Living on the road

I was suddenly aware that this weekend is my second anniversary of living in my lorry fulltime.  How time flies when you’re having fun.  So today’s blog in my very occasional series is about the joys and some of the tribulations of living peripatetically!

I have touched on some of these things before - the teaspoon test?  I was talking to friends in Harbury at their wonderful triennial Victorian Street Fair and they agreed that their attics and some of the spare rooms were just Repositories of Rubbish! If they were sensible they would put the old TV on Ebay immediately while it was worth something and not just stash it away and find that it now really isn’t!  Or give it away in one of the excellent Freecycle groups.  The happy recipient will come and take it away free!  And we’ll feel magnanimous! But no, it’s got a value, mostly sentimental, so it is stashed away for a rainy day, because, following that law that says if you have the space, you’ll fill it.

When living in a lorry it can’t stay because it has physical weight, it costs diesel to drag it around the country and that means it has to justify itself.  My rule is simple.  If I haven’t used it in 12 months, it goes.  To a friend, to Freecycle or most likely to the Recycling.  October is decision month and there’s a few things going this time.  And the beauty/utility rule still applies.  To come into the lorry it has to be beautiful or useful, but ideally both.

This means that living is very basic and simple.  I like that, it clears the mind and makes me aware of how little stuff anyone really needs.  Most of the world lives like this and have no choice.  Sorry to claim the moral high ground but I’m not living on the road to prove anything to anyone.  I just like it.

The fact of having to source water, even on occasion having to carry it from a tap to the lorry, to dispose correctly of all waste materials, again by carrying it all makes me feel in touch with myself in a way I never did when I lived in a house.  What comes in and what goes out (of the lorry and myself!) is somehow more distinct in my life now.  I certainly think about it more and that feels like a good thing.

What do I miss?  My allotment and garden, but I do have some plans in that direction, not for another Heath Robinson trailer with begonias and broccoli but to work as part of a co-operative with some adults with learning disabilities near my yard in Chester.

Of course there are moments.  Like this weekend when I found at 10.00 pm after a hard day’s juggling in Harbury that my leisure battery had died so the fridge wouldn’t work, I had no water and no tap around, the leaking power steering fluid reservoir on the lorry was empty so it was back to manual steering (VERY heavy doing a three point turn in a narrow Harbury street which I had to do with the whole village looking on), and then the generator refused to start.  All I could do was go to bed and hope there was enough ice in the freezer part of the fridge to wait until morning without the food rotting.  

But there was and I limped back to the yard and will obtain a new battery today and meanwhile can plug into the mains at the yard.  And there’s a tap with a hose…. So no, I haven’t yet cut all the umbilicals with 21^st century plugged-in living.

Maybe someday I will, but until then, like the rest of us, I am very grateful for those luxuries we shouldn’t take for granted… like 240 volt mains and running water.

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander

Windy Wimbledon

I love the Wimbledon Village Fair.  I think I’ve done it now for five years and it’s been a real pleasure every year.  Living for a night or two on Wimbledon Common is part of the pleasure.  The first year caused great consternation from the Wimbledon wardens (affectionately known as the Wombles!) as it is completely forbidden by Act of Parliament to park overnight on the Common.  But an Exception was made and now I am the only person officially permitted to live overnight the night before the Fair on Wimbledon Common, watching the sun set over the little pond and listening to the local teenagers complain about school and parents and watching the dog owners.

The Fair is a really great local London event.  It’s classic.  Fabulous food franchises of many hues and tastes.  Local charities and organisations with stalls and gazebos.  And lovely crafters, makers and sellers with some great wares.

But what really makes it is the public.  The people.  I love the spirit here.  They have no problem with the show, its eccentricity and theatricality.  Actually unlike many places where people find it hard to understand quite what it is I do.  Wimbledon just lets me be the odd British showman that I am and they enjoy it in a unique way.  This year again, I had some great feedback from people who come back every year to see the same stuff but they are so kind and complimentary that they make the very long journey and the exhausting setup and pull down worth every agonising hour.

