home with a motor

Our motor home is probably about to come into its own. We’ve just agreed to sell the house with prompt vacant possession although we’ve found nowhere else to go so far. A few properties look attractive in the Wolds and north Fens areas of Lincolnshire, so we booked a couple of nights at a central camp site, planning to undertake as many viewings as we can in the time available.

Normally we’d take off for a few weeks, but too much will be flowing under our domestic proprietorial bridges for us to afford the time. This is going to be a strange year for our motor homing activities, what with health alarums proving false yet prompting re-appraisal of priorities. Looking back, we’re grateful for the few weeks we spent in Scotland during the spring. The weather was unusually damp for the time of year, but we did manage to grab our periodical fix of heather, hill and coruscations on the Sound of Mull. Our intention had been to return in the autumn for the mushrooms, but that must now be in doubt.

In case of need, could we over-winter in our Hobby? She’s certainly cosy enough, with ample insulation and a highly effective heating system. Many times we’ve been out in winter snows with nary a shiver, although early morning crossings to the shower block can sometimes be a cruel reminder that motor homing in Britain is preferably a summer sport. And I’ve lost a lot of weight since New Year; atrophy of fatty tissue is leaving me more susceptible to the bone-infiltrating consequences of icy blasts.

Perhaps we could spend the winter in the south of France, or even North Africa. But deep at heart we’re too conventional and traditional to relish our figgy pudding when the temperature is 30 degrees in the shade. And I hear they drive on a different side of the road – I confuse too easily these days.

We shall see. As the agent warned “there’s many a slip….” and “don’t count your chickens” and “time will tell” and “cross that bridge when we get to it.” He does like a good proverbial cliché. In the meantime, home is destined to be where Hobby is. We’re preparing for anything. Mrs Subbuteo is orchestrating the clearing out of garage contents and browsing the internet looking for suppliers of thermal underwear, while I’m refreshing my schoolboy Moorish-Franglais, just in case. They do talk funny in Lincolnshire.

We stayed at Woodhall Spa for a couple of days. See comments under the Good Camp Sites page.

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