We're all packing for a summer holiday...

We're back from a great camping holiday in Devon.

The T5 did us proud...packing in and transporting all our camping gear, cooking gear, sleeping gear, wearing gear, playing gear, 11 month old, 2.5 year old, 12 year old, 16 year old, 31 year old and 36 year old.

We had plenty of space to boot. Unlike some poor sardines travelling down a very busy M5 very early on an August Saturday morning.

We saw all sorts of packing techniques...

...kids squashed in the back amongst pillows and duvets, sweaty little heads popping out the top for air while the family terrier is spread out on it's back on mum's lap in the passenger seat upon its own personal doggy pillow.

...Ikea storage boxes rammed full of clothes strapped to roof boxes. (Really don't want to see your undies pal..even less all your dirty washing on the way back).

...Windbreaks (uh, optimistic!) getting shredded to pieces as they are tightly packed and strapped underneath bursting to the seams roof boxes.

...Brightly coloured towels and inflatable rings squashed up against the back window of boots. Buckets and spades too, inevitably cracked as harrassed parents slam and force and bounce the boots shut "You will shut. You will shut. You will shut.if.it's.the.last.thing.i.do" then "What do you mean you need to get the sun cream out for the journey down?! No. Just no!"

We had oodles of space. I comfortably sat in the back between the babies in their car seats, feet up on the cool box munching a holiday pain au chocolat. The boys sat in the front controlling the sound system.

It was a good job the toddler spotted an epic error half way down the main road on the way to the motorway. *Someone* had left one of the back doors of the van open.

Some poor souls would have been treated to our pillows and duvets, clothes and undies, wind break, towels, inflatables, buckets and spades littered all the way down the M5.

And we would have arrived at our holiday destination with more space in the van then we left with.

And before you ask. It wasn't me!

Stuff memories are made of

My parents used to take me and my sisters camping as kids.

Our camping adventures began in a trailer tent. Bright orange with brown and orange flowers on the curtains. Total retro hippy cool.

After a few fun filled years under canvas we upgraded to a caravan.

We loved the caravan so much we used to beg our parents to let us sit in there and play board games on rainy days so we could pretend we were camping with the rain hammering down on the roof...ding, ding, ding, ding. It's a sound that often used to send us to sleep on holiday (well you know what the great British weather is like!)

The best holiday I remember having as a child was when we took the caravan to a field in the Gower overlooking the vast blue sea.

There were no toilet blocks, no playgrounds. Just heaps and heaps of sun and freedom.

Me and my little sister spent hours flying kites and collecting shells on deserted beaches, then at the end of the day we would have a cold alfresco shower and collapse sunburnt and exhausted in our cosy sleeping bags.

I can remember the cool, fresh dampness of early morning dew between my toes, the whistles of camp kettles getting louder and louder. The smell of bacon bubbling on camp stoves early in the morning and the tang of early evening smokey bbqs.

This is the stuff great memories are made of, and I want to create those same cracking memories for my kids.

We made a start on that this weekend, taking advantage of the stonking weather we are enjoying joining friends with kids the same age as ours at a nearby camp site.

The kids loved it and we have got some wonderful new memories to cherish as parents. Watching our baby girl crawl around in the grass just wearing her nappy covered from head to toe in chocolate biscuit, then dunking her in the washing up bowl to clean her up and cool her off.

Seeing our toddler tearing happily along the road on his little red scooter, stooping down in concentration to collect pretty duck feathers around the lake, kicking a football as hard as he could and whooping with delight as he rolled around in the grass wrestling with his friends.

The view from our breakfast table, and the van, was pretty spectacular too.

It was a weekend I will never forget, and hopefully one the kids will remember and cherish too.

My boy is already asking when is the van taking us all camping again!

Soon, son. Soon.

Getting rubbed up the wrong way

Just what is it with our darn van?

We really have a love hate relationship. We love the van, but it seems to hate us.

