We began the new season with a short trip to Edinburgh to meet up with family and have some fun. Our plan was to go to Slatebarns CL next to Rosslyn Chapel, of Dan Brown fame, for three nights. On the four nights before we were due to leave home, Poppy had kept us awake with pitiful cries and a frequent, desperate demand to go out and empty her tanks. One visit to the vet had done nothing to improve the situation and on the day we were due to leave it became clear that poor Poppy needed something more. So it was that she spent the day at the vets for investigations under sedation. That was the first day gone.

The next day there were warnings of gales and heavy rain. We set off with both the car and the motorhome after receiving a drenching while getting ready. I drove the car followed by Shirley driving the van. The journey was wet and wobbly and we arrived at the site much relieved to be in one piece. Or so we thought. Putting the kettle on, Shirley mentioned that she’d heard a big bang on the way and thought that something had fallen out of a cupboard. We glanced around and seeing nothing amiss we promptly forgot about it. A while later I went into the bathroom and felt confused by the strange sensation that something wet was falling on me. Shirley went in and looked up, surprised to be able to see the sky clearly and feel the heavy rain. It slowly dawned on us that the loud bang must have been the bathroom skylight blowing off the roof. We could only hope that it hadn’t caused even worse problems by landing in the road.

It might well have been a prophetic moment when earlier that day I had placed a large roll of black bin bags into the van. With Duck Tape and the aforementioned black bags we had a merry time trying to stop the rain getting in. The head height in a Hymer motorhome is higher than most, possibly because German people tend to be taller that Brits. This is rarely a problem, even though we are both shorter than the average Brit, but that day it caused aching arms, swearing and grunting as we stood with our arms raised trying to get the plastic to cover the hole. Duck Tape is by its nature very very sticky and strong. We were constantly getting it stuck to the walls, ourselves, each other and anywhere except where we planned. No amount of black bags could save us from a soggy bathroom and the sound of flapping plastic in the wind. Eventually we could do nothing but shut the door on it and put the heating on.

The next day we went to Ikea with the measurements of the hole in the roof – 800 x 500 mm and searched for a piece of suitable wood in the cast offs bit of the store. To our pleasure and surprise there was a beautiful piece of white board, all sealed on every side that looked likely to be the right size. Price – £3! We’d forgotten a measuring tape and so went looking for their handy paper ones that hang about the store. It seemed to us that they had stopped this handy kindness along with the little pencils that golfers love so much. I asked a member of staff, standing helpfully right next to our piece of wood if he had a tape. He pointed directly to the wall next to my right ear – there were the disposable tape measures hanging patiently waiting. He laughed, I blushed and we picked up our booty, paid and left, but not before we ate chips and ice cream and drank coffee in that tempting little café right next to the door.

We left the CL on Saturday morning and drove to see Adrian & Rachel just up the road. Adrian had offered to take a look and he bravely climbed onto the roof to inspect the damage and Rachel helped by holding the ladder, passing tools to Ade and feeding us, not all at the same time. I presented the proudly found piece of wood to Adrian who pointed out that it was too small. If it fitted the hole, it needed to be a good bit bigger to cover the edges from the outside. Not beaten by this set back, he phoned Chris, the intrepid DIY man of the family, who said he would cut us a piece of wood of the right size and we could go and collect it. Getting across Edinburgh city on a Saturday can be complicated, so it was two hours before we were back with the wood, some waterproof roofing material and the growing realisation that this was a much bigger job than we had imagined. Adrian spent most of the afternoon on the roof and managed to get the repair fitted with Silkaflex sealant and screws. The bathroom was watertight at last and Adrian was knackered.

After getting home I began to search the internet for a replacement skylight. Heidi the Hymer is now of an age where spare parts are difficult to source. The only replacement roof light lid I could find was in Newark on Trent and cost well over £500. This was the outer part only, not the complete roof light and so I had to source a new lining which was made for us by the very talented Derek Justice in Derby. He can make just about anything out of GRP, as long as he has an old one to make a new mould. Fortunately for us he already had the mould for our roof light lining and had it ready to collect in a few days.

