To guarantee a clean exit from the UK, like the one Boris Johnson promised Britain from the EU, we definitely had to leave before the deadline – no ifs, no buts...
The first time Mark and I set off for Spain, there was an unprecedented heatwave. Temperatures in Iberia soared above 50°C and people died from the heat. On that occasion, we decided to turn left, and towed Caravan Kismet (‘Fate’) to Romania.
This time, two days before our ferry to Santander was due to depart, Mark opened an email and detonated instantly into a rant.
“I don’t believe it! Our tenant has given notice!”
A short delay to redecorate, re-let and restore our income would not usually be a problem. We were nimble retirees; open to spontaneity and not terrorised by schedules. Except a huge, fanged monster
called Immovable Deadline loomed over our plans. The Three Sisters of Fate had waved their distaffs and unleashed their Furies upon us.
After toppling his predecessor, the UK had an illustrious new Prime Minister. Many refer to him as Boris, or BoJo, which I feel is somewhat informal, given his position. An innate reverence for authority demands I show him due respect. As such, I always use his full title, which is befitting a Right Honourable Male Member, and call him ‘The Johnson’.
Elected on a single promise to ‘Get Brexit Done’, The Johnson’s primary Prime Ministerial proclamation determined that Britain would exit the European Union (EU) by 31st October 2019, “no ifs, no buts.” He omitted to say that in the interests of serving democracy, this also meant regardless of whether it flouted any minor inconveniences, such as UK law or the will of a democratically elected parliament.1 Famous for quoting his number of offspring as, “five or six,” it is very clear; The Johnson just isn’t a detail man.
He claimed to have an ‘oven-ready deal’,2 carefully prepared to tickle the EU’s tastebuds. The idea was simple – Britain should keep all the perks of being in the club without paying for membership. Unfortunately, if it existed at all, the deal was still a bunch of disparate ingredients, and he didn’t have a recipe. And it was all on a metal plate that would blow up the second it was placed in the EU’s microwave.
His assertion that he “would rather be dead in a ditch” than extend Brexit beyond Halloween, even if it meant a No Deal Brexit,3 concerned us.
Our quest to Live the Dream is all about a voyage of discovery. We wanted to explore Spain, then spend the winter skiing in Italy. If Britain left the EU without a deal in place, which looked increasingly likely, all agreements with the EU would be void.
Never mind the catastrophe predicted for Britain, our personal No Deal fallout would mean invalid UK pet passports and four fur babies who could no longer travel with us to Europe.
Hence, our pressing need to make our exit before Brexit.
***
The ‘Phew! What a scorcher!’ headlines and pictures of packed beaches that accompany British
heatwaves, however brief, quickly yielded to the mother of all monsoons. Gale force winds cleared the path for ex-hurricane Lorenzo’s boisterous approach to the fair shores of Blighty. With over seventy flood warnings in place across the British Isles, it could mean only one thing.
The Ca-Lamberti, as our friends call us, were back on tour!
Four years previously, when we departed on our very first road trip, cramming our life into a box on wheels was a work of art. This time, we intended to be away for a year, not a paltry three months. Our expedition would incorporate a full span of the seasons, which compelled us to find space for a few extras normally consigned to storage between junkets.
This included three boxes of ski gear, four pairs of skis, a set of winter tyres for our van, Big Blue, plus the new portable caravan air conditioning system we’d purchased as indemnity against simmering Spanish temperatures. It arrived the day before we had to cancel our ferry.
To compensate for this extra baggage, we left behind the caravan awning (the tent-like extension that goes on the side) and reduced our arsenal of windsurfing equipment by a couple of boards and sails. Mark weighed everything fastidiously: we were within our weight limits.
Just!
“I’ve missed this!” I said to my beloved, as we lay in bed with Michael Flatley and the full cast of Riverdance practising their steps on the caravan roof.
Jacqueline (Jackie) Lambert is a dedicated doggie travel blogger and author.
B.C. (Before Canines) she rafted, rock-climbed and backpacked around six of the seven continents. A passionate windsurfer and skier, she can fly a plane, has been bitten by a lion, and appeared as a fire eater on Japanese T.V.
A.D. (After Dog), she quit work in 2016 to hit the road permanently with her husband and four pooches. Initially, they were Adventure Caravanners, who aimed To Boldly Go Where No Van Has Gone Before.
Now, they’re at large in a self-converted six-wheel army lorry, with Mongolia in their sights.
Jacqueline has published four books about how she and Mark went from wage slaves to living the dream. Fur Babies In France, Dog on the Rhine, Dogs ‘n’ Dracula and Pups on Piste all fall within one of her favourite genres; light-hearted travel memoirs. Her forthcoming books will chronicle their tour of Poland in a pandemic, and their new life as Trucking Idiots.
All Jacqueline’s books have received multiple five-star reviews and Dogs ‘n’ Dracula was a finalist in the Romania Insider Awards for Best Promotion of Romania Abroad. Dog on the Rhine has been a bestseller in Amazon’s German Travel and Rhine Travel categories, and on release, Fur Babies in France outsold Bill Bryson, albeit for a very short time!
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