I can fully empathise with the caveman of old. I get him. Living in a cave makes sense. Shelter and security from the elements. Somewhere to eat and sleep. Nothing more natural than a cave.
And especially on a night like tonight, our first, back out “On the Road Again”. Beastie’s our cave on wheels, Canned Heat on tap and more. Though I daresay “you know who” would have something to say if she were hair-dragged off into a dark corner a bit later!
Both bellys’ full. (or should that be bellies’?) [both look weird when written] Coffee and chocolated and well and truly cocooned; cosy and tucked up within Beastie’s inner. Like a couple of newly born kittens, snuggling up close for comfort. Just right when it’s cold, wet and windy outside and pitch black at only 9.30pm. Tomorrow morning’s inverse Eddie Waring crossing beckons once more, scheduled for 11.20am, when we’ll be under & up and on our way to Ypres, for a two night stay.
We haven’t yet got those WW1 memorial sites out of our system (don’t think we ever will) and so we’re intending to add to them over in Belgium, before heading Southbound Again.
During our eight weeks back at the ranch, there’s been somewhat of an ongoing debate as to whether the name “Beastie” is justified or not. One side of the argument is that this name belies the “blessing” we’ve inherited and somehow fails to acknowledge it as such. The other side of the coin of course, sees it as just an amusing harmless nickname, a bit of mannish banter that helps conjure up apt images, when relating certain incidents. It’s the same for us, a lifetime of goodness and one’s character can be sullied for ever by just one single slip. From then onwards only to be referred to as that one who . . . . .
So in my mind Beastie’s already made a name for himself, in more ways than one. But just like Disney’s Beast, underneath his tough exterior lies a warm heart. Somehow, calling him Bertie, or Barry, or Bartholomew, or Bill, or Bernard, or even Basil, just doesn’t seem to cut it for me. What do you think?