After a few weeks of trying to settle back into a routine, I think I may have found my writing mojo…..maybe……

So I have introduced the newset member to our bike stable…a bright yellow Aprilia Mille RSV 1000, V Twin, fuel injected 2003 Super Bike….

Ok it is YELLOW.

It sounds like thunder…so it is called Yellow Thunder.

Now before I continue, there is one vital piece of information you need to pop into the recess of your mind…this bike had one flaw…

It had a mind of its own.

This flaw became evident when three very excited males were gathered around it as it was unloaded from the van.  It had arrived to the Hobbit House, money and details were exchanged and one last ‘start up’ was schedued.

The key was gently insterted into its cradle and turned.

Nothing.

Eyes all on the bike, key turned again.

Nothing.

Encouragement given between three nervous males.

Wires twiddled, battery jiggled, key gently turned, button pressed all the way in.  Nothing.

The poor seller started to sweat profusely, the Organiser started to logically follow wires, terminals, pipes and everything else that links to the starting of a machine, My Man glanced over at me and shrugged.

My heart sank.

The seller ran to the back of the van and produced another battery, still wrapped up and gleaming.  Wrapped in a bundle was a battery charger.

One battery was removed and another one was placed in the cradle. Everything was reattatched and we all held our breath.  This time My Man turned the key.

Life sprang forth.

Smiles lighting faces, breaths were relseased in unison as Yellow Thunder roared to life.

I quietly turned and moved to the door of the Hobbit house.  The noise was overwhelming (something I was going to have to get used to over the next two weeks).

After some negotiations- two batteries, battery charger, bike cover, guarantee of refund if it misbehaved and a Partridge in a pear tree.  The Yellow Thunder became ours….ok His.

As the seller and his white van became a cloud of fumes and dust in the distance My Man and the Organiser gazed in awe at Yellow Thunder, admirig its lines, exhaust, motor, shape and design.

I realised that this was going to become a new ‘love affair’ between My Man and yet another one of his toys.  But this machine did not start when the ‘owner’ decided it was time for it to start.  It started when IT wanted to. This became a small issue for My Man (who has a slight ‘control’ issue) who believed he has control over this beast.  As with a lot of male thoughts, the idea that they have control over something is paramount in their very existance.  The Hunter/Gatherer syndrome.

So after numerous attempts, some positive and some negative, it was found that if the Rider gently pushed the button halfway in, holding your tongue to the left and smiling with only the right side of your face, the Beast would roar into life.

So off went the two boys on their toys- My Man on his Mille, The Organiser on his MV Agusta.

I on the other hand decided to do a load of washing, familiarize myself with The Hobbit house, organise our gear into the two pannier bags, tank bag and backpack.

As I walked back inside, I gazed around this beautiful home.  .

Cast your mind back to our first visit to the Hobbit House in 2014.

This delightful abode was named the Hobbit House because of its size, quaint look and existance.  It is a very deceptive home where from its front it looks compact, quaint and neat.

But once you step through the front door, it is like you are Alice after she drank the shrinking serum. You become small and the house becomes large.

The kitchen has beautiful slate tiles, dark benches, wood cupboards, a large glass sliding door that opens to a beautiful backyard.

Ok someone who has time during daylight hours and is equipped with a green-thumb and a flare for nature would just go crazy here.  For those who know me know that this is ‘my’ type of garden.   A haphazard arrangement of explosions of color, variety, with the grass being all of one height ( after My Man mowed it- getting intouch with his Domestic -Male side).  Butterflies, faries and unicorns frolicking amongst the color and plants.  (Please note-we are in England and YES it was raining, overcast and bleak-so artistic licence is being applied here).

However, when gazing out of the second storey bedroom window and into the properties on my left and right sides, I noticed a distinct difference. These two properties are beautifully kept, immaculate grass, each stem facing the same way, each leaf attatched to its branch, each flower facing the exact same way ensuring unison and color uniform, flowering bushes neatly shaped, bees humming, Hummingbirds playfully skipping from one flower to another, not a weed in sight.

