What’s a workaway? Work while you’re away, that’s what Watt. What work’s that then? Whatever work you want Watt. What work have you done on a workaway? All sort of work that’s what Watt.
The dogs stopped howling the instant I pulled on the handbrake. I stepped out of the 4×4 into a cloud of dust that engulfed the vehicle then quickly dispersed in the strong breeze.
This is a tale of simple folk living a simple life. A tale that may take us to the edges of civilization, far and wide, top, bottom and middle, yes, to Middle-earth itself.
The metal gate squeaked on its ancient, rusting hinges as the tall gentleman with a mop of curly, dark hair entered the garden. On top of his thick, roll-neck jumper he wore a brown, corduroy jacket that matched the trousers tucked into the top of muddy, green Wellington boots.
It seems like a lifetime ago that we sold up and hit the road, but I guess, in a way it was a lifetime ago, our old life of paying the mortgage, the gas bill, council tax and commuting to work.
‘I want a big black one’ he shouts at his wife even louder this time. Meanwhile, inside the poly-tunnel Carole and I try to suppress our giggles. We have our winner of today’s innuendo bingo competition.
Our route through France started, as usual from Calais and went via Rouen, the outskirts of Poitiers, then Montauban before our final destination of Aurignac, an hour south of Toulouse.