - it was £2,477 in the end, to fix damp damage, cure damp ingress, and firm up a sagging floor - I'm giving the caravan its best spring clean for years. It deserves it.

Not that it was looking scruffy: I'm not a cleanliness-obsessive, but I'd still regularly dusted, swept, washed and wiped the interior; and the exterior had been comprehensively washed twice a year, with sundry wipings-down in between.

The interior fabrics had been particularly well looked after, and were surely in remarkably good condition for twelve years of use - thirteen, by the end of the year. Indeed, not a single blemish. No red wine spills in my caravan! In fact, no red wine.

But now I've washed all the curtains and cushion covers, and shampooed the carpet, and although there won't be much visual difference to see, it'll all be genuinely fresher and brighter. The big side-bunk mattresses are covered up most of the time, which has not only protected them from wear and sunlight-fading, but kept them clean.

Once everything is put back, the caravan interior will seem very much as it was when new in late 2006. Next year, in 2020, I want to install a new fridge-freezer. And then there'll be regular upgrades, inside and out, in the years after that.

I might as well stick with what I've got. My caravan is so pleasant and practical, both for touring and for storage at home. I can in fact imagine the caravan outlasting Fiona, ending up hitched behind the all-electric car I plan to buy seven years from now, when Fiona will have reached her sixteenth birthday. That'll look unusual, to say the least! A swish, aerodynamic, futuristic car coupled to a (by then) semi-vintage caravan. It'll turn heads.

I may sound in love with my caravan, but I do recognise its faults. And one annoying fault had gone unfixed for twelve long years.

The cupboard doors under each side-bunk have magnetic catches to keep them shut. Unfortunately, these catches aren't up to the job. The magnets are too weak, and if there is any strong side-to-side movement when towing, any of these cupboard doors may flop open, spilling out whatever is stored inside. One door in particular will open at the slightest provocation, and I've grown accustomed to finding the carpet strewn with kitchen rolls, or potatoes, or a banana, whenever I take a break from driving and hop aboard for a toilet stop, or a bite to eat and drink. No harm is done, but it's a pain, and I do wonder why I've never before devised a way of securing these doors properly.

But now I have. It's a low-tech solution, but I dreamed it up myself, and I think the execution isn't too disgraceful.

So, the first photo, which shows the nearside cupboard doors immediately after my fix.

I had to do the splits in order lean back far enough, and place my feet far enough apart, to get both doors in the shot! Yes, it's curtain wire under tension, stretched and fixed simply into position by means of hooks at each end, and threaded through a central eyelet.

That's how the doors will look when travelling. Pitched on site, the curtain wire will be disengaged from the door handles, and left to lie horizontally above the doors, where it will be unobtrusive.

I've now done both sides. Henceforth no bumpy road or track will be able to make those doors open. Here's what the doors now look like, when ready for a journey.

I do enjoy inventing very simple ways to make or fix things, rather than devising anything elaborate. Especially if the result has a certain symmetry to it. It doesn't matter if the method is unsophisticated, so long as it's neat, will do the trick, and will continue to function for the indefinite future without constant adjustment or renewal.

Incidentally, the caravan floor isn't normally bare like that in the front half. A cream-coloured fitted carpet goes down. And on top of that, a luxurious sheepskin rug that friends Jean and Geoff gave me last autumn, which feels wonderful beneath my bare feet.

There's another problem waiting attention. Not part of the caravan this time.

I use two 10-litre water containers, bought back in 2010, and their plastic screw caps (always their weakest part) are now starting to crack and disintegrate. New containers of similar shape (and with carrying-handles just as comfortable) appear to be unavailable. So I intend to keep using the containers I've got, but with new caps fitted. Or stoppers of some kind - maybe rubber bungs, if you can still get those. So tomorrow I'm off to the nearest hardware store, to see what they have. There are two within a few miles, and a really good one down in Brighton. I'm not sure there'll be enough in this Bung Quest for a post, but you never know. You can discover many a strange thing when tracking down something as dull as a rubber bung!

The midges will be so disappointed

A couple of days ago, I went over to see my cousin Rosemary in Kent, and, as we normally do, I drove us both to Canterbury for lunch, and a stroll around the excellent shops. On the way I told her how I had nearly cancelled my month in Scotland, so that I could afford those caravan repairs. But of course, I was able to add that all is now well, and the trip is back on.

This led on to a discussion of midges, the scourge of  the damp Western Highlands. I explained that one of the chief reasons for seeing Scotland in April was to avoid the first hatching of zillions of midges, because even if they don't bite, they will form a cloud around one's head and this can be more than just annoying: it can be positively distressing.

Well, we were in Mountain Warehouse, one of the shops we always visit on our post-lunch round, and while I was in the changing room trying something on, Rosemary enquired about those insect nets you put over your head, and she bought me one as a little present. It came in a handy little pouch, and weighed almost nothing, so you could carry it about all the time on a 'just in case' basis, while in Midge Country.

Back home next morning, I gave it a proper try-out.

The pouch was very neat. I could keep it handy in Fiona all year round, and transfer it to my handbag as required. It had a belt strap, but I don't wear belts.

So what does it look like when worn? Here's the starting position, without any net protection. Any midge seeing me in this state would begin to slaver uncontrollably.

Lucy: Come and get it, if you dare!

Midge (slobbering): You are dead meat. 

But then, I deftly don my anti-midge head net.

Lucy: Having trouble, midge?

Midge: Curses, foiled again.

The head net was very comfortable indeed, and despite being shaped like a sack with a drawstring and toggle at the open end, it didn't feel confining and I'm sure I would be able to wear it for hours on end. And if they couldn't get near my eyes, ears, mouth and nostrils, any local midges would surely buzz off somewhere else, and not waste their time on me. In which case I could stroll about looking insanely joyous.

Some idiots might assert that I look like a daft old biddy wearing a net bag - but they would be so wrong. This is practical outdoor equipment, and any knowledgeable eye can see at once that it's the business, and awesomely cool and capable from any angle. 

But of course gestures can be made in the direction of style and elegance. One obvious way is to wear a hat, which immediately adds extra fascination and allure.

I do see risks, of course. The net resembles a veil, and I might be mistaken for a modest blushing bride, or a deeply mourning widow. Either would be embarrassing. And although it's not terribly effective as a disguise, I couldn't really go into a bank wearing this anti-midge head net, in case I were mistaken for a robber. 

All that said, I now feel super-easy and brave about going where midges lurk - typically around lochs and streams. Indeed, the only disappointment on the horizon is that in Scotland, in April, there aren't going to be any midges to test this snazzy head net on. 

Tsk. Just my luck.