Rarely Never have we been so disorganised for a trip away. Herself and I have had the time off booked for weeks, but had been keeping an eye on the weather closer to the time before deciding on the caravan or Airbnb.
Throw into the mix that Grumbles hasn't been great this week didn't help matters either, but come Sunday evening at 7pm Herself decides we'll go for it in the caravan, leaving Grumbles at home with a fridge full of food to warm up. With no destination in mind, let alone booked, the van gets loaded up with clothes and food ready for the off in the morning.
Monday 3 February
With Herself still in bed, after having worked 7 days on the trot, I've got the van out on the road and hitched up, much to the displeasure of the school run mums, still with no destination in mind.
9.30am and Herself wafts downstairs freshly showered. A quick conflab to go through our only requirements of within walking distance of a pub and east of us to give us a fighting chance of avoiding persistent west Wales rain.
Site booked and we're climbing the slip road at J48 heading east bound at just after 10am. Having missed rush hour we're trundling through south Wales at a good lick, that is until we approach Newport.
Now Newport is always difficult to circumnavigate, but today the traffic is edging forward so slow that snails are passing us! It was like this from The Coldra to the tunnels.
Remember the "go east, it'll be dryer weather" bit? Yeah, well having crossed the Severn and now heading north on the M5 it starts to rain! Gwawr now needs a pee, so we pull into the services at Michaelwood and park up in the caravan bays.
Herself declares she's hungry, and who am I to pass up the opportunity of some wholesome goodness provided by BK? I volunteer to go hunting while Herself sorts the dogs out. Now I don't know if you've been here, but caravans are instructed to park up right at the far end, approximately 1 mile away from the buildings.
By the time I got back to the car the food was stone cold and the pop luke warm! We sat "enjoying" it looking out into the wet and congratulating ourselves on the decision to head east.
Feeling decidedly sick with a belly full of stodge we press on. The weather didn't improve either as we took the road up into the Cotswold hills, but at least we're moving, that is until we approached Moreton in Marsh. They've major road works ongoing with 4 way lights, meaning for the final mile we're sat in traffic, taking a half hour to clear the junction.
It stopped raining, and at just after 1.30pm were pulling in through the gates of the club's Moreton in Marsh site. We're greeted by a male warden armed with a clipboard. He's very friendly, takes our details, gives us a map and tells us to go find a pitch and come back later as there's already someone in the office.
We head off and find a perfect pitch for us at the end of a cul de sac, and start the set up process. No sooner had we edged on than the motorhome we'd queue jumped just now pulls into the area and gives us daggers.
Turns out that the reason they'd taken so long to check in was they'd walked the site to choose a pitch before completing the booking in process. Unlucky!
"Davis, we're on pitch 41, can I book in and settle up?"
"Can I see you're membership card please?"
"I showed it to the other warden before he let us on site"
"I need to see it before I can book you in."
"But your colleague has already seen it, and I didn't bring it down with me."
"Hmmph! Full name, address, postcode, inside leg measurement?"
I answered dutifully.
"Oh, I see there's an outstanding balance."
"Well yes, that's why I'm here!"
"Grumble, grumble."
"Do you know where the nearest camping supplies shop is to here?"
"No, you'll need to Google it."
"Thank you so much for your help, have a nice day."
We took a spin out towards Evesham in a vein attempt to find a kettle. I did find one in ProCook, but at £49 it was some considerable distance outside my comfort zone, so it looks like we'll be boiling water in a saucepan in the morning.
We didn't stop long at the van, heading out for an evening meal. The nearest pub is just 1/3 mile away and has decent reviews. Approaching The Swan in the dark it looks to be quiet, very quiet. A sign on the door tells us they're closed this week. Bugger!
Heading up into town we stop at the first place we come across, The Redesdale Arms Hotel, taking up a table next to the open fire for some quite superb food.
With full bellies and feeling slightly sloshed we make our way back to a toasty warm van, where we both fall unconscious up front in the lounge as the rain starts to hammer on the roof.
Tuesday 4 February
Great night's kip last night. Herself has herself a bit of a lie in before waking up and throwing together some scrambled eggs. With that chucked down my neck I wash the dishes before popping out to give Trude a rinse down, she's in a shocking state after the tow up here yesterday.
The nearest car wash is guarded by cones so I carry on towards Stow, pulling into Tesco I note immediately they have no garage, but a sign pointing you to "Waves Carwash". I throw my keys at the Abood before going in to see if they sell kettles.
