Our First Motorhome Touring Holiday. When we realised this was a bit of us
The goals you never realised you had. We brought a motorhome (cheap) whilst standing knee-deep in mud, digging the footings for the extension.
So how did we end up with a motorhome?
I have always wanted some form of campervan; I love camping and wanted the adventure of throwing your kit in a van and just going, being able to go wherever tickled your fancy. So we had just started the extension on the house, a two-storey extension that would give the kids bigger rooms so they didn’t feel the need to move out due to lack of space. The extension nearly destroyed us; this is a whole new chapter yet to be written. We are knee-deep in mud, surrounded by rubble and in the middle of digging the footings, and we get a phone call.
“We are getting rid of our motorhome; the dealership has offered us £10,000.00 to trade it in. Do you want it?”
It was so out of the blue I didn’t know what to think. “Erm, let me call you back.”
I took my safety goggles off and yes, I do mean goggles. I couldn’t find any safety glasses in the shed, but I did find some old swimming goggles. I wanted to start stripping the render from the walls, so I thought they would do to keep the dust from my eyes. They worked a treat; looked like a moron but definitely saved the squint because I was stripping this render no matter what today.
With a big grin on my face, I sat down and looked at Bo, “I think you need to come and sit down.”
He stopped digging and came to sit down, looking extremely worried. “What’s happened?”
So I proceeded to tell him about my phone call. Should we, shouldn’t we? We sat there contemplating, chain-smoking, coming up with all the pros and cons of having one. Listing all the reasons why it wasn’t the right time, why we couldn't afford to buy it now; we had just started the extension and it wasn’t even out of the ground. We had limited funds, probably not enough to finish the extension even though we were planning to do a lot of the work ourselves. Financially, it would be a nightmare; we knew where every penny was going, and things were tight, not like a gnat’s ass tight but like Benefits Britain with the sixty-inch TV tight.
“Stuff it, let's do it!”
“OK!”
“When will we get this opportunity again?”
“We might never have one if we don’t take this.”
“Ha, we are doing this.”
So I phoned them back and we bought the motorhome during the most financially irresponsible time of our lives. Little did we know how this would become our saviour in more ways than one.
Our First Outing.
We didn’t need to buy much for the motorhome as we had gone all out on our camping set-up; the majority went straight from the shed into the motorhome.
We went away on our first motorhome touring holiday.
We booked a pitch at Skipsea Sands Holiday Park; the pitches were amazing. Large green pitches surrounded by hedgerow, making them private; it really was like you were on your own, in your own little bubble. It was beautiful. It amazed us the most when we first pulled up; we reversed onto the pitch, plugged in the electric hook-up, got the games out for the kids and put the kettle on. We were sat outside in our stupidly comfy chairs drinking tea within ten minutes of arriving. Easy was an understatement. What made it worse was that we sat there drinking tea, watching the couple opposite who had just arrived. They were pulling all manner of things out of their car: tent, water containers, pot and pans, coats, kids, food, cool box, then one shouts.
“Found the tent pegs.”
They get the tent and start the build. They lay out the ground sheet, one threads the tent poles through the channels whilst the other looks round for the kids.
We sit there sipping our tea, “I can’t believe how easy that setup was, you on the outside plugging us in, me getting the kids games and putting the kettle on. Lush.”
Kids found, time to put the poles up and sort the guide ropes. Things were starting to get a little intense looking for the mallet, so one starts stamping the tent pegs in whilst the other jumps in the car and speeds off.
We are still gushing over how easy our setup was. “Do you fancy a biscuit with your tea?”
The kids are now emptying their suitcases, looking for a Spider-Man costume whilst Mum is still stamping the pegs in, noticing all of the clothes thrown everywhere. She sits down and looks resigned to her fate of mess
, chaos and a missing husband. As we are about to go over to see if she needs anything, other than a swift whiskey, the husband pulls back up.
“Forgot the sleeping bags.”
Kids herded for the second time, they proceed to hurl everything into the tent.
As we watch the drama unfold Bo and I look at one another. “I know we have been out in the motorhome for all of an hour but never again.”
“I know, I really don’t miss the drama of the dreaded tent setup.”
The Beach
Bo tells the kids we are going to wander down to the beach, so they need to get their stuff ready. They come out, trackies on, coats done up, gloves in pockets,
“Mum, where’s my wellies?”
I look up sniggering; the sun is shining with not a cloud in the sky. Bo is looking confused; it’s his first time on holiday with us near a beach.
“You don’t need your wellies on this time.”
“But Mum, we are going to the beach.”
This will be their first time at the beach without a coat or wellies. We always went on beach holidays in autumn as the prices were lower due to the cold weather. We always dressed appropriately for the activity; water meant wellies, sleet meant coats, and gloves were always worn with a woolly hat.
“Mum, can we go Costa first?”
“Yes, OK”
We always went to Costa or Starbucks, whichever was the closest, before heading towards the beach, so with two coffees and two mango and passionfruit coolers in hand, we were off. The kids finished their drinks, and Bo tried to take their cups and put them in the bin that we were passing. They freaked. No one was taking their cups or plastic straws; these were an important beach-day essential. Bo looked confused; again, you will notice this had started to become a theme at the beginning of our relationship.
We abseiled down what the kids would call a cliff; it was no higher than me, a bit awkward but saved us loads of time instead of walking all of the way round.
“Can we build a sand castle?”
“Yes, you have your things.”
Bo, “Great, I’ll help. Where’s the bucket and spade?”
The kids just laugh at him and run off to find the best castle sand on the beach, not too wet but not too dry. Once found, they put their straws down, grab some stones for the windows and start to fill their Costa cups with sand.
