Whilst I'm on the theme of disaster my mind has taken me back to what happened when the first David died. He had retired early, we had sold our house in Essex and taken the caravan to Cornwall to find the perfect home.
He had a heart attack and died in my arms.
I talked to the funeral director in my caravan and tried to sort out how best to tackle the next problem....getting us all home.
The hearse went on ahead and I got the RAC to take me, the caravan, the Discovery and the dog home.
They decided it would be best to travel at night and picked me up around eleven one night. Lovely kind friends waved me off and we started through the night to get back to Essex.
I travelled in the cab and although the man at first refused to have my golden in the cab there was no where else he could travel so he stayed on my feet, even more traumatized than I was!
We stopped once for a comfort stop but I couldn't get down unaided. No help came so we just stayed put.
As we travelled closer to London I told the young man that I lived north of the river and we would need to find a bridge fairly soon. He ignored me. We ended up in Central London...and..got stopped by the police twice. Towing a caravan through Knightsbridge was certainly memorable!
He simply couldn't find his way out of London....finally I got him north of the river by crossing Tower bridge....I asked him then to aim at the city...I knew my way from there. He turned in the wrong direction and we crossed Tower bridge at least four times!
Already traumatized this was really the last straw....we finally got into the East end where I negotiated us onto the A12. Arriving home he dumped me, the dog and the caravan still linked to the Discovery and fled....he had another job back in Cornwall! Took me the rest of the day to sort out the mess and left me even more distraught than I had been.
The RAC apologized profusely after good friends told them what had happened. Which is more than BT have done on this occasion!