Well it’s near the end now. I’ve ‘clocked’ meself for the third time and by my reckoning the scrap heap soon beckons. Been a good old run I’ve had though. 22 owners and counting! Boy do I have some memories to share.
Of course I didn’t always look like a ‘camp’ camper van – oh no. Back in the day when I was fresh from the showroom I was a ‘once off’ – a special order no less. I was all red, white and blue with a HRH logo front and back. Prince whatever his name was and his bit a tail, Camilla I think she was called….could be wrong…no I’m pretty sure I’m right. Anyway the pair of them would drive me to little soirees up in the Scottish Highlands. Crikey they were at it night and day. The suspension’s never been the same since you know!
Mind you the Aussies were my favourite owners. With them I got to do the whole European Tour, you know the south of France, Italy, Greece the lot really. Once we even travelled through the Middle East and on to Nepal. My those were happy old times. It was them that painted me up like this. If I remember right there were five of them. Three blokes and a couple of ‘Sheila’s.’ Wayne, Ricky, Gazza, Sheila and Sheila were their handles. Bit Bohemian for me personal taste yet we had a few laughs together I can tell you. I well recall the night parked up at a camp site in the Loire Valley. Boy could they knock ‘em back. Wayne had announced early on that he was minded to, “Bend the elbow” so they sent Gazza down to the village in order to buy the “Tinnies” whilst Sheila 1 & Sheila 2 prepared some ‘tucker.’ After hours on the hit and miss Ricky announced that he fancied a, “Cheeky root,” and Wayne added that he was, “Toeier than a roman sandal,” whereupon both Sheila’s declared that they had, “Got the flaming hots,” for Gazza who was at the time – unfortunately for him – fast asleep pissed out of his brains. Still the girls were unfazed and more than happy to turn their seductive attention to the other two boys. I guess I don’t need to explain what happened next! All I will add is that the girls were ‘in the nuddy’ quicker than you could say Jack Robinson. Gazza never got to ‘crack the fat’ that particular night, even worse when he awoke the next day he discovered that he’d “Dagged me flamin strides” in his sleep, poor chap!
The worst owners I ever had were the Holy Joes on some kind of tour around the North East trying to convert people into becoming Christians. Did they go on and on and on? And if I ever here that fucking song ‘Kum ba yah, my lord’ again I think I’ll blow a gasket.
Once a bunch of terrorists rented me for a few days – not that I knew they were terrorists at first! They only strapped an explosive device to me petrol tank and left me parked up outside the Mecca Bingo Hall in Bradford. Were it not for a young local boy, Charlie Postlethwiate stopping by to nick the petrol and then, noticing the bomb nicked that too then lord knows what might have become of me. Shame about Charlie though. I heard he blew himself up on his way home. The coroner apparently called it ‘spontaneous combustion’ yet I, of course, know better.
I was on what I thought was a stake out once. I say thought because it turns out that it wasn’t an actual stake out as such it was a pervert with a camera who parked discreetly nearby to Govern Finishing School for Glasgow’s Finest Fillies trying to film the girls in a state of undress. Of course he was spoilt for choice if not quality. It all ended sourly early one Friday night when the girls realised what was going on and beat the shit out of him. Left him tied naked to a lamppost having tattooed him using a magic marker from Poundland one of the lassies had about her person with the phrase, ‘Sicko Perv’ if my memory serves me well. Still he got what he deserved.
The kindest owners I had were a couple of gay chaps from Brighton. They had me serviced, kept me neat and tidy even put lilac air fresheners on the dashboard. I’d never had so much waxing and washing as I did with them. Fond memories.
Must get on now I see Brian the Fishmonger wants to load me up for his rounds. I hate the bloody smell of fish. I hate it when his mates say I smell like a brothel!