Owning an old VW camper van is 80% joy and 20% guilt/worry. Perhaps surprisingly, the biggest guilt/worry isn’t the EYE-WATERING expense of keeping a 40-year old van on the road, it’s actually going about our life and leaving the van in the garage for sometimes weeks at a time, yearning for a run out somewhere, anywhere.
Fortunate then that we love a winter jaunt in the camper van. Chugging along wrapped in 10 layers (the heating is non-existent), warming up on hot chocolate (and sometimes the tiny gas burner itself if it’s super cold) and scraping ice off the inside of the windscreen. They’re all part of the experience.
It’s poetic. The stuff childhood adventures are made of. Muddy boots leave dirty prints all over the chequerboard floor, sleeping bags roll around in the back and melamine cups clunk satisfyingly against each other as we roll down another country lane.
Last Sunday we chugged up Cleeve Hill in Gloucestershire. It was magnificent. Simply magnificent.