Working out the cost and difficulty of delivering these two fragile items, we realised that we would be better to drive down and collect them. We’d been hoping for a few days away in March but hadn’t really planned to visit the former industrial heartlands of middle England.A week before we intended to leave, I was due to have a medical test to see if I was safe to drive a 5 ton vehicle. The C1 (up to 7t) on the licenses of those who took their test many decades ago becomes invalid after you reach the age of 70. A medical is now required to reinstate it. Three days before the medical I was also due an eye test and I mentioned the upcoming driver’s medical to the optician. Sadly he told me that the eye test for heavy vehicles is much stricter than the car requirements and that I was going to fail it. The situation is temporary, he said cheerfully, as soon as you have those cataracts done you’ll be fine. Having waited for two years already I wasn’t holding my breath. The medical was duly cancelled and fee refunded and then we had to face the fact that the younger one in this relationship was going to have to do all the driving in the motorhome, for now at least.

We agreed that we must travel a relatively short time each day to avoid exhausting the solo driver. We stopped at Boroughbridge in Yorkshire, one of our favourite overnight stops in the Back Street Car Park. Motorhomes can stay overnight for a suggested honesty box donation of £5. It was then, when attempting to put the kettle on, we discovered that the domestic water pump was quite dead. No water from the taps and no chugging noise from under the floor where the pump sits in a tank of fresh water. Fortunately we had brought some fresh water with us as we don’t normally drink the water from the onboard tank, so we could at least make a cup of tea and clean our teeth. Fish and chips is our normal meal in this lovely little town and we tucked into them with indecent delight. A walk before dark and we got into bed at around 8.30 p.m. We slept around the clock. We must have been tired!

The next morning we decamped to Morrisons up the road, had a small cooked breakfast and coffee in the café and filled up with diesel. I then tried to find a motorhome service man who could change the pump for us. Absolutely no joy at all. Every one I tried was fully booked. It occurred to me that anyone who is looking to start a lucrative business might do well to train as a motorhome mechanic.

We drove on to Brownhills in Newark on Trent to collect our new skylight “dome” and a water pump. When we stopped for a break we lifted the carpet and the hatch that covers the water tank and I reminded myself that we had fitted one of these things before. It is not too difficult and Youtube is very helpful with step by step instructions. Feeling more confident, I gaily disconnected it ready for the real action to begin. It was only when I later put everything back together that I remembered that good practice is to take a photo of the wiring before taking it apart. Hymer wire colours are completely different to UK ones and there were pink, green and purple ones under that pesky lid.

Mr Google informed us that a multimeter and wire connectors might be a useful thing to use and after watching a “how to” video, it made sense to get them. We found a Tool Station store and got both items. We had planned to use a local pub for a stopover that night. It offered free stays as long as you ate in the pub. It had been a long day and we were more than happy to get someone else to feed us. The advert stated that there was water, waste and a chemical toilet dump so it seemed ideal. Sadly, on arrival, it turned out that the promised services left a lot to be desired, so we moved on again. Next we found a small farm site with all facilities. This was on the Greasley Estate – far more attractive than it sounded – and it looked very restful. It was ideal for us, a pair of tired motorhomers. It was a very strange route to get to the farm and we were bounced around on roads that had long since lost their tarmac and finally a rough farm track. Eventually we found ourselves in a little sunny glade, plugged into the mains and set about trying to fix the water pump. The warden was the stockman on the farm and he said he was just down the track if we needed him but preferably not after 6 p.m. He was on calving duty and would be up most of the night. He explained that he started trying to sleep from tea time onwards with a CCTV with sound on in the background. The first sign of distress and he was up and out in the barn. We didn’t envy him one bit.

With Youtube and son Adrian giving useful advice and a bit of trial and error, we finally discovered which wire went where. We managed to get it working but even with the help of Google we still have no idea how to use a multimeter. Now, with the pump working and the hot water on, we had much appreciated showers. A peaceful night followed before we made our way to Derby to collect the lining for the roof light from Derek Justice. More country lanes, a few miles on the M1 and a drive through the centre of Derby got us to Derek’s house and we took ownership of a beautiful new lining – clearly much more robust than the other one.