They don't so I came back out just as the illegals are finishing throwing water over the car. Now usually at home it's just under a tenner for an outside only wash. £18 the robbing git wanted off me!
It's market day in Moreton, so we clip on the dogs, put an extra layer on and head on over to have a mooch. I suspect it's a little busier in warmer weather and we walk the length without my wallet leaving the confines of my pocket.
All marketed out, or so I thought, we take a window seat (some inconsiderate git was sat in front of the fire) with a view of the market in the Black Bear.
Herself lets on that she quite liked the look of some food that an Asian bloke was knocking out, so over we head, coming away with curry, rice, nan bread, bhajis and samosas for our tea tomorrow evening.
From there we cross back over the road to the White Hart Royal, bagging a table next to the fire and some guns. We've been here before, stopping over for our 20th anniversary.
It was while we were enjoying some smoked salmon that Herself let on that she quite fancied some sheepskin rugs for the dogs to lie on in the caravan. So over we head. I'm now about 5 pints deep into my afternoon, but even in my semi inebriated state £60 (each) for something for the dogs to lie on was out of the question.
You know how quite often a walk out to have a mooch around the market turns into a pub crawl? No? Just us then!
Into the The Redesdale Arms Hotel we trudge, taking up some arm chairs in front of the fire.
We're in danger of falling asleep now, so much to the dog's relief we set off into the drizzle and back to site. Late afternoon may have involved some personal contemplation time before we tuck into an evening meal of roast lamb with minted gravy.
It's amazing what you can get out of a tin of beans and sausages these days, isn't it? Afterall it's all us caravnners ever eat according a twat I once knew!
Wednesday 5 February
Up early after another great night under the duvet and heated fleece, and there's a frost on the ground as I trudge over to the block in my Crocs and Dryrobe (Gok Kwan got nowt on me).
We're still kettle-less so water gets boiled in a saucepan for a cuppa and bacon gets thrown in the pan for an easy bacon butty breakfast.
The roads are very quiet as we make the short journey to Burford. We park up in the FREE car park and cross the bridge over the River Windrush heading to High St.
We stop briefly to admire St John The Baptist Church from a distance before skirting the very expensive looking Burford Boarding School.
Stepping out onto High St in "The Gateway of The Cotswolds" and the coffee shops are doing a brisk trade with hoards of geriatrics taking advantage of the discounts offered to "Local OAPs". How discriminatory!
We walk up to the top and turn back around, browsing in some of the shops, and mainly baulking at the prices they are charging for things. I was particularly proud of myself though resisting the sausage rolls in the Artisan Bakery, there was a reason though.
Up and down the High St, and a few alleyways for good measure, and we're Burforded out and are back at Trude having not spent a penny only spent 20p for me to have a pee. Sheepskin rugs were £80 here so that definitely wasn't happening.
Jeremy Clarkson's pub, The Farmers Dog is in these parts. I'm no great fan of his, but he does occasionally make some mildly amusing TV programmes. I do like Hawkstone beers and ciders, and I'd also promised myself one of his sausage rolls, so we decided to call in just because.
We're happy to note that the car park is reasonably empty as we swing in and are greeted by not one, but two yellow vests.
"Are you coming to the pub?"
"Yes"
"It's closed today, back open tomorrow, it says on the website!"
I go forward to turn around - in a space adjacent to Clarkson's Range Rover. I did briefly consider pressing the release button to deploy the tow hitch, and putting a dent in his chariot, but the look Herself gave me suggested it would be unwise.
We head towards Chipping Norton. Rolling into town we're unimpressed, and Herself asks if we can go somewhere a little more quaint, so we didn't stop and head in the general direction of Broadway, looking out for somewhere for lunch on the way.
Approaching Moreton she pipes up "We've food in the van, lets stop off there for lunch."
So we did, and also had a powernap. Herself could have stayed cwtched up under her electric fleece, but that wasn't happening. I put the dogs in the boot, started the car and waited. Herself took my subtle hint, put her boots back on and joined me.
"We're going back out are we?"
We rolled into Broadway and parked up in the short stay, taking the short cut through Cotswold Court to High St. I dived into Cook Shop and see they have selection of stove top kettles. My enthusiasm waned somewhat on looking at the price tags on the base. The cheapest of the three coming in at £49.95!
They stayed there, and we walked the length of High St, up and down, marveling at the price of property in these parts, and indeed what they charge for other stuff. I gave the mancave shop a swerve as I hade a good look round the one in Burford earlier on, and the sheepskin rugs were £50, cheaper than the bloke on the market, but still too much.
