"Who's gonna tell you when, it's too late
Who's gonna tell you things, aren't so great
You can't go on, thinkin, nothin's wrong
Who's gonna drive you home tonight"
Yesterday I picked up the Campervan. It's compact, and a real one woman vehicle. I'd forgotten but in one of those moments of feeling complete in myself I'd signed up to a slightly smaller than standard bed to give more space for the bikes. So the van seems virtually moulded around the shape of one 44 year old 5'4" woman. That would be me. I love the feeling of being held tightly by my one person tent, and suspect I'll feel the same way about the van. Like it has arms around me, security and comfort. I probably have childhood return to womb issues.
This is a quick shot of the front seats of the van. Again, that feeling of being cradled applies. I love my bright colours. The back matches and is entirely pimping. It's almost scary small but every new person who comes and looks at it with me (I have had a lot of visitors, and not all of them have had to be dragged in), I gain something from.
Logistics officer speaks to me about saucepans and the nestling nature of these, as well as about bike racks. PA to Head Coach talks to me about power connectors, leisure batteries and scatter cushions (I have dismissed this girlie talk), and the Talent Manager talks of muddy bikes wrapped in duvet covers and of locking systems. The Logistics assistant clambers up into the roof bed and makes the whole van bounce, apparently if the van's a-rocking, don't come a-knocking. So I'm not only feeling embraced by the van, but weirdly by my colleagues. Who I am leaving, in just over a fortnight.
Vroom.
No comments:
Post a Comment