You know how I mentioned that brand new kitchen we built? How it was basically finished, just a few touches needed to complete our camping dream mobile?
Well, I was wrong.
Our cosy, cuddly little "Aww, how sweet. Can I pet him?" car has turned into the snarling, teeth-baring, rotten meat breath car from hell. It is Satan´s own camper van, designed to cause pain and anguish to all who venture near. Sitting at my desk right now, I can smell the smoldering brimstone.
For three weeks we´ve had all the internal furniture of the car gracing our living room. We´ve had to strip not only the seat/bed, kitchen, toilet, gas box and storage compartments, but the floor, the walls and the insulation mattings in between. The kitchen had to be remodified to fit the emergency gas shutoffs. Extra holes, tubings, wires and all have had to be built into the kitchen block, the surrounding pieces of furniture and the walls of the car. We´ve had to cut holes in the floor and the sides of the car, derust, paint, paint again and silicone everything. And I´ve stubbed every toe and bruised both legs to a vibrant Chagall blue on the the boxes, drawers, wood and tools laying around.
At midnight last night we carried the floor plate out again and managed to get it back in. The seat bank/bed, which DrH made several years ago to be sturdy enough to support the combined weight of the Dallas Cowboys and the horses they rode in on, had to be carried out and manoeuvred into position. The kitchen and gas box have been reinserted and only now are at the specialists to fit the gas lines.
Our lounge room still looks like my father´s backyard shed, although with less jars of dead snakes hanging around and the nails and screws are perfectly sorted in the way that Germans are wont to do. Although the car is almost completely finished and ready to be a retro-campers wet dream, what I REALLY want to do right now is throw a Molotov through its windows.