Knock, knock! Neighbour!

I’m somewhere between dreamland and waking, but I can hear the conversation clearly as my neighbour and his wife walk from the top terrace in the direction of my caravan.

My caravan isn’t actually mine. I just borrowed it. Because I work for an outdoor magazine, we often get the chance to go camping with new caravans.

My camp neighbours initially don’t know it’s a borrowed caravan, of course. And yesterday, driving into the campsite with this brand-new house on wheels – built by a new manufacturer – I could see the heads turning.

I had barely stopped at my stand before the first visitor waves at