It just feels like every other month there is another thing that needs to be fixed or is going to cost us more money then we bargained for.

It's beginning to really rub me up the wrong way.

This month I went to get a quote for bumper colour coding and found out that the rear bumper crash bar has had a whack, buckled up and is ever so slightly making our back doors rub the bumper. This means, without being fixed, our nice new shiny red bumper would get a great big dirty scratch from the doors rubbing.

I've had enough of bloody rubbing recently.

As you may know from my previous post here, our new super size 20 inch alloys are rubbing VERY LOUDLY when on full lock.

I forgot about the full lock thing the other day when trying to execute a swift three point turn in the road to avoid some roadworks and BRRRRRRRRRRRRR. 

Wouldn't be so bad if I was on my own, but I had an audience of a gaggle of road workers hanging around on their tea break who promptly turned around to see what was making the noise.

'It's me!' I smile sheepishly through the open window. 'Ahhhh. Big wheels' one replies as he puts his hands up, gesticulating like he just caught a big fish.

This means I now can't do three point turns and instead have to make pigeon point pirouettes, which frankly makes me look like a bit of a tit.

After being delivered the bad news of the bust bumper bar at the paintwork shop I had to get out of a really tight spot surrounded by big machinery outside a work depot on the packed industrial estate. And yet again a gaggle of road workers who were yet again on their tea break.

I provided them with great entertainment inching forward and back, then forward and back, then forward and back about 16 times in what could easily have been accomplished in six turns using full lock.

I wound down the window and employed the same gesture of the previous road worker. 'I can drive, promise! Can't use full lock. BIG wheels.'

I am hoping the rubbing will stop, in all senses of the word, but we have got the dreaded MOT next week. Oh, and I swear I can smell raw diesel when sat in the passenger seat, even when the window is up.

This can mean one of two things.

1. There is something wrong with the van. Again.

2. I am pregnant. Again.

Keep your fingers crossed the van sails through its MOT. And that I won't have to upgrade the van and change the blog to T6 for 6! (The husband has mixed feelings about this).

What your car says about you

We all have stereotypes about what kind of person drives a Volvo or BMW, right?

Skoda have been trying for years to break down their brand's perceived image. Unfortunately even their very clever marketing in recent years has failed to make me forget the bullies in the playground yelling, 'Urgh! Your Dad drives a Skoda' when they could think of no new novel ways to taunt me for being the ginger kid. Eesh, even writing about it now brings me out in a sweat.

And just for the record, my Dad didn't drive a Skoda. He had a very tasty MG Montego. Remember those? Oh, and I am no longer ginger either. I bleach blonde for camouflage.

So what does your daily drive and even the colour of your car, say about you? This is a subject many a psychologist and car advertising guru has delved into and some studies have found:

Red - aggressive drivers who like to tear up the tarmac. Move out the way if you see me coming!

Green - hysterical tendencies. Jeez, just saying.

Silver - safe, sober drivers who are less likely to have an accident.

White - neat freaks that like cleaning. A lot. I mean why would you buy a car that gets dirty without even driving it?

Immaculate inside and out - anally retentive with an obsessive compulsive streak. And no kids.

Of course, I don't take any notice of these stereotypes. Except maybe for Volvo Estates. Bloody Sunday drivers, I told you to get out of my way!! (Sorry, there is just no suppressing the red van and hair in me!)

And I bet if you stopped and thought about it, you would have a stereotype about VW Transporter drivers too.

But you would be wrong.

This is what has really amazed me about the VW T4/T5 scene.

Everyone is welcome and everyone is friendly. From young single lads to retired couples, from hard working plumbers to creative florists, from young families like ours to busy business executives.

And I'm looking forward to getting to know more transporter owners, lovers and drivers as we convert our van.

*Disclaimer. If you drive any of the above I do not think these things specifically about you. I am just writing about image and stereotypes ok? Sheesh, now get back into your shiny big red car and get out of here.

One life, drive it.