The Swan Inn provided refuge, though the people occupying the tables in front of the fire got some dirty looks before we settled down next to a radiator that was turned off for refreshments. Probably the most extensive pub we've frequented this week, but I made up for it by helping myself to a few handfuls of the free dog biscuits from the jar on the bar.
Herself and I spend the next hour people watching, and speculating what their personal circumstances are, before we head back to the car and then site to settle down for the night.
Tea tonight was a quick affair, courtesy of the little Asian man on the market yesterday. He comes highly recommended if you're up here on a market day.
I gave up on our hunt for a kettle and ordered one to be delivered at home from Amazon.
Thursday 6 February
Another great night under the duvet was had and it's approaching 9am by the time I'm boiling some water in a saucepan.
First destination of the day is Bourton on the Water. We park up by the model village and head up High St, stopping in a few shops for a mooch. The sheepskin shop wanted £75 for a rug and the lady behind the till was a little put out that I wouldn't purchase two from her.
I forego the opportunity to get a sausage roll from the bakery opposite as I'm planning to get one at our next destination, as the host is famous for them.
We walked down the side of the river back to the car, and are both amazed as, in full view of his mother, a Japanese boy threw crumbs on the floor by his feet for the birds, and as they got near kicked them away!
Back in the car we make the short journey over to Hawkstone Brewery. The access track is a pot holed quagmire, and you'd think the money the man makes out of these enterprises he'd invest a little in infrastructure!
Parking up we pick our way to the "Hawkstone Arms", which is just a tent that's been erected on the yard with some old Chesterfield Sofas scattered around.
The place is filthy, and Herself is unimpressed, the "novelty" value being far outweighed by the squalor of our surroundings.
Herself's mood did lift ever so slightly when Gerald from Diddly Squat rocked up in a van, he didn't come in though, just vanished around the corner. No bloody sausage rolls either, just a burger van selling burgers for £11.50 a pop.
Time to hit the road again, but only as far as Stow-on-the-Wold. After just 4 or 5 circuits of Market Square we bully our way into a space that is free for 2 hrs and coax the dogs to get out of the boot again. They're knackered. We skirt the outside in a clockwise direction having a good look around.
I pop into Scotts of Stow and much to Herself's surprise come back out clutching a bag with two sheepskin rugs. A bargain at £24 each. A pet shop on Digbeth St gets a visit for some doggy treats, and while we're stood stashing them away in my daysack Herself points behind me to the window display of Cookworks. There in all its glory is a 1.5L stove top kettle with a folding handle!
We take a window seat in The Kings Arms, close enough to log burner to get some benefit to reflect on quite a pleasant day out.
Back on site we drop the canopy, dry, in readiness for departure in the morning, before changing out of our muddy clothing and walking into town for an early evening meal.
We tried the Resedale first but they had no tables free, all appearing to be occupied by geriatrics sat around empty glasses or coffee mugs, so crossed the road to the White Hart Royal, bagging a table next to the fire to enjoy plates of mahoosive fish and chips.
Early night tonight.
Friday 7 February
The early night last night resulted in an early a very early morning for me. I'm sat up front at 5.45 am waiting for the saucepan to come to the boil.
A mug of tea and half a packet of Hobnobs later and I starting to reconsider the wisdom of my early rising, and get back under the duvet where I manager to fall back into a deep sleep.
I'm woken by Herself at 8.20am by her shaking me gently throwing stuff onto the bed on top of me. I'm quite quick on the uptake and get up and dressed to break camp.
We're rolling out of the site at 9am but it takes us 20 mins to clear Moreton and the roadworks. The traffic is light as we exit The Cotswolds, except that is for the major works near Crickley Hill that seemed to take an age to clear. Once on the motorway network we rolled down the M5 and onto the M4 back to west Wales incident free with the wheels continually turning until we pulled up outside "Home is where you Drag it Towers" at just before 12 noon.
Travel east? Well it paid off. Aside from the rain on Monday as we travelled, and a bit one evening after we got back to the van, it's been dry. A little cold but dry. Always a bonus in the winter months. We didn't do much driving as all the towns and villages we wanted to visit were close by. The Cotswolds is a bloody expensive region, and I still haven't had my sausage roll!
Not once did we wish we were in a hotel, or an Airbnb all week. Caravanning for us is by choice, not necessity.
