The campervan is the ideal vehicle for a British spring (at present there is no foreign spring available). There are two extremes to consider. There is the original VW which looks like a fairy princess with big dewy headlamps for eyes. I was driven to Glastonbury in the old VW by a woman who looked like her campervan. They had the same temperament: metal flowerchild. Both broke down, though only one wrote her testimony in prose. There is also the American Winnebago Class A, which is essentially a full-sized kitchen inside a lorry. It has a face like Judge Dredd, something called ‘medical device storage’, and it is owned by the sort of person who needs to travel with a full-sized kitchen. The Class A looks like a school bus for perverts. That does not mean I don’t want one. For some reason I yearn to park one outside Castle Howard.
Britain’s best politics newsletters
You get two free articles each week when you sign up to The Spectator’s emails.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in