Louloulapomme: Winnie and the blow job

Winnie and the blow jobSo Winifred the caravan (small but perfectly formed) is no more. John bought her three years ago and we had plans to discover this incredible country of France at our own pace. However, we have only used her six times, so came to the decision that it was more sensible to sell her rather than leave her to waste away in the garden. I’m delighted to report she has been sold to a photographer who wants to use her for his travels around France. Happy times, Tony!

On one of our first expeditions in Winnie we went with some friends and I remember the hilarious holiday we had together. John and I had already visited and B&B’d in Collioure, a beautiful coastal town down near the border with Spain, but one social evening with A and D, after much banter and water (??) intake, we decided to explore it again – this time with them in their tent and us in the noble Winnie.

Winnie and the blow jobI’m not sure what happens to adults when excitement takes over. Ann and David arrived on the morning of departure with all their kit which we put in the back of our estate car, so we could all travel together. Lots of laughter about the practicalities ensued but eventually we set off with a full tank of diesel and a car full of chat and giggles.

Our car normally does about 1,000 km on a full tank of fuel. As we were still novices in caravan towing, it hadn’t occurred to us that the fuel consumption would be greatly reduced with two extra people, all their camping kit AND towing a caravan. Collioure is about 500 km south from us. We chatted, picnicked and dozed most of the way until the final 50 km, when I happened to be driving. We were travelling on the motorway as we wanted to get there as quickly as possible to enjoy our four day sojourn.

Winnie and the blow jobAt the very moment we were approaching a motorway “aire”, (parking, picnic and pee stop – no fuel) I happened to look at the fuel gauge. Empty, and not just empty but below the empty. I let out a panicked scream and pulled immediately into the aire. We were all perfectly calm about it. We had food and drink on board, we had a loo in the vicinity and in the caravan, we had sunshine so we could have stayed in the aire. But no. We felt we were so close to our destination that we had to have a strategic plan to get moving again.

There was much discussion. J suggested that we uncouple the van and unload the car and that David, who is very slight, should venture off in the car with diesel vapour to get him as far as he could (hopefully to a service station). David wasn’t keen. Ann and I sat on the curb and pondered together as only women can. I noticed various large lorries coming in and out of the aire. They were diesel driven. “I know”, I said, “I’ll see if they can give us some diesel”. I approached the first one, French, who muttered something about tachometers and his boss, so basically it was a no. We sat and pondered some more. In the meantime, David had been skip ferreting and came back with an empty 5 litre plastic can. For whatever reason this filled us with much excitement and joy, despite the fact that it was empty.

Winnie and the blow jobMore pondering. Another large truck pulled in. He had a sticker with “P” on the back. “Ah, Polish” I said, “they always help in a crisis”. “Dzien dobry” I said with a large smile and nodding. The Portuguese lorry driver looked at me blankly. “Do you speak English?”, shake of head, “Do you speak French?”, shake of head. So I realised I had to resort to gobbledegook and sign language. After much signing and using the word caput, mort, diesel, finis, niet, etc he coolly looked at me and that was when it happened.

He raised his hand to his mouth and slid it up and down in a very suggestive fashion. I stared back. Ann was by my side. We stared at each other. We both smiled and sidled back to our men. We reported to John and David that a blow job was required in exchange for some diesel. We all nominated David. He was not keen. We could see his brain working furiously in order to come up with an alternative. His face lit up and he announced “Actually, I think you’ll find that he’s suggesting we need a piece of hose to syphon the fuel from his tank.”

The gas pipe was removed from the caravan, the diesel syphoned off, the Portuguese driver was paid double the amount for 5 litres, we carried on to the next service station, filled the car and had a brilliant holiday. Ever since I have waved enthusiastically at every Portuguese lorry driver and wondered how his hose is…

A la prochaine, Louloulapomme xxx