Redefining Entropy

It's not everyday you have the opportunity to challenge one of the fundamental laws of nature, well, unless you own a motorhome.  Entropy is the process by which the universe  is said to be inexorably headed towards a state of nothingness. Clever people like Dr. Brian Cox have even calculated the rate at which this is happening and reassure us that it will be trillions of years in the future, an unimaginably long time ahead, a time so distant, that the Greek government will have repaid the  Bundersbank, and  British graduates in medicine may even have almost settled their student loans. The certainty with which theoretical physicists predict this rate of decay proves one thing - none of them have ever owned a motorhome. Owners themselves are in no doubt that whatever the proven background rate of decay in nature, the vehicle of their dreams is falling apart more quickly than anything else in the known universe. It shares a state of permanent dysfunction with the Royal Family, Doncaster Social Services, and Arsene Wenger's back four.

All of this would be fine, a simple fact of life, except there is a theological as well as scientific aspect to this, not only do motorhomes fall apart at a rate unknown to physics, but they do so in the most malevolent way possible, disproving at a stroke the reliability of modern science whist asserting the existence of an all pervasive, universal satanic force.

You doubt this?  Let me explain about our cab central locking. Ever since we bought the van the cab locks have been a problem. The remote went through a brief stage of setting the alarm off every time we used it, then gave up the ghost altogether. The cab has only one keyhole, in the drivers door, this centrally locks both doors.

A few weeks ago this began to jam intermittently. A liberal squirt of WD40 fixed it for while, though it needed more and more as time went on. So much so that the residual amount slopping about inside the driver's door is now included in the CIA World Fact Book as a substantial untapped oil reserve in Andalucia.

This morning the lock jammed shut for good, the remote does not work, the key likewise, and even the levers on the inside of the doors won't budge. Ever positive, we agreed it was good we could still access the van from the side door, and started to research Ford dealers on Google in El Puerto de Santa Maria, our next stop.

It was only when we were halfway there that just how tricky our predicament had become dawned on us. The fuel gauge  a notch below the quarter mark, edged towards the red zone. We needed to fill-up. As a security feature, on a Ford Transit the fuel cap cover is lodged in the passenger door jamb. Big problem! If you can't unlock the cab, you can't refuel the van. We were going to have to contact our European Breakdown cover to extricate us from our predicament. We hoped to get to the campsite and phone from there. The question was, would the fuel hold out, because now the warning light was on, and the Satnav was telling us we were still 45 minutes from our destination.

Of course, I immediately began to cock things up. We decided that if we were going to be delayed we needed to visit a supermarket. So we pulled off the Autovia and drove through the centre of Chiciana de la Frontera. The entire centre was one big building site, most towns in the region seem to be installing Metro networks (banking crisis?). There was no obvious way to navigate through the road works to Carrefour, then I misread the road sign and ended up going back the way we'd come, adding another 14 needless kms to the journey.

With the fuel gauge now in the red zone we reached the outskirts of El Puerto de la Maria; 5 minutes to your destination the Satnav read. We picked the signs for Camping Las Dunas, then stopped dead at a road closed sign. They were laying tram lines here too. Gill brought up Google maps using the GPS on the Moto and began redirecting us to the campsite by circumnavigating the town. The Satnav recalculated the route, 15 minutes to the destination it now read. By the time we reached the site the fuel gauge pointer was butted-up firmly on the E for empty. We'd made it! I manoeuvred the van onto the levelling wedges, but decided to make a final adjustment. I returned to the cab, unthinkingly force of habit led me to stick the key in the door lock and turn it. CLICK! The door opened perfectly.

AAAAARGH!!!!!!!!

As I said, not all motorhome owners may be God-fearing, but each one is utterly convinced that a malign force is at work in the universe, that Satan is a paid-up member of the Caravan Club, and he hates all motorhomers with a vengeance.

Aargh!

Aaaagh!!

AAARGH!!!!!

AAARGH!!!!!  AAARGH!!!!!