As soon as I hit 39, almost overnight, something odd happened. Maybe it’s a previously unknown hormone that kicks in or perhaps just a sign of getting older but I found myself lusting after something that previously I would have thought strange. Maybe even a little weird.
I know I can share it with you as there will be no judgement here but I still feel a little apprehensive about admitting it.
Ok, here goes.
Since my birthday, I’ve discovered a new and slightly worrying obsession with…
That’s right, I’ve found myself coveting caravans, worshipping Winnebagos and mooning over motor homes. I even started taking photos of tricked-out tourers.
What in the world is going on?
It’s not even like it’s the cool VW surfer style vans that are floating my boat, it’s the big old house on wheels. I’m hoping it’s just because we happened to be on holiday in one when I celebrated my birthday. Maybe if we’d have been in a yurt or, even better, a five-star hotel they would now be the object of my affection?
There is a tiny part of me that wonders if it’s some sort of midlife crisis. Is this my Thelma and Louise moment? Only, instead of a convertible and Brad Pitt, I’m towing a caravan, slowly, with four adults and a toddler on board?
We had a lovely holiday – although we were slightly surprised to rock up and find our van already had guests – in the form of ants marauding around the kitchen.
If I was compiling a list of things I wouldn’t mind sharing a living space with, ants would probably be near the top. I have quite a lot of respect for these industrious little creatures but I appreciate they are probably not ideal to have walking all over your food.
As a result I made my first trip to reception and within the hour a nice man had come to escort them away.
That was day one.
Day two dawned bright and sunny and my mum was admiring the caravan’s surfing/beach themed decor. We’d paid extra to have a new model so it was all super shiny. She picked up one of the cushions to plump only to find it was splattered with what looked like blood.
Upon further inspection all of the cushions (and the spare duvet) seemed to have suffered the same fate – although someone appeared to have tried to scrub a couple of them clean.
Off I went again to reception.
We spent some time as a family (this was before I realised my husband could create wifi hotspots on his phone) pondering what sort of injury might have occurred. A play fight gone wrong? A nosebleed? An ant massacre?
It left me wondering what day three would bring but thankfully the body I was expecting to fall out of a spare cupboard (seriously, this van had more cupboard space than our flat!) failed to materialise and instead a large chocolate cake came home from the shop with my parents – and by then I didn’t have to share with the ants either.
We spent our days pottering around the camp or playing on the beach. Freya had a lovely time (and even today woke up saying “elle-fant, pink, cuddling”) but the rest of us also enjoyed ourselves (I even got to go for two early morning runs).
And by taking my parents along my husband and I also got to spend some quality together. He made an Airfix model and I coloured in – maybe that’s the reason I was dreaming of the open road and adventure! (Joke).
Has anything strange happened to you while on holiday?