fI vowed silently to myself (vowing out loud may have meant I would have had to do it) that I would do ‘my bit’ when living in the caravan. I decided internally that I would learn how this caravan operated as much as my husband. I talked sternly to myself about taking an interest in solar panels, batteries and on and off switches. I swore that I would take responsibility for at least half of the driving.
I have failed on all accounts and most shamefully of all I have never once put my hand up to do any backing.
Backing fills me with dread. It is the same dread I have for parallel parking. I suppose I could do it but I am not sure. I am one of those people who call left but mean right. I am one of those people who when looking out to sea think they are facing South America not the Tasman Sea. Directionality is not my thing and subconsciously I have put ‘backing the caravan’ in the category of ‘things I cannot do.’ I think my husband has put the concept in the category of ‘Things that would stress me today’, as he has never remotely suggested I take my turn at backing.
I do try to make up for my silence in this department by standing strategically and using hand signals effectively. I notice a lot of other women have mastered the sign for ‘Stop or you will run me over.’
This reluctance on my part, to develop the skill of twisting and turning with the caravan, has meant that my husband is now adept at landing the caravan in all the odd, uneven and narrow places we have paid money to stay in. He has roared our vehicle onto the ferry and down peoples drives. He is fearless as he swings around roundabouts in our cities. I won’t say the caravan is not without travel scars but at least it is still upright. Which might not be the case if I was the one backing it!