Iggy the Hymer has a very large Bandage on his nose. Wait! What? Who’s Iggy the Hymer? Is there something we’ve not been telling you? After all, it’s been a long, long time without a new blog post…
You’ve got me there. I have to admit I’ve been a very naughty blogger over the last few months. So naughty in fact that huge changes have taken place in our lives, while not a sentence have I typed. Nay, not even a word. And now (as happens when blogs are not regularly updated) there are many words, from many stories, tumbling and jumbling to be told.
If I let them all out, all at once and in order, this would be a very long post. So for today let’s talk about two things. One huge change…and a bandage.
The huge change is in fact 20 foot long, 7 1/2 foot wide and 9 foot tall. It glides across the face of the planet in shades of cloud and tree. Of Nordic summer skies and salty, Mediterranean Sea. Cool grey slate under tired, hot feet and warm polished wood, begging caresses from passing fingers. I admit to being a bit poetical here. But I am, after all, a poet. A poet with a Hymer.
Yes folks we’ve actually gone and done it. Wonderfully, incredibly, we have a motorhome. And not just any motorhome. Our dream come true, luxury beast, of a 2002 Hymer B544 motorhome. Exactly a year and a day after the plan was hatched, Jay and I caught an early morning train to Darlington, and drove home a few hours later in Yggdrasil. After months of scanning Ebay and Autotrader we’d finally found him – our Iggy – and the Just Another Anima family was complete.
At the dealer’s we handed over £23,000 with one very large gulp, then Jay started up the engine for the first time. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Guess we’ve got the model with the step alarm then! Yup we’d managed to forget to put it up on our very first drive. A quick dive back to the habitation door for me and we were off. Heading home in our new home. Which meant we were already home. Marvelous!
We did a lot of research before we bought Iggy. Went to a lot of motorhome dealers. Bounced on beds in a lot of vans. Read a lot of stories on forums and owners groups. But we really weren’t prepared at all. Not in the slightest.
I’ve been in buses and vans and lorries. So why is Iggy so different? I really don’t know. All I can tell you is it’s like riding on top of the world. The view from his huge expanse of glass is just superb. Riding in a Hymer is being a kid again. Everything’s right there! It’s all clearer somehow. Like someone just took a filter from my eyes and everything became crystal bright. And there we were, riding right up above it all. Somehow more in it, while at the same time wrapped in a bubble of space, and home, and safe. It feels good folks. Really, really good.
Ah that was a day to remember. A day of joy and hope and fresh beginnings. A day full of new things. Our first drive on the motorway, on A roads and on cobbled city lanes. In bright sunshine and strong winds, and lastly in darkness, as we glided through the nighttime streets and Iggy finally came home to sleep.
So that was day one. Our second day out in Iggy was to be shakedown day. The overnight trial run into the countryside to see what worked, and what didn’t. And to start with, everything bubbled along quite beautifully. To start with.
It was our fifth day as proud Hymer owners, and we were up and out bright and early. The plan was to run around town picking up bits and pieces that Iggy needed, then park up at Portobello beach for the night. I had an early morning appointment the next day and we were going to take an hours jaunt down to a loch in the Borders after that for a second night. Everything was going great. Jay handled our magnificent beast like a pro, and with just one last quick stop at Halfords to go, we were a mere five minutes away from our stopping place for the night.
So close. We were so, so close. And that’s when the day took a turn for the legendary. The legendary day in which Iggy the Hymer got a bandage. Also to be known as, “The day we broke the motorhome.”
“What?!” I hear you cry. Not as loud as we did I promise you. Oh it was horrible. That noise! That dreadful, sickening, “CRUNCH” of a noise, as a lurking bike rack sprang out of hiding in the car park, and sank itself deep into Iggy’s unsuspecting nose.
Poor Jay. Poor Iggy. The cycle rack grinned at us evilly from it’s embedded position next to Iggy’s headlights. As if a giant axe had been flung between his eyes. Smashing it’s way into his skull. At first glance the wound seemed deep and mortal. Fearing the worst Jay put Iggy into reverse and delicately inched him backwards, while I watched his bumper creak and groan in heartrending protest. As he broke completely free of the offending rack the broken bumper collapsed towards the ground, dangling suspended, inches above it, by the vein like wiring from his lights.
Thank goodness for the forums and Hymer Facebook pages! If there’s one thing we knew every secondhand Hymer owner must have, it was gaffer tape. While Jay moaned pitifully in a horrified “What have I done!!” way, I ran back into Iggy and quickly returned, waving the gleaming silver roll of miracle tape in my hand. Jay’s eyes lit up. All was, maybe, not lost.
We lifted and held. Cut and smoothed, and carefully slathered his broken skull with modern day vinegar and brown paper. Lights were tried and found to be mostly working, and after a quick discussion we limped the last mile to the beach to regroup and lick our wounds.
One of the great things about a Hymer is the ability to make a nice cup of tea in almost all situations. Or coffee in our case. With the initial shock over we were relieved to see that Iggy’s wounds were mainly superficial. His bumper might be toast, but the main man himself was unharmed. Given that and the fact that nothing could be done for him until the next morning we did what anyone would do in our situation. Settled in to enjoy our first night by the sea together. Garages could be called first thing on Monday morning. For tonight there was moonlight, and the gentle lull of waves on the beach.