We're still talking to eachother

Some caravan parks have a service called "the marriage saver" where they back the van into the spot for you. This park does not have such a service and the pressure was on. Where were you, he says, I couldn't bloody see you or hear you. I was here, I say, but you weren't looking and you weren't listening! First we put it in crooked. It needs to be straight, I say. So he gets it straight, but pointing the wrong way. It needs to be facing this way, we decide. So he turns it around. Then the tortuous process of levelling the thing. On this, our first self-park, this apparently needed to involve digging a hole for the jockey wheel foot plate to rest in. In case it gets bogged you see. Then the ramps for the wheel, up a bit, back a bit. Several stuffups later, involving caravan brakes off/on and tow hitch having to be put back, taken off, put back, and we are parked. And level, and facing the right way. Right. Now plug in the services, electricity lead? Check. Water input hose? Too f-ing short. Sigh. Meanwhile, the old hands opposite have put down their books and turned around in their chairs to watch the show, and we have gathered a small crowd of children. The van will have to be moved. To the site next door, where the hoses will reach. So we do that. By this time we are past the frustration-with-your-partner phase and have lapsed into silly giggling. Later after we have set the van up, we go to inform the front office lady which site we are in. Oh, no, she says. That one's booked on Friday, you'll have to move! We are firm in our response. The van stays where it is. For at least five more days.