At last we felt liberated from all the difficult driving and things that needed fixing. We could choose places to stay that appealed for less practical reasons. We chose Barlborough Golf Club near Chesterfield where the owners have put in five serviced pitches for motorhomes and caravans. We didn’t have our clubs with us so we could only watch the other players. We had a couple of good walks from the club and also a very enjoyable trot to the enormous Dobbies retail park right next door. Here we discovered a wide range of interesting shops and, of course, the potential for coffee and scones – we had to take advantage of that. We couldn’t find the energy to move after one night so we just stayed put and enjoyed the views, the golfers and the wildlife. This place is a keeper – we’ll definitely be back, although not via the country lanes of rural Derbyshire. This is old mining country and the country park has lot of reminder of its history.

We were now planning to head vaguely north so we left the site to drive the short distance to the M1. Just outside the site was a sign telling us that our route would be blocked for 15 minutes. Not put off we went the other way to fill up the diesel from the small town of Clowne. It was a while before we realised how apt the name was. We filled up the tank and set off back to the road leading to the M1. To our dismay the “Closed for fifteen minutes” sign was still there. It occurred to us that we had no idea when the 15 minutes had begun but we had definitely been away for at least that length of time. Foiled again we decided to head in another direction and try to find our way north. Heidi is significantly easier to drive on motorways and big wide roads than some of the pot holed, busy, rural roads we’d been recently subjected to. “How hard can it be to find another way onto the M1” we asked ourselves. The answer is clear – it’s impossible because the entry / exit ramps are so widely spaced. After about 20 miles of wasted diesel we decided to go back to where we’d started. Surely the fifteen minutes must be over by now? It was and we sailed through.

As we drove we discussed our next stop. We needed LPG for our refillable bottles. These things are very useful as they hold enough gas to last for months and it is very reasonably priced compared to Calor gas or its equivalents. I checked one of the clever apps on my phone and discovered that the next services on the motorway had the necessary LPG pump. Our van has the filler on the driver’s side where most seem to have theirs on the nearside. This meant that Shirley had to do a twelve point manoeuvre to get on the correct side of the pump. I jumped out to fill up, only to discover that I had no idea how to fit this particular kind of hose to the filler. A tinny voice came through the microphone telling me to press the green button. I’d already tried that so I tried to mime that it wouldn’t work.

The kind lady came out, told me she wasn’t really allowed to help … then she took the pipe from me and connected it to the van without a problem. It seems the newer pumps have an entirely different connector. Off we went again feeling in need of a rest, even though we were actually only twenty miles north of where we started.

Appreciating the smooth(ish) tarmac of the M1 motorway we began to chat about where we might spend the night. There is a lot of choice on the various apps for motorhomers and we couldn’t make up our minds. We were driving through Lancashire when Shirley saw signs for Blackpool. “I’ve never been there” Shirley said “Would you like to?” I asked, with a small sense of dread – I thought she would hate it. But I was wrong. As Shirley drove I looked up possible motorhome parking spaces and after a fruitless trip to Fleetwood where the motorhome parking was full to the gunnels, we ended up in a lorry park in Blackpool itself, looking straight out to the sea and beside a tram stop. it was an unlikely place for a pleasant break but we made the most of it. The sun shone and we hopped to and fro on the tram visiting a few highlights. Shirley was particularly keen to go into the Tower Ballroom. For around £5 each, you can go in and watch the hundreds of keen ballroom dancers or even join in if you so desire. We gave in to our usual desires and bought two large coffees and enormous buns which we took upstairs on a tray to sit looking out over the beautiful room. The Mighty Wurlitzer was played constantly by musicians working on a shift basis. They called out the dances, including any finer details to those who know. We don’t but we saw immediately that every change of tune brought a different bunch of dancers who followed the steps identically. Most impressive! Of course there were a few people with less idea what they were doing, but the vast majority seemed very competent.

Waiting in line for the coffee shop, the man in front of us held his tray across his chest and started “playing” it like a banjo in time to the music. One of his pals standing nearby asked Shirley if she wanted a banjo and handed her a tray. They “tuned up” and began to “play” together. If you think that make believe games ended when you became an adult, think again. Some of us never grow up.

