Wide open roads are narrowing before our eyes. Tall, gangly trees suddenly seem stumpy and overgrown. The words ‘hill’ and ‘start’ feel like grains of sand as they grind, unwelcome, against our teeth while we tilt towards the sky. We’ve bitten off more than we can chew, that’s for sure. It’s nothing major. We’re just driving a seven-metre-long motorhome.
Surprisingly spacious while you’re manoeuvring them from place to place, but comparatively tiny once parked, campervans never much appealed to me. ‘But they’re so versatile, so freeing!’ the Caravan Club members squeal. ‘You can pack up your troubles and travel wherever the road will take