This year the wind nearly killed it.  Gazebos took flight and the vision of young people hanging onto gazebo poles as the wind lashed the space was universal.  But we survived.  The Great British Determination. And underpinning that, a real warmth and care that I believe will and would defeat any future aggressor. It is classically British.  That is not to say it is white and middle class.  Amongst the nicest feedback I had was from a British Asian whose mum had seen the show last year and had given me some very personal gifts.  He made a special effort to come and talk to me after the show and was very complimentary.  And his mum had remembered that I was there and she apologised through her son that she couldn’t be there this year.  It is that sense of care and warmth that makes Wimbledon Village Fair a real success.  May it go on forever…

So I say ‘Well done Wimbeldon Guild’. If you didn’t make it this year, try to come next.  I will definitely be there.  DV.

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander

A wild wet and windy week in the West

Well another dreadful June week at the Ilfracombe Victorian Festival.  Not dreadful in terms of the spirit or the people, just the weather which has been autumnal at least and wintery at worst.  The extraordinary group of replica Victorians who organise and promote this wonderful week have yet again provided a fabulous fantasmagoria of festivities, and most make or source their own costumes and props.  But what is most remarkable is their spirit.  They are warm and welcoming, creative and kind.  I watched them closely in the Finale Ball last night and my heart warmed to their gentle eccentricity and the genuine friendship they showed me and each other.  If there is a way such a spirit can defeat the enemy of the weather then we do stand a chance of victory.

This has been the second year I have been here and along with many of Britain’s towns it has the feel of a place in wartime.  And in wartime British people try to make the best of things, put on a brave face, show the stiff upper lip, keep right on till the end of the road.  The big difference is that in wartime there’s a sense of hope because we might win, we might see the bluebirds again.  But how can we win against the onslaught of the changing climate?  There’s no real enemy. OK we can do our bit, separate the rubbish, bike instead of car, change our boilers and insulate the house but somehow all that seems a drop in the ocean when whole countries are not doing the same.

It doesn’t mean that we don’t do it though. For my part I am spending a small fortune next week having particulate filters fitted to the lorryhome (check them out if you’re interested on http://www.astra-vt.com/Pages/CCRF_technology.html ).  This will mean my conscience can breath easily and maybe those following me down the motorway can too!

It also means I can travel into central London without having to pay Boris’ Emission Zone charge of £200 a day.  Which is where I will be next week on the common at the Wimbledon Village Fair.  Let’s hope the weather has improved by then, but we wont hold our breath.  Except that you wont have to any more if you’re following me down the M6.

See you on the road sometime.  Do wave or beep if you’re a friend….

Mr Alexander's Travelling Show

An old guy begins the new season

Well first of all a real apology for all those people who were expecting more regular contributions from me.  Not that probably there are too many hanging off my every blog, but I was hoping to make this happen a little more frequently than so far! I will try to do better in future!

The lorry and trailer are serviced and road ready for the 2013 season.  I’m splashing out on special particulate filters for the engine so as to make it much more environmentally friendly and this means I will be able to work in central London without having to pay the exorbitant daily Emissions Zone charge (£200!!); Boris’ evil plan to prevent vintage vehicles in London and to earn even more for his swelling coffers.

The season proper is now about to start and more or less everything is ready for the road ahead.  I have the busiest season ever in front of me with only one weekend free between now and October.  I'm very happy about that, even though I slightly suspect I have reached the age where people are booking me out of sympathy or with the strange notion that this may be THE year when I fall off the chairs, or the perch for that matter.  So that’s my theme this week.  Age and it’s effect on my show and life.

A funny thing happened in Llandudno to spur the theme.  I was setting up the show for the Extravaganza, the first outing of the season, quite early in the damp Saturday Bank Holiday May morning. Two guys sidled up after conversation, a mixed blessing if I am in a hurry to put up the stage. 

‘Hi there, is that old guy coming later to ride on the unicycle?  He’s brilliant!’

Many things I could have said I guess; ‘ Yes but he’s really over the hill now’, or ‘I think I could do it better than him’ or maybe, ‘Yes he’s my son and I’m very proud of him”

But as always the right reply failed me and I laughed and just said ‘Sorry yes he will and it’s me.’ The two did a kind of double take, embarrassed laughter and a quick departure.