As we walked along in the sunshine we came across a lady who was having a hard time controlling her three small dogs. We had left Poppy to sleep off her morning walk in the motorhome so we were dog free and able to stop and sympathise. It turned out she was from Edinburgh and had moved to Blackpool when she retired. It also transpired she had been a bouncer and managed a team of male bouncers. She clearly wasn’t to be messed with, but her dogs hadn’t got the memo. She told us that she loved living in Blackpool, commenting on the friendliness of the people and the lovely fresh air. Having lived in the city of Edinburgh we could understand her feelings about the fresh air and also her ability to cope with endless streams of visitors. During the conversation she told us about a wonderful fish and shop at the end of the tram line in the town of Fleetwood. “Best in the area!” she announced proudly. Not to miss such an opportunity, we went back to the van via the tram where we could buy a day ticket, picked up a sleepy Poppy and got on the next one. Up the coast we trundled in the modern but slow tram with stomachs pleading for the promised fish and chips. It was a lovely, sunny, late afternoon and, despite feeling very hungry, we enjoyed the trip. Poppy had lots of fun trying to kiss the conductor every time he walked by. We managed to resist …

The fish and chips were wonderful. We had to stand in a long outdoor queue and watch as others got their steaming package of deliciousness. Shirley had to walk Poppy away from the queue as her whimpering was becoming heart rending. We decided to sit at one of their outdoor tables and ate ours, when we finally got it, with much enthusiasm. We had ordered 2 x large fish and 1 x medium chips to share, thinking this was a healthy option. The large fish were actually one and a half fillets and the chips were far more than we envisaged. We sat eating happily, watched by Poppy and several seagulls, all of whom would have us believe that they were on the verge of starvation. We couldn’t finish our fish and chips. Poppy got the remains of the fish for her tea and the chips were left in the bin. If we do it again it will be a child’s portion each.

The next morning we were due to leave and head towards home. It is routine on these trips for the first one out of bed to use the loo and then put the kettle on. That particular morning it was me that gave in first. Motorhome and caravan toilets, just in case you are not familiar with them, have a lever on one side to to open and shut the sliding flap on the cassette below. To my horror the hatch stuck halfway between open and shut. The cassette was approximately three quarters full and, at this point, all being normal, we would pull out the nearly full cassette and swap it for the empty one in the garage. We were staying in a place where there were no service points for emptying and rinsing so we would wait until the next stop to empty the first one. The dilemma we were facing was that you can’t take the cassette out unless the flap is completely closed. This is to avoid a messy accident when it is lifted out, or when someone inside is using it. Half way means no exit, no swap over and therefore no useable loo for anything (I’m trying to put this delicately) that would take significant space. Shirley blanched when I told her the problem. She needed to deposit something significant. By this time Poppy had decided that it was her turn to go out and deposit. I opened Google and searched for public toilets nearby and to our great but premature relief, we realised there was one just across the road. Shirley set off with dog and some change. She was gone a long time. On her return I expected to see a big smile. Instead I saw a look of desperation. This is how she described her search, “The one over the road had one working loo. I put money in the slot and opened the door only to find a sleeping homeless man on the floor. He grumbled and shut it again. Then I looked up where the next one was, about 200 yards up the road and tried again. This time it was out of order! Poppy has done her necessaries. Take me to a coffee shop!”

We set off at the kind of speed only a desperate woman can manage and after a long walk we found a café. We hurtled inside and the lady behind the counter said “Take away or sit in?” Shirley said “Have you got a toilet?”, the answer was “Yes!” so we said “Sit in”, a phrase I now realise had more than one meaning. Several minutes later we ordered coffee and breakfast rolls. During the short wait I looked up what to do if your loo was stuck and found out that one rubber glove and pliers would close the flap, meaning that we could change the cassette.

The walk back was far more relaxed and we were soon back in the van and on our way north. As we drove along we discussed our options for our final stop. There was one near Carlisle that we thought would fit the bill nicely but the weather had changed, rain was falling and Shirley decided that we were ready to go straight home, rather than stop for another night. It was her decision because she was the driver and it was my job to get worried that she would be exhausted.

We stopped in Asda in Carlisle for some lunch and a long rest before making the final 50 mile hop home.

P.S. The bathroom skylight is now fixed, thanks to two very helpful sons and a daughter in law, and one of our lovely neighbours helped us fixed the broken lever under the toilet. We are now free to go away without searching for cafés where you can ‘sit in’.