The Midnight Special

Let the Midnight Special
Shine her light on me.
Let the Midnight Special
Shine her ever lovin’ light on me…

Ahhh, the lengths I go to researching for the Blossy Bogan Blog. I’m not only unemployed, but now I’m homeless as well. Kind of.

Those who keep up with the adventures of Blossy Bogan will know about The Move. Summary – we sold our house in Boganvillea over East, packed everything we own into a storage container and took a flight to The West. The guard dog-come-garbage-disposal is in boarding school learning to play nicely with other dogs (interestingly she has a ‘day’ run of her own because she keeps having a go at other dogs… FAIL.) The rest of us are… well… in a caravan.

Having mooched off rello’s, we thought it high time we moved into our new house. Except it isn’t ready on time. Here in The West nothing happens quickly. Move in dates are kind of HAZY. Yes, we moved over here to be casual and relaxed. But SERIOUSLY. Our site supervisor is on holiday in Thailand. The tiler’s M.I.A. and well… we’re living in a rented caravan 5 kilometres from the new house. Until the 15th when Tasha the savage guard dog is released from her ‘learn to play nicely with others’ boarding school. Then we’ll all be living in the back yard.

Oh I know… I know. Woe is me. Poor me. People travel around Australia all the time in caravans. My dad and his very patient partner are Grey Nomads. As are Brad the Tradie’s (BtT’s) parents who drive north for the winter. We have friends our age who have driven a damn van around the country to be with nature… blah blah blah. Treat it like a holiday. Blah. Blah. Our adolescent, BHG (for her addiction to the TV show Better Homes and Gardens) is loving it. She sees the hunk of aluminium and lino as an overgrown Barbie Campervan. My dad bought her a Flannie, and she even has a little table on which to do ‘home school’ in her thongs, which, btw (and this one’s for you Nancy…) actually seems to pack more into her brain than ‘real school’. Mind you, I’m fairly over it and she’s definitely enrolling ASAP after we move into the house.

I don’t camp. You know that.

So. Here I am. Blossy’s dad has driven (with Patient Partner) all the way across Australia to be with nature and do various things like attend weddings in Adelaide as well as check out our new digs. They’re in the caravan park too. THEY have a posh caravan with … STUFF in it. “Don’t worry Bloss!” said Dad. “She’ll be right!” My dad is the person who nicknamed me Blossy. It’s short for Blossom. I think he uses it because, at times, because he can’t remember my actual name.

Oh good God. Traumatic childhood flashbacks.

When I was a child we used to camp. My parents would pack the EH Holden with the tent and other camping crap and off we’d go for ‘an adventure’. My older-by-five-years brother loves the great outdoors. We’d turn up at some grotty river. He used to fish, have his own little tent, make rafts for pleasure, pee behind bushes… you get the drift. Dad would get the guitar out and we’d have family singalongs after the evening BBQ. I used to pack five books and any leftover homework. That was obviously before I discovered alcohol.

So, imagine my delight when Dad and Patient Partner offered to stay next to us in the local trailer park. For about two weeks. Yes, I know, ‘harden up princess!’, but I don’t fish. I don’t do laundry in a caravan sink. And I HATE ablutions blocks. Brad the Tradie ‘doesn’t mind’ the ablutions. He can use as much hot water as he wants. He tromps off after Happy Hour, comes back in time for MASH and hangs his towel on the makeshift line. Noice. Then pops into the van (yes, he can stand up, barely) and flops down to watch the 32 inch flat screen TV he’s rigged up. BHG calls it ‘family time’.

Squillions of school camps taught me to COPE with ablutions blocks. Actually, as most teachers know, the shower and toilet are about the only place you get a moment to yourself on school camp. And it’s better than having a wash with a KFC refresher towel. One ablution block is pretty much the same as another. The little bench. The hook on the back of the door. Wear a pair of thongs so you don’t catch ‘fungal infections of the feet’. Don’t lean on the walls or lose the key. Plastic container for the soap. And YES. I like to take a bathmat.

It’s funny the goals you set when staying in a trailer park.

The success of my current aim is sitting at 20% after five nights. I’ve achieved it once so far. Yes…my goal is to avoid the Midnight Special. That’s my nickname for the toilets. We’re in the ‘tourist section’ of the rather large and spread out park, so it’s quicker to walk to the public toilets than the ablutions block. Especially in the middle of the night.

I hate the Midnight Special. Crawl out of bed. Put on the outdoor ugg boots. Throw on a hoodie. Tromp over to the toilet block in the dark. Remember, in daze, to use the Disabled Toilet because it’s the one with a seat (not that I care to sit on it). Use the quite unabsorbent paper that comes from the metal box. Pump the half flush button twice to remind the full-flush button to work. Then tromp back. IN. THE. DARK. Thank God for the fecking moon. The Midnight Special doesn’t even shine a light on me. Inside the cubicle it’s pitch black.

Yes, I DO realise I could take a torch. And I KNOW that dunnies used be outside the house once upon a time. And I COULD take my own toilet roll. But I’m resisting. You see, the more unpleasant the Midnight Special is, the more I think I can train my bladder to ‘hold’ until morning. It’s a very sound psychological strategy. I’ve implemented a ‘no fluids after 7pm’ policy also as well as a one Pepsi Max per day rule. I’m serious about this. I’ve even pushed Happy Hour back from 5:30 to 3:30 each afternoon in order to allow for extra ‘drainage’ time before bed. Bring on the new ensuite. I don’t even care what colour tiles BtT chose anymore. As long as the loo is indoors I’m good.

Thank God for the flat screen telly, free Wi-Fi at Macca's and the decision to stockpile the duty-free grog from the last O.S. trip. Oh and the Mastercard. Ahhh… the serenity.

Carrie-Van rental - $300

Minimum chips at the shops - $2.50 (enough for five people! Bargain!)

Being able to pee during daylight hours … priceless.

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Midnight Special - Credence Clearwater Revival, 1969.