So from 12.30am things turned to total shit… It was lucky that we went off to bed at 9.30pm because the fire alarm went off in the campervan. That piercing *%#@ of a noise that pulls you instantly from the depth of sleep. Conveniently from my claustrophobic position in the loft bed over the cab, the alarm was within arm’s reach. I ripped it off the roof and stuffed it into the mattress to strangle the noise and I flicked the battery out. SILENCE IS GOLDEN!
So in every newly formed ‘hen house’ with chooks from different ‘zones’, it’s important that a pecking order is established… for survival!
From the ”Chook Roost” (Campervan) pick up Sporty and Gerry signed up as the drivers and perched up in the front of the van. So initially they thought they were No.1 and No.2 in the pecking order because they had established themselves and driver and navie. They took early control! Both of them, up front in the cab making decisions and talking between themselves. We couldn’t hear a thing in the back because the gas stove rattled like a 2-year-old trapped in a pots and pans cupboard.
Then all of a sudden, the van would pull up when we were mid conversation. Visibility in the back is also pretty limited so we had no clue where we were even pulling up.
Upon arrival into Hobart we all had our bags and crotches sniffed by government employed beagles, and no they didn’t find a random apple on me. The airport workers are very friendly down here, we got a big hello from the peeps at the coffee shop on the way out of the gate.
Hobart is a little airport that has cool Tassie icons made out of brass and beautiful carved wood seats. The “hike” over to Britz to pick up the camper was a fence jumping experience…. two of them! But once we got over there, Gerry and Sporty signed up to drive the Mercedes camper van. There were absolutely no arguments from Posh and I. We were quite happy to sit up the back and talk shit or sleep…. OR interject when some common sense and logic were really needed. Continue reading “Hobart Campervan Pick up”