Ah, Cofton Holiday Park—our chosen haven for the weekend. The place where motorhomes gather like eager companions on a soggy school trip, ready to face whatever the British weather hurls at them. This time, our trusty “Happy Little Place” was to play the starring role in what would soon be dubbed The Great Rainy Getaway. Spoiler alert: this tale involves bravery, cheese, some hedge-related incidents, and a certain Storm Bert trying his best to ruin the party.
But let’s rewind a little.
The Long-Awaited Return to the Road
We hadn’t taken our beloved motorhome out since our rather damp Spanish escapade. You’d think we’d have learned to consult a weather app before packing, but no, optimism is our guiding star. The minute we rolled her out of storage, the rain clouds gathered as if to say, “You sure about this?”
Still, the anticipation of an escape outweighed the threat of damp socks. For the first time, Joanna (a.k.a. Jo, a.k.a. my better half and aspiring motorhome pilot) took the wheel.
Now, let me paint you a picture: Jo, gripping the steering wheel with the determination of a woman on a mission. Me, in the passenger seat, alternating between calm encouragement and what I like to call “subtle panic.” Hedgerows, it turns out, have a particular fondness for motorhomes. After a few gentle embraces with the greenery, Jo found her rhythm. Before long, she was driving like she’d been born to it.
Faultless, I tell you—well, mostly faultless.
Setting Up Camp: A Cheese-Fueled Victory
Arriving at Cofton was a breeze. We pulled into our pitch, and Jo parked with all the finesse of someone auditioning for a motorhome ballet. Setting up camp, once a comedy of errors, was now a well-oiled machine. We connected water, plugged in electric, and even managed to position the van so we wouldn’t have to leap over puddles to get inside.
By evening, we were ready to revel in the height of motorhome luxury: cheese and biscuits. A cheeseboard in a motorhome is not just a snack; it’s a statement. It says, “Yes, we’re camping, but we’re doing it with class.” With a bottle of some local cider to accompany the dairy delights, we toasted to Jo’s successful debut as a motorhome driver and settled in for a cosy night.
Vertigo and Rain: A Winning Combination
The next morning, I woke up feeling… unbalanced. Quite literally. Turns out, I’d made a rookie mistake. In my haste to set up camp, I hadn’t levelled the motorhome properly. My head had spent the night slightly downhill, and now I had vertigo. If you’ve never experienced vertigo in a motorhome, let me assure you: it’s like trying to stand on a seesaw during an earthquake.
We decided to embrace the weather-induced imprisonment. Rain hammered down, and any thoughts of a bracing countryside walk were quickly abandoned. Instead, we leaned into the simplicity of van life.
For me, this meant breaking out the art supplies. You see, I have grand plans to enter Sky Portrait Artist of the Year 2025. While the rain lashed at the windows, I sat in our cosy haven, sketching and painting, dreaming of the day I might dazzle judges with my creative genius.
Jo, meanwhile, was content to immerse herself in a good book. We both agreed that, despite the weather, there was something deeply satisfying about being cocooned in the motorhome, with nowhere to be and nothing pressing to do.
Storm Bert Crashes the Party
Saturday night arrived with a dramatic flourish: Storm Bert. The name might sound friendly, but Bert was anything but. He brought wind. He brought rain. He brought the kind of noise that turns a peaceful night’s sleep into an Olympic-level endurance event.
I lay awake, listening to the motorhome creak and sway like a ship at sea. Jo, ever the optimist, kept trying to block the noise and movement out and focus on sleep, something she to was not to achieve. I, was led down, wide-eyed, silently cursing Bert and his tempestuous antics.
By morning, we were both bleary-eyed but determined to make the most of our final day.
The Grand Departure Ritual
Sunday morning was a symphony of motorhome tidying and packing. We have a checklist for these moments—yes, we’re that organised. Water pipes were coiled and stored, gas bottles turned off, and the electrics disconnected.
The pièce de résistance of our departure routine is emptying the tanks. For the uninitiated, this involves draining the grey water (think dishwashing runoff), fresh water, hot water, and the unmentionable stuff. It’s a process that requires precision, a strong stomach, and an unshakable sense of humour.
And then there was the turning-around moment. Because our motorhome is continental, everything is on the “wrong” side, making certain manoeuvres feel like an advanced driving test. But, as always, we prevailed.
One Last Hurrah: Sunday Lunch
Before hitting the road, we treated ourselves to a hearty Sunday lunch at the campsite’s restaurant. It was the perfect way to wrap up the weekend—warm food, cheerful chatter, and the smug satisfaction of knowing we’d survived Storm Bert.
The Journey Home
The drive back was mercifully uneventful. The rain persisted, but the wind had given up, perhaps exhausted after its Saturday night performance. This time, I took the wheel, and we made it back to storage without a hitch.
As we locked up “Happy Little Place,” we felt a familiar mix of emotions: contentment from another adventure well-spent, and excitement for the next one.
Reflections on the Weekend
What did we learn? That even a rainy, storm-filled weekend can be a joy when you’re in your “Happy Little Place.” That Jo is a natural motorhome driver. That vertigo and motorhomes don’t mix. And that Storm Bert should really consider a career in sound effects.
As we drove home, we couldn’t help but laugh at the ups and downs of the trip. After all, isn’t that what motorhome life is all about? Turning the everyday into an adventure, hedgerow brushes and all.
Until next time, Happy Little Place. You’ve earned your rest—just like us.