Yesterday was incidentful. I’d have said “eventful”, but events can be positive or negative and there were way too many negatives yesterday for the day to have been called merely eventful.
The second incident (I’ll get to the first shortly) was that we ran over a bump in the road that was too high for the RV and broke the footstep that comes out magically when the front door opens. Ian happened to be driving at the time, but it could so easily have been me. It’s an insurance job. Ho hum.
The third incident was the kettle, which was accidentally left on the hob while we were driving. It didn’t take long for it to knock itself off the hob and send water all over the floor of the van.
The fourth incident was a slightly-too-enthusiastic corner that opened the fridge door and emptied all the fridge contents onto the floor. Yoghurt and guacamole escaped their containers and lay side by side with bagels and peanut butter in the mess.
But the first incident was the one that had us making jokes all day. Just before we left camp, Ian emptied the RV’s sewage. As he opened the valve to empty the tank, the pipe disconnected itself and the contents blasted out, spewing all over him. Gabriella came out of the van to see Ian covered in dubious liquid and lumps. When she asked why he was wet, he calmly replied, “Well… There’s a little bit of pee and a lot of poo. The contents of the toilet exploded on me”. Gabriella giggled, all the while questioning why he wasn’t yelling or shouting or throwing up.
For half an hour, we thought of countless phrases that kept the incident alive. “Daddy’s really in the shit now”, “Please flush twice; Daddy’s a long way away”, “At least he can take the piss out of his fleece”, “Anyone for poop soup?”, “Oh, shit”, “If you have any poop, now would be a good time to fling it” (courtesy of Madagascar), “I’m not shitting you”.
We’d been enjoying the idea of being snails, carrying our home on our backs, but the glamour of carrying around our own toilet has lost its shine.
Oh, well. Shit happens.