Margot on the Moor

A flask of tea made, and a couple of cakes packed, we set off on an intrepid adventure to Dartmoor (only a few miles from home). Slowly trundling along the dual carriageway, I watched as the lorries and caravans loomed up behind before pulling out to overtake. It was a scenario we would have to get used to. As we headed closer to the moor along smaller roads, I reflected on the constant background panic I was experiencing; would we break down around the next bend? I wondered if I would ever shake that feeling. After what felt like hours we arrived at our destination- a car park high up on Dartmoor. The earlier sun had disappeared and the grey clouds looked ominously menacing. We parked Margot at a jaunty angle to make the most of the views and climbed out, feeling pretty pleased with ourselves (and the exhaust) for making it this far. A couple of quick photos later, the bitter wind had driven us back inside again to enjoy a cup of tea and a piece of cake. We sat in the back of Margot and looked out at a few bedraggled walkers hurrying by with their hoods up. We laughed at the thought of what we must look like to the outsiders; a couple of mad old people in their ancient van. Still, we were happy, munching our cake and staring at the other vehicle in the car park- a solitary ice cream van with no customers. Eventually, we decided that was enough excitement for one day and prepared to head home. Starting the engine brought us straight back to reality- the exhaust was not as 'fixed' as we had hoped. The anti-socially deep rumbling sound was back with a vengeance. We limped home slowly, sinking lower in our seats as we drove into the estate, hoping that nobody would notice Margot making such a racket. Exhaust issues aside, we had made it. Margot had been on her first outing and all three of us had survived!

Reality dawns

Listening to the wind howling and the rain lashing against the windows didn't bode well for Margot's first night on the drive. By morning she was wet. Very wet. So, the roof lights definitely needed sorting. The exhaust had definitely blown. The window seals definitely needed attention. We had our first list and a horrible feeling that it would grow considerably longer. In the short term, the best we could manage was buying economy shower curtains from the supermarket to prevent the interior from becoming sodden. Tom decided that he would attempt to patch up the exhaust for the time being, so that at least we could drive it up the road without disturbing the neighbours! The first half of the weekend involved Tom lying underneath the van, with a Haynes manual in one hand, doing a fairly convincing job of looking like he knew what he was doing. To my utter amazement, by mid-afternoon he announced that the exhaust was fixed. Plus it had stopped raining for the first time in days. Time to take Margot on her first little outing...

Mungo becomes Margot

The week before we collected her, we'd had a lovely weekend away in a hotel in the New Forest with a couple of friends. We savoured every moment of the luxury, knowing that we would find it hard to justify many weekends away like this in the future once we had a perfectly good campervan to sleep in. By this point I had already begun to research vintage 1970s fabrics and memorabilia on-line and stumbled across the existance of a little shop close to where we were staying in the New Forest. We dragged our friends along to seek it out and had great fun looking through the treasure trove of household items from our childhoods. It also sold vintage clothing and I was nearly talked in to buying a flambouyant green floaty 70s dress that we likened to something that Margot from The Good Life would wear. However, I thought it might be bad luck to buy something before we had officially got the campervan, plus why on earth did I need a green dress and when would I wear it?!! I don't really do dresses. Anyway, the Margot dress was referred to throughout the weekend, and we even caught an episode of The Good Life in our hotel room whilst getting ready for dinner one evening. On our return home, I was telling a friend the tale of the green dress that I didn't buy (we have thrilling conversations!) when she uttered the suggestion 'Why don't you call the van Margot?' In hindsight it seemed obvious, and so much more fitting for a lady than Mungo. Margot was born.

She comes home

Finally, she managed to pass her MOT and Tom arranged to catch the train up to Taunton to pick her up. Unfortunately it happened to be one of the rainiest days of the year which was likely to come as a bit of a shock to a campervan who'd had a roof over her head for the last four years. Relieved to make it home in one piece, Tom's only observation about the slow journey was that the overtaking lorries had made her wobble a bit!

Inspecting her on the driveway was probably the point at which our steep learning curve really started. Lessons learned so far:

1. Never assume that if you buy a van it will come with keys to lock it.
2. Never assume that the exhaust will have survived intact on the journey home.
3. Never assume that glazed roof skylights will actually stop the rain from coming in.

Undaunted, we made a cup of tea and sat inside our campervan looking out at the neighbours. In fact, our immediate neighbour came in to join us. Mungo had her first official visitor! The three of us looked around and watched forlornly as the rain trickled down the windows, both outside and in. When we went back inside it felt like leaving a tiny kitten outside all alone; would she be okay out there in the dark and the wet all night long?

Failure

1. We failed in our mission to get tickets for Carfest. 

2. Mungo (temporary name only remember) failed in her mission to pass her MOT.

Things could only get better.

More waiting

After leaving numerous unreturned messages concerning the progress of our purchase, we began to wonder if we had imagined the whole thing. Had we entered a parallel universe where we had behaved recklessly by buying a campervan, where beige and brown were the hip'n'happening colours and the 1970s was the coolest decade ever? Was it all a dream? Did we have to return to the harsh reality of a reliable Ford Focus and a holiday cottage on the Moors with a flushing toilet and hot running water? Jolted out of our bubble, we simply got on with the boring formalities of sorting out documentation, tax, insurance etc. Or rather Tom did; I was back on 'mission festival' in an effort to keep the dream alive. It had become evident fairly early on that it would be a big ask for the campervan to make it all the way to Ireland, not to mention a big expense. So the Electric Picnic was out, for this year at least. However, with near perfect timing, Chris Evans began to hype up his new Children in Need festival- Car Fest. It sounded right up our street (or at least in our part of the country.) Cars galore for Tom, The Great British Bake Off for Barbara, and good bands for us both. Chris Evans had even said on the radio that it was the perfect starter festival for 'festival virgins'. We had to try and get tickets. So, we had two things to look forward to: getting tickets to Carfest and hearing that the campervan had passed its MOT...

What's in a name?

The most common question we had when telling people what we had bought (after they had stopped laughing) was 'What are you going to call it?' Apparently all the coolest campervans have names. I was pretty convinced that our Bedford was a female (don't ask me how, just call it female intuition!) but that didn't seem to deter people from making all kinds of suggestions. Below is a selection of the best and worst that our friends and family could come up with...

• Brian (because it goes at a snail's pace)
• Andy (??)
• Trippy
• Portaview
• Farrah (as in Fawcett)
• Florence
• Bernie
• Cilla (because it has already given them a 'lorra lorra laughs'!)
• Rusty (from a witty 10 year old)
• The Yellow Peril (my dad is colour blind)
• Daffodil (ditto)
• David (after 1970s runner David Bedford)

Good efforts, but none of the names really grabbed us. We decided to wait until we had her before making a final decision. However, after a bit of research on 1972 hit records, I liked the name Mungo (as in Jerry). I know, I know, I said she was female. She still is. But I think Mungo is a cool name, with a definite 70s edge to it. So the campervan we didn't actually have yet did at least have a provisional name. But it was subject to change...