“What are they doing?”
Alexander states very seriously, “Building sandcastles, silly.”
Bo looks at me again and proceeds to tell me how cruel I am for not getting them a bucket and spade. Then it dawns on him.
“Why did they want to go to Costa first?”
Laughing as though it is the most normal thing in the world, I explain how we always go to Costa before we get to the beach for the cups. It started because we went to the beach and weren’t going to be there long, as it was raining; they started building sandcastles with the coffee cups, and it just stuck, so I never thought to buy a bucket.
“Let me get this right, they think you can only go to the beach with wellies and coats, Costa cups for buckets, and let me guess, the straw is the spade.”
“Yes, I don’t get the issue.”
He looks at me strangely, gets down with the kids and starts to build sand cup castles.
The Real Castle
We went to reception to ask what the must-see things are around here. We were advised to go to Mr Moo’s Ice Cream Parlour, not quite what we had in mind for a day out, although the ice cream was delicious, so we had a Google. The weather said showers all day, but that wasn’t going to stop us; we decided to visit Skipsea Castle. The impressive Norman motte and bailey castle was one of the first to be built in Yorkshire around 1086. I didn’t need to read any more; all waterproofed up, we set off on our castle hunting expedition.
Walked about a mile on Mill Lane and saw a taxi parked on the right down Back Street, so to make sure we were going the right way, we asked the driver how far it was to the castle. Looking bewildered, he asked, “A castle, round here?” Then proceeded to explain how he had lived here all his life and never knew there was a castle. This did not fill us with much hope, and we weren’t sure what to do now. But determined not to be swayed, I had read about the castle on the English Heritage website; we were going to continue on our now castle-finding mission. We proceeded down Beeford Road and then saw a sign, English Heritage this way. With a skip in our step, we continued on; we were going to prove this taxi driver wrong; how can he even be a proper taxi driver if he doesn’t know about the castle?
It is a beautiful day; the sun is out, we are sweating our asses off all waterproofed up and the kids look across the field to see a hill, which makes them both laugh uncontrollably.
“What would you do if that hill is the castle?”
With the taxi driver's comment casting doubt, I reply with the utmost confidence I can muster, “Don’t be silly, of course it isn’t that.”
We continue along the road, all deep in thought: what if they are right? When we finally get there, we start to look around. We see a stile leading into a cow field; a couple on push bikes ride over looking for the same castle as us. We are all at a loss. The kids spot a plaque/sign in the cow field, so they jump over the stile to have a look. And yes, the hill- not a big, impressive hill but more of a large mound covered in grass is the castle that we have been looking for. At this, the couple thank us for reading the sign to them and continue on their way.
Bo and I sit down feeling defeated; we were looking forward to showing the kids a castle. The kids, however, are having a whale of a time running round the field pretending to be us, searching for a castle, acting shocked when it isn’t there, followed by rolling round on the floor belly laughing at our expense.
Next time I need to read the full description before deciding to go exploring. To be fair, the history is interesting. The motte is still there (raised mound), which dates back to the Iron Age and was probably a burial ground. Skipsea’s cone-shaped mound is actually considered exceptionally large when compared to other motte-and-bailey castles, with the earthwork being 2500 years old, making this very unimpressive hill the largest Iron Age mound in Britain.
William the Conqueror needed control of the area, so he gave the Norman castle to Drogo de la Beauvière, a trusted follower after fighting together in the Battle of Hastings in 1066, to reside in and run the administrative centre of the lords of Holderness. The lords of Holderness moved their administrative residence to Burstwick around 1200, with Count William de Fortz ll ordering the castle to be destroyed around a year later as an act of rebellion against the King (hence no castle). The castle was leased for pasture by 1350 with the borough being abandoned (hence the cows). So after a drink and a sandwich we walked back to the holiday park.
The Toilet
After watching a lot of YouTube videos, we had decided that in our new-to-us motorhome we would not use the onboard toilet for number twos. Yes, we did YouTube this, a lot, we really didn’t want to get caught short in more ways than one, so we thoroughly researched how to empty a cassette toilet. We even stood in the living room demonstrating how you would tip whilst pressing the button to let the air in to prevent splashback whilst pouring, and brought a box of surgical gloves for the job. We were ready for this. I made sure I had the inside jobs; Bo had the outside jobs, which included toilets as you accessed it from the outside. I made sure to clarify this before setting off on our first adventure.
The time came to empty the toilet. Bo got up exceptionally early to do the deed, 5 am so no one saw him, as he was a toilet-emptying virgin. He was doing this. Equipped with surgical gloves and flip-flops, he opened the toilet’s outer door and removed the cassette. Impressed with himself that he was emptying the toilet, he walked over to the Elsan point, whistling to himself whilst swinging his arm. He opened the chemical disposal point and started to empty the cassette, forgetting everything that he had learnt in the videos. The dreaded glug began. Rather than remembering to press the air inlet button, he commenced the jump, jerk and twitch dance, jumping all over the place trying to avoid splashing his toes with four people's bodily fluid. Contemplating his life choices whilst counting the small wee speckles on his toes on route back to the van, he noticed a trail and not just any trail: a trail of urine all the way from our pitch to the Elsan point; he hadn’t closed the cassette properly. At the realisation, he proceeds to run back to the van, put the cassette back as fast as possible and jump into the van, ready to die from embarrassment.
So after christening his toes at the Elson Point, we had come to the end of our first motorhome holiday, and I can honestly say it was eventful and we loved it.
If you enjoyed this, you might want to come back next week to read:
Or come and sit on the Sofa once a week.
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