Someone else had heard that I was retired.

So here it is from the organ grinder himself. I am not going to retire. Ever.  I will keep working until I drop.  Why?  Because I love the life and work so much. And why stop doing something you love?  And why do anything if it makes you unhappy or bored or angry?  I know I am one of the lucky few, but I think actually you make your own luck.

Of course there have been sacrifices, regrets and sadnesses.  There always will be. But me and the Travelling Show go on….

I guess the show will change gradually as I become unable to do some things, but that's the way the show evolves in any case.  There will always be skills to improve or develop and I enjoy exploring and growing as much as you seem to enjoy watching me try!  So no worries!  Onward and upward.

See you on the road sometime soon,

All the best from a road near you,

Mr Alexander

Do you think this is right?

It’s been a while since my last entry and I can only blame Christmas, New Year and anyone and anything else who happens to raise themselves into the ‘my fault’ firing line.

But really it has been laziness.  I hate winter.  It saps all the energy and creative juice from me and I am reduced to keeping warm and watching the rain wash the windows and feel the wind rock the lorry.  However, I have been making shelves and a new table so I suppose it hasn’t been total lethargy.

I’ve also been nursing Mimi who has had a knee operation (in case you don’t know, Mimi is one of the two dogs who share my life, my lorry home and my food.  The other is Blue.  More about them another time.)

I’ve also been planning this blog in my head so I do know what I’m going to talk about today.  It’s about people.  The people I meet accidentally while living on the road.  Not the ones who just walk past and ignore me, but the ones who somehow have a view about my lifestyle and want to express it in some way.  And they are generally in two categories; for and against.

I do occasionally park in the same place for more than two nights but I try not to. I also try to avoid built up areas and streets with homes in, but sometimes that’s not possible and I park in a residential street, and that’s what I did one day just before Christmas, in Sheffield, visiting a friend.  Not far from her house, there is a flat, broad residential street with large houses with large front gardens.  There are parking spaces and permit parking (I have and display a Sheffield visitor’s parking permit).  I had parked there a few times and not for more than one night at any one time.

I had been visited by the police one morning whilst parked in this street.  They said they had been phoned by someone complaining about me.  They had been told that there was rubbish left around the lorry and that I was causing a nuisance.  On seeing that there was no rubbish and that I was just carrying on my law-abiding way of life, they wished me good morning and went their way.  But I knew I had made a local enemy.

The next time I parked in the same street, it wasn’t long before a gentleman of about my age caught me leaving the lorry in the morning to walk the dogs.  I felt he had been waiting to see me leave and he was angling for a confrontation.  He had been eying me from his front garden a few yards down and you could tell by his body language he wanted a fight. 

“Do you think this is right?” His first gambit with a wave of his hand which included me, the dogs and my home.

I wish I’d had the foresight to say “You mean morally?” but I just said “I’m sorry?”

“All this”, same gesture again, “do you think this is alright?” He obviously thought there ought to be some law that I was breaking just by my very existence.  I asked him whether it had been him who had phoned the police and he said he had.  I told him they had been to see me and confirmed to me that I was not breaking any law.  He seemed very annoyed and disappointed by that. I said that the lorry was my home and tried to engage him with a discussion about the choice I had made to live in it.  He wasn’t having any of it and turned away muttering something about ‘Why this street?” Classic Nimby. Classic prejudice.

The other meeting was with a guy of about the same age who again stopped me as I was leaving with the dogs another morning a few days later.  Just like Nimby man, he had a look as he saw me emerging from the lorry and stopped a few paces down. 

He turned and said “Do you live in there?”  I thought, here we go again and started to brush up my defensive arguments.

“It’s just that I’m an architect and am doing a long term project on living in small spaces for Sheffield City Council.  Would you mind if I talked to you and took a few photos?”

Adrian has become a local friend and has been the serendipitous link to a space in Sheffield I may be moving to shortly.  But that’s the subject of another blog.

Just for the record, I have never taken any Benefits.  I pay National Insurance and Income Tax and parking fees.  My lorry is fully road legal and I try to live ecologically and I separate my waste and dispose of it correctly.

So do you think this is right?

From a road near you, until next time,

Mr Alexander