Sammy's Tales by Richard G. Stevens
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Hello, my name is Sammy and I am a campervan. My owners for the past ten years have given me the name Sammy, or more correctly ‘Sammy the Snail’. I first made my appearance in the world in 1984 when I left the Lunar factory in the UK where I was coach-built upon a Mercedes chassis.
At that time I was sheer luxury, with a double bed above the cab and two single berths down each side. My kitchen is at the end and I have a sink with hot and cold electric-pumped water, a cooker with oven and a fridge. Also at this end is a shower room with a ‘flushing’ toilet and fold up sink. By the standards of 1984 when VW Campers were offering their primitive facilities, I was like a palace on wheels.
I cannot remember my first owners, but I think they were somewhere in Sussex...I am thirty years old...very old for a campervan and my memory is fading. It is because of this that I asked my current owners, the fourth, if they would write down some of my adventures before they are forgotten.
You see, campervans don’t usually have adventures...they have outings where they carry their owners to campsites, both home and abroad, before they are stored away, unloved until needed again. If they are lucky they might get a couple of trips a year. I was like that with my previous owner because he was frightened of me—you see, I am tall and wide and he was forever bashing me into things that got in our way. In truth, I became frightened of him because on the rare occasions he took me anywhere, I would always come back with dents and scratches. By the time of my twentieth birthday I was looking quite sad.
I have just remembered my second owners; they were an old couple that used to load me up with their grandchildren and take them to the nearest seaside spot. It was always the same place, but there were other grandparents doing the same thing so I made quite a few friends in the campervan community. I wonder where they all are now after twenty years...most have probably ceased going anywhere...I am a dinosaur, a ‘Snailosaurus’, a relic of a bygone age.
I don’t know what campervans have inside them these days because I’ve never been close except when one overtakes me on a motorway. They look very posh and shiny and go like racing cars and now I understand why my owners call me Sammy the Snail.
I want to make it to my fortieth birthday because I understand I shall be a ‘classic vehicle’ and my owners won’t have to pay to take me on the road anymore. That’s if my driver makes another ten years himself! But now he tells me there is another threat to my existence, you see I have an old diesel engine which some people say should be scrapped. They say I make a lot of smoke, but how much do I make compared with a modern lorry that’s on the road every day?
I hope I live a bit longer, but before I shrug off my mortal coil, (in my case this should be ‘mortal leaf’ because I haven’t got coil springs) I want you to know something about my adventures. A friend of my owner has said he will open a blog (whatever that means) and put one of my stories on it every week, starting next weekend. I have had a lot of adventures and can’t wait to tell you all about them.
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