The Joys of Caravans

Tom Hodgkinson rediscovers his inner gypsy…

Many years ago, we at the Idler produced a book called The Idler Book of Crap Holidays. Editor Dan Kieran compiled fifty funny stories of hellish vacations, all sent in by readers. For the cover pic we chose what we considered to be a hilarious image of a middle-aged couple sitting outside a caravan with a power station tower in the background.

Well now it’s nearly twenty years later, I’m approaching the age of the sad couple in the picture, and to me, their holiday doesn’t look particularly crap. In fact it looks quite appealing. It’s the caravan. I just love them, and so does Victoria.

Sometimes I think that all you need for happiness is a caravan. And maybe a folding chair. We’re currently planning our summer hols and one idea is to rent a caravan in a field.

We’ve done this before, in a lovely campsite on the Pembrokeshire coast in Wales. The caravan rental company delivers it, sets it up, and takes it away at the end of the two weeks. It has a little shower, a little kitchen, a little loo, a little lounge and a comfy bed. They are brilliantly designed and seem to have everything the caravanner might need. I wrote half of my book An Idler’s Manual in one. A cheap, fun holiday.

We also have great memories of dragging a cheap old caravan round festivals each summer. It was a two berth that cost £200, less than a large tent, but which provided a lovely escape, a mini-home, in a busy festival. It was called an Abi Supreme, had been owned by the Red Cross, and we bought it from a breeder of fighting cocks just outside Stroud. It now sits gently rotting in a field in Somerset, home to a small group of sheep and hens.

I loved sitting outside our caravan on a folding chair, with a beer in my hand, staring at the sky or waiting for someone to stop for a chat.

And I shall arise now and go to Pembrokeshire
And a small caravan rent there, of plastic and metal made.
Two folding chairs will I have there, an awning for rainy days,
And drink real ale in the bee-loud field.

Tell me your holiday dreams.

SELECTED COMMENTS

These comments were mailed to us after an earlier version of this piece was sent out as a newsletter. We like to publish a selection and reserve the right to edit them for clarity. Feel free to drop us a line with your thoughts.

Sir: When I was growing up we had a stationary caravan on the moors at Alnwick in Northumberland, about 15 miles inland, where we took refuge from the small coastal village where we lived (my mother was a teacher there) – and I also remember that we had a towing caravan in which we took holidays. It was rather more primitive than your caravan in Pembrokeshire. I remember we towed it all the way from Northumberland down to South Wales, over the Black Mountains – mixed memories. So I agree that they are a good thing.
Pamela Clemit

Sir:
As for the one, that I purchased in Stroud
It carries no more, from the bustle and din.
Yet, quietly rots, blended into a hedge
Transmutates, oxidates, alloys and tin
As a metaphor, carapace sloughed.
John Watson

Sir: Jonathan Meades did a very good documentary on the subject in the late 1990s. Worth seeking out.
Rob Greer

Sir: In spring 2021 I bought a 1983 Renault Trafic campervan. I was burnt out after spending the previous 18 months covering 5G wackos, Covid nutcases and Donald Trump while trying to shovel raw formative information into the mewling minds of my young children. We drove to all the corners of Great Britain culminating in an August roll across Scotland. The van blew a head gasket in Gretna Green, as if it would rather die than return to English soil. I soon rejoined the rat race. We moved to America. But I’m already dreaming of our next mobile home, which hopefully will be of slightly better vintage.
Mike W