Our motorhome

On our first campervan tour of France, Spain and Portugal, 34 years ago, I had reason to be grateful for Seán’s expertise in mechanical bodging. His brother lent him a clapped-out VW, half-painted with space invaders (unfinished as his brother ran out of black paint).

It did its best to break down around Europe. Mind you, these two chancers did almost burn the brakes out by driving over a Pyrenean mountain pass, only to find out afterwards that campervans were strictly forbidden.

Although my mechanical bodger had to fix its clutch with an elastic band and the exhaust with an empty can of San Miguel, and we had to be pushed onto the ferry home, finally collapsing on London Bridge in rush hour, we were well and truly hooked on the freedom of camping.

When our children were young, we defected to a series of clapped-out caravans. But all this changed in June 2014 when we bought our Trigano Tribute. During the last seven years, she has taken us on magical tours from Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way to the Peloponnese. We’ve camped at the top of Italy’s Alps, enjoyed the delights of London on a shoestring and watched gannets diving while eating lunch