But to be faithful to The Organiser, he does have a beautifully natural wasp hive under the eve of the garage.  This has grown since last year, doubling in size and quantity of wasps.  With this Natural phenomena occurring, the bedroom window must remain jammed shut as the wasps tend to want to pay a visit.

Now, before I continue with all of this descriptive narrative, I must warn you that Nature was calling.

If you have an idealized view of me and believe that bodily functions do not exist in females…please STOP reading now.

If on the other hand you are a Realist and know that all humans are equal, bodily functions are natural and not to be shied away from- then read on

Last year we had a slight issue with the flushing system of the toilet.

It did not work.

Being a genteel female, the whole concept of going to the toilet and not being able to flush brought a massive rise of nerves, sweat and fear.  How am I going to do this?  It is far too hard to head to the closest service-station, restroom, clean area where my delicate tooshie can rest.  How on earth am I going to do this?

“It is easy Sal.  You just have to pump the handle a couple of times and it will flush” was stated in a typical ‘male-knows-everything’ tone.  (You can decide which male made this statement).

Ok.  Now to a normal person this sounds like an easy activity.  A couple of pumps on the handle and water will mysteriously appear, wash around the bowl and sweep all the little nasties away.

In a perfect world this would happen.

Unfortunately, this was not a perfect world .

I worked out that if I begged with pure embarassment and honesty, sprayed perfume, did not make eye contact and whispered how much I needed assistance from My Man, he would brave the wilds and flush the toilet for me.

So for the two days we stayed at the Hobbit House last year, this was my routine.

Now, you can understand my trepidation and fear when we arrived and Nature was calling.  (Lucky the boys were off flying across the country roads on their motorized steads-so I was kind of safe.  And I knew where the bucket was that I could fill with water and swamp the bowl)

Please…..Please……Oh Please flush

Double pump the handle.

One pump.

Two pumps.

Ok…three pumps (just incase)

Ahhhh the glorious sound of water swishing around the bowl, the deep gurgling sound and the final farewell as all traces are flushed away.  It worked.

Just then the boys arrived home.  My smiling face must have been a give-away that the world was perfect again.

The Organiser smiled meekly and informed me that the toilet had been repaired two days ago.

Imagine my horror when realisation kicked in and I stared at him in horror. Two days ago?  Really?  Heart palpitations, sweaty palms, dizziness taking over my normal calm composure.

“Well to be fair Sal, I saw my plumber mate on New Years eve and organised for him to come and repair the toilet.  But he got busy, I forgot and of course I am only home early mornings and late at night and I did not think about it again.  Then the other day after talking to Pat on the phone, I realised ‘oh sh_t’  Sal is going to kill me as the toilet is not flushing properly.  So I rang my mate and he came and repaired it as an emergency job.  So now it works.  Have you tried it yet?” chirped The Organiser as his voice grew dim and I started to sway.

I casually rose from the couch after after a couple of minutes, a cup of coffee and regaining normalicy to my breathing, and wandered into the garage to gather the washing from the washing machine and put it into the dryer.

Now, for any females who have males in their lives who have a shed full of tools, stuff, paraphanalia and other useless items, you will know that often things are balanced, placed, secured and attatched to areas which logcally a female would not place it. Hence, as I bent over to place the wet washing into the dryer, would it surprise you to know that I whacked my head on a vice which was right above the dryer door.  In this episode, I lost over a thousand strands of hair, ended up with a beatuiful bruise and headache.

When I angrily asked why a vice would be perched above the dryer, I was informed that it was the only space on the bench that would support its weight and allow items to be placed in it securely.

Oh really?

After another coffee/wine and cheese and bickies we were informed that we were heading to Wales tomorrow for a lunch date with SOTO (Sister of the Organiser) and Her Hubby.

Ok.  All is forgiven.

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