Between 2009 and 2012 l had the misfortune and the delight of living in a forty caravan with my two dogs in the Fens of Lincolnshire. Many of the ‘wintry’ styled poetry pieces were inspired from those days and the memories.
It is not an experience l would ever wish to repeat, especially not back in Lincolnshire and not the Fens, for the winters teach you a lesson, a harsh learning curve indeed. But l was a fool, l viewed the property in the Spring of 2009 which was gloriously hot after a relationship break up and wishing to keep my dogs with me and with very little available renting in that area, found that this forty foot sweat box/ice box was the only affordable residence around.
I never gave thought to the 2″ thick walls, or the very basic facilities, or how would the winter be – the surroundings were to literally die for [in that Spring 2009], l was behind a stables and the previous year l had received my diagnosis for my Aspergers Syndrome, so needed time to rediscover who l was and l certainly did.
Hope you enjoy reading “Live Like An Eskimo”
Guy or Bloke, Your Choice
Never once thought did l,
That l would ever live like an Eskimo,
So you can imagine my surprise,
Discovering the truths behind my abode,
In the summer time, l live in a hot box,
And that is fine, no complaints,
But in the winter, l live in an ice block!
That is full of constraints!
When the wintry weathers do fall,
And ice, snows and chills settle within,
My homes’ two inch cell walls,
Realise do l, that l need an extra skin!
Trust me, it’s bad enough,
When the cold freezes you outside,
But my goodness,, it’s really rough,
Temperature wise when the two collide,
Nearly colder in, than it is outdoors,
Takes some getting used to,
Miserably dampened air and floors,
And a non-flushing loo!
Water frozen in pipes for days at a time,
No hot or cold for basic joys,
This is when it’s no longer fine,
And sorts the men from the boys!
Sitting in the graces of chilled airs,
Makes you reflect upon everything ..
With your arse frozen to the chair,
So as to not disturb the heats upswing,
Looking around the caravan as oft l do,
Wondering who l upset in life,
To be this deserving of the coldest blues!
And wintry curses and strife!
But perhaps it is just fitting,
That l should find myself in such a fix,
For my writing takes a macabre downswing,
And Gothic and observation intermix,
With romance an’ humour with a touch of frost,
Comically looking into all things ghastly,
And touching the surreal and downright lost,
Not forgetting, and of course not lastly,
Writing about nature and her pleasant ways,
Sunsets, rises, storms, snowfall and ice,
How she keeps me glued to her will for days!
Praying that the next day will be nice,
For it has to be said, wintry living takes its toll,
Upon the life of the igloo bound Eskimo,
Especially toileting into a frozen hole,
It truly a learning experience you know!
Be smart and take my advice,
Go and live in a house of brick,
Not in a tin box made of ice,
In the backwaters of the sticks,
And just to let you know,
In summer it is truly wonderful,
But in winter, it is for the Eskimo’s,
And is cold, freezing and dull!
If someone ever suggests to you,
That residing in a forty foot caravan,
In winter is great fun, l tell you now it’s untrue!
Take it as gospel from this snow bound man!
Living like an Eskimo, in the shire fens,
‘Tis not fun, no not all – ever,
Especially when it gets to minus ten,
An’ sleeping without freezing is your biggest endeavour!