I was pleasantly surprised by how quickly I began to receive visitors. Following the notice that I had posted on the village Facebook page, a young woman came by. She asked me about herbal remedies. We chatted a little before she left, saying that she would be back through the week with some groceries and to have a proper consultation. Sadly, she has so far not returned.
My next visitors were a couple of constables. They had been informed that I was where I am, so they popped by to make sure that I was okay. I thanked them and assured them that all was good and quiet. I also told them of the welcome that I have received from the villagers.
I then got a visit from a man who claimed to be from the council. He said that he had taken photographs and would be sending them to the main ‘Kent Borough Council’. I “would then be towed away.”
I said, “No I won’t. There is a legal process to go through. I am broken down and have been welcomed by the villagers.”
He retorted, “It’s got nothing to do with the villagers!”
I politely informed him that it has everything to do with the villagers. “They are my neighbours!” I thanked him for informing me of his actions and bade him good day.
About a week or so later, I had a visitor at some ridiculously early hour; around 5am., I believe. I picked up the note that had been deposited through the catflap. It was from some-one called Jack. He wrote that he is from something called Outreach. I telephoned him that afternoon using the number he had provided. He apologised for the early hour and explained that it was policy to visit homeless people at that hour.
“Homeless?”, I asked.
He explained that there had been a report that I was homeless.
“Oh.” I said. Then said, “I take it that you noticed my caravan?”
“Yes.” He said, “It’s beautiful.”
“Then, you know that I’m not homeless?”
He agreed that I am obviously not homeless. I explained about the breakdown and how welcoming the villagers are. I asked him to provide me with the number for the local Gypsy liaison officer and details of any local food banks, which he did.
One day as I was walking back across the car park, I got chatting to a fellow. He quickly became interested in me and my way of life. I invited him for a brew. That turned into several days. Russell, was very generous. Too generous, I felt. He insisted on paying for practically everything; food shop, fuel, a Sunday lunch at the pub, beers, etc. He even left a some of money in my ‘magic bag’. He felt that my pearls of wisdom and my knowledge in general was worth paying for. He made loads of notes and we threw around some ideas that could potentially generate some form of income. We have a great idea for a series of T-shirts. So, if you or you know of some-one who can help in realising those ideas, please let me know.
A lady called Judy popped by with an envelope that contained a donation towards the trailer appeal.
Another lady came by with some food for Rowan.
The pub landlord popped down, too. Unfortunately, he had his dog with him. Though beautiful, gentle and clearly not a threat to Rowan, I couldn’t let his dog, Colt, into the caravan. The pub landlord, Ryder, is brilliant. He always greets me by name on entering the pub premises and knows what I drink. In fact, all the staff there are marvellous.
Another good friend is John. He lives out of the area, but likes to walk in the area and often stops for a brew in the tea rooms. Which is where I met him. Now, he also pops down to me to have a cup of tea and a chat.