The Mysterious Traveller

I BOUGHT A VAN. Yes, I bought a van. A  most regular looking van (from the outside) but when you venture within, my goodness, the beauty and potential. A stove, a sink, a fold out double(ish) bed, lights, additional battery for power and very decent storage space. It just needed a little TLC (hey, I don't want no scrubs) and this baby will become so comfortable that you can shake a gear stick at it.  I was scrolling through Gumtree, as I wanted to keep things relatively cheap, and Autotrader was a little out of my league. And by a stroke of good fortune I managed to whip up a conversation with a local seller - lovely Bernadette - who invited me over for a van viewing.  The van was parked on her drive, a Vauxhall Vivaro, covered in carbon scoring and dust. What a heap of junk , a voice was telling me, but she'll make point five past lightspeed. She may not look like much, but I bet she's got it where it counts. Bernadette watched as my inner debate clearly showed on my expre

Courtesy of Lucy Burgess, artist - www.lucyburgessart.co.uk/ Once upon a time, there was a little boy called Thomas who lived in a charming terraced house in Stockport with his fiance Lucy. They had saved up their pocket money in a save-to-buy ISA to buy a fixed rate mortgage on this property, which was located in a very up and coming part of the town. The transport links were good, including regular trains to Manchester Piccadilly and the Peak District (Stockport's very own back yard) with a Bargain Booze that boasted delicious local ales instead of Smirnoff Ice. Thomas was very happy with his home and would often sit in the garden and marvel at how grown up he felt. With a secure job and a date set for the wedding, Thomas gazed up at the dismal grey skies above and estimated the rain would begin in no less than 7 minutes.  No sooner had Thomas scrambled inside with the damp washing from the line, did the blisteringly shrill screams begin from the girl next door. Ignoring the poun