Caravanning with Kev.

Gale force winds, snow, worst weather conditions to hit half of Australia, trees are bending, wind is howling…what would you do? Oh that’s right…you’d go Caravanning with Kev.

None to enthusiastic about my impending weekend I get up at 5am to head to our beach house 2 1/2 hrs hrs away where the Husband awaits with the glampervan. Howling winds, trees bending at right angles and birds flying backwards and a balmy 12 degrees, I’m so excited. Normally it’s between -1 and 3 degrees so hey it’s basically summer, why wouldn’t you leave your cosy bed to drive in near cyclonic winds down the coast to our equally warm and cosy beach house only to get in the caravan to go camping 59 minutes from home. Yes that’s right 59 mins.

Now I’m told to be there buy 11 but being a good wife Im there at 9.30, it’s blowing a gale and it’s bloody freezing. The Husband has done the shopping and we start to load the fridge and cupboards and this my friends is where The Balsamic Vinegar incident happens. We leave the odd sauce etc in the cupboard with the slider things from trip to trip. Obviously when towing the caravan in the said winds she was a rockin and a few things had dislodged, now for someone that’s given birth a bottle of leaking balsamic is not a major incident. For The Husband you would of thought it meant we would need to cancel the whole trip…..I start singing Hallelujah in my head. “It’s everywhere” he says, in reality it had leaked on 4 or 5 jars and French onion soup packets. “It’s all over the place, everything has to come out of the cupboards” …well ok what’s the big deal just get a cloth… “nope it’s everywhere, that’s what you get for leaving things in the cupboards” …ok so where else shall I put what’s supposed to be stored in that very cupboard because at this point I know where I’d like to shove the peanut butter, 2 cups of noodles, a couple packets of French onion soup and of course the offending bottle of balsamic. I calmly get get a cloth, I wipe, I clean…..we continue on, crisis averted, shelves repacked. We ring Kev!

Now Kev’s not known for his speed in getting to a job or getting the job done and unless there’s a beer involved everything happens in Kev time. He loves his beer, he loves a meat raffle, he loves the club…. and Sheryl. So when asked what time we are leaving because we are well and truely ready Kev pauses on the phone, “11.. no not 11, 11.30..no make it 12” and I got up a 5 for this. I go off for retail therapy, and worry that if we don’t leave soon it will be beer o’clock and Kev’s focus will be on the 6 o’clock meat raffle at the local….game over.

It’s still whipping up like a mini cyclone, I’m at the shop and my car door gets ripped out of my hands as I try to close it. I arrive back and The Husband has turned the trusty Amorok and glampervan around at the end of the cul de sac. Well I thought, that must of been easy. Apparently not, because when he took it down to the cul de sac to turn it, it was so big and took so many goes to turn her around the old guy at the end of the street, came out of his house asked him would he like a coffee as he looked like he was going to be here awhile…got to love old guy humour.

Kev and Sheryl, arrive with Graham and Carol in tow and we are off, it’s freezing. We head off for our long 59 minute drive. We cross over the bridge to Batemans Bay and the river looks like a surf beach with waves whipping up like a washing machine, can’t wait to go boating. Within a blink of an eye we arrive. The weather has settled. Setting up is now down to a fine art. Carol and Graham on the other hand have hired a cabin as they felt trying to set up a camper van wouldn’t be the smartest of ideas considering the conditions. Real toilet and air conditioning, no camping for them. Boat next to the cabin they are all set. Kev parks his van, it’s his first exploration into Glamping. He commences putting up his annexe. Now I’m no rocket scientist but awing verses winds equals disaster. It’s still freezing when Kev pulls out his wetsuit and states we should all get up and go diving for lobster at 5 am no less. Well let me tell you that if you were to go lobster diving in the dark that in itself spells shark food to me let alone worrying about how you are going to find the bloody things. You’d also be halfway to New Zealand within half an hour. Kev is not daunted, but I rely on the fact that our Kev is not known for his early starts.

We have a couple of drinks, I go to prepare the nibbles and find everyone huddling in the air conditioned cabin, seriously we are supposed to be roughing in the elements. Our plans for a fire are out the window because I don’t think that being the main story on the Channel 9 news for starting a major bushfire is a good idea. What to do….well luckily there’s a local club next door and praise the lord a meat raffle. Kev leaves before everyone else. We donate our money via poker machines and yes the odd meat tray is collected. The Husband and I leave early the rest carry on. We are up and organising breakfast at 8, no sign of Kev, he finally ventures out, “did you go lobster diving Kev” profound silence is met with the realisation that the only sea food we are getting is the smoked salmon The Husband purchased in packet form from Woolies. Kev looks hungover and has forgotten to bring very much actual food.

We all decide to head off to the Markets at Moruya. Nestling on the river it’s a pretty scene from the car, looks a tad windy but we venture on. There are no words to describe how cold it was when we got out of the car but we are being tourists. As we stroll the many stalls, the wind picks up, the cold increases and I’m seriously considering pushing Kev into the river because he choose the worst weekend ever to explore the countryside. Kev at that point is no where to be found, he’s streaked ahead and by the time we have secured two vanilla slices he’s ready to head back to the warmth of the van.

We did manage to get in a bit of sightseeing on the way back with Kev establishing some excellent places to dive for the elusive lobster, Kev’s a planner. We head back, attend to lunch and at a loss for something to do as it’s not exactly conditions fit for any outdoor endeavours. Kev has a brilliant idea….let’s go the club. Now I pass on leaving the warmth of our home away from home, the others head off. Lots of beer and lots of donating money to the economy via the pokies, some of them are non to happy on their return. Graham looses a thousand bucks, Kev’s money is gone and I’m sure so is most of the clubs beer. The Husband has made money so he’s a happier camper.

With the wind still blowing Kev decides to light the outdoor fire. Now Kev does a good fire and it’s soon pumping heat….and blowing hot embers everywhere. Kev is not deterred by the potential catastrophic incident that would come from his fire because we’ve been in drought conditions for god knows how long. No, he soldiers on, beer in hand, we’ve eaten dinner (not by the fire but in the air conditioned cabin). Kev by the fire seated like royalty on his fold up chair that he had to borrow from us because he didn’t bring any, begins to tell us about where he foresees himself travelling in the future. It’s a grand plan for both himself and Sheryl and as we listen to where he wants to go I wonder how far our Kev’s gunna get. He starts his day between 11and 12 and if I calculate the clubs and many meat raffles between home and Sydney it’s going to take a dam long time.

As we wind up our weekend all I can say is, Grey Nomads don’t nomad in the winter where it is bloody freezing and dark by 5 for a reason, they head north for the sun where walking to the bathroom is not an exercise in survival and food can be enjoyed outdoors. The Husband and I head home as Kev heads to the Sunday night meat raffle at the club just 59 minutes up the road.