We bought ourselves a Mazda Bongo Friendee.

We named her “The Snug Bug”.

She is filthy. She is rusty in places a girl should not feel rusty. She has a missing door handle. A bit of her tailpipe fell off. The tent roof is mouldy. She may or may not have a few leaks. The tyres need changing soon.

Oh boy, we are in love with her.

The bumpy ride home across the fens, with its sunken, twisty roads and potholes the size of a small lake, in a rear-wheel-drive van, was a bit of an eye-opener for me. I’ve only ever driven two cars leading up to this point, and to say I was cacking myself is an understatement. I was shaking as I pulled away. By the time we got home, I was having the time of my life, singing along to my music and loving the ride. Who knew driving high up was so much fun?

We plan to restore her over time, making her our second home on beach trips with the dog. Our shelter when we travel south to see my partner’s family. Our romantic getaway vehicle. Our special place in the world, wherever we may be.

This little campervan is going to cost us a fortune and will be a labour of love, but we already knew that. We just need to work out what to fix first.

We learned to open a window.

Owning a new vehicle is always a learning curve. Owning a camper for the first time, with nobody around to show us how to do anything, even the simplest of tasks like opening the back door or the side windows, is an even bigger learning curve.

I’m not kidding, it took two of us at least five whole minutes to work out that we had to pull a latch open to the side of the window.

You would think these things would be common sense, but we appear to be lacking in that department. But what we lack in common sense, we make up for in keenness, and we have only had her a day. If only we were not so afraid of breaking her (even more than she already is!).

I’m not even going to go into the confusion about how to switch on the diesel heater…

My partner did give the outside of her a good scrub, which she thoroughly enjoyed and now looks quite shiny and lovely without all the bird shit, so we’ve made a start.

Being practical.

Being financially challenged is what ultimately made us choose a doer-upper in the first place. That, and we can hopefully decide how she will look as we fix her, so we can customise as we go along. We could never afford a finished van, so we needed one we could start working on in smaller pieces instead.

I suppose the first step would be to take her to my local garage to make her a little more road-safe, before we start thinking about trips further afield to our local Bongo specialist, Pitstop Autos, about an hour and a half away. With Christmas approaching, they are likely to be very busy. And why does everything seem to cost twice as much this time of year? But safety first and all that.

Besides, I’m terrified of breaking down on the motorway.

See you in the next “thrilling” instalment, where we will hopefully have started doing something useful.

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When I was a little girl, my Dad had a campervan. He had always wanted to buy another and go off around the coast in it during his retirement. Sadly, Parkinson’s and Dementia robbed him of that chance.

I was always fascinated with the idea of having my own one day, but I have never had the financial means to do so. Last year, my Dad passed away. He left me a little bit of money, not loads, but enough so that now I’m thinking of buying a beat-up old camper and doing it up.

The van I’m going to look at is a shell. It has nothing in the back, apart from a manky, infested-looking bed, which we plan to dump at the tip on the way home, should we purchase the van.

Now, I’m no expert on the Japanese-imported van market, but I’m reliably told that rust is an issue because they don't salt their roads and therefore don't treat vans with rust-prevention treatments. The vans make the long trip across the salty sea and the damp, misty air to reach England, where the weather generally piddles down for nine months of the year, and the cold months require salty grit to be added to the road. For the other three months, we all go back to the salty-aired coast. So, in all that salt, they disintegrate into a puff of rust like a Wicked Witch after a bucket of water, immediately on arrival in the UK.

Plus cooling-system issues, the head gasket, and a whole pile of other things I can name but know sod all about, and the fact these beauties are like 25 or 30 years old and discontinued, so sourcing parts will leave me skint for the rest of my life.

But I want one. I want one so badly I can see myself driving it. I have the inside colour scheme picked out in my head and I’m looking at solar power units and gas heaters. It seems there's a massive community of people out there who want or already have these brick-shaped, pop-topped items of gorgeousness and are very keen to see me join the gang.

Will I get the van tomorrow? I have no idea. I have decided I am going to get one if it kills me, though. My Dad didn’t get to live out his dream. Since it's my dream too, I’m going to do it for both of us, and know that he’ll be looking down and laughing as my van-to-be showers oil and coolant all over the place in a spectacular explosion on an A-road full of boy racers and Audi drivers somewhere busy.

It will be called “The Snug Bug”. All vans should have names.

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At 44, I knew what I was doing and was set to do it for life. At 45, my life has changed again.

I am no longer teaching dogs. Struggles with my health (Adenomyosis) and (I’m not gonna lie) finances have made me come to the point where I can’t do it any more.

So, to avoid confusion, I’m starting my newsletter all over again. I took the drastic step of shutting down the old ones, so that the deluge of “I need some help for my cockerpoo” emails will slow down, and I can write about anything I like.

I now offer dog-sitting services at a premium price for dogs requiring a high-end service. Additionally, I've retrained as a TEFL Tutor, allowing me to work from anywhere with a comfy chair and an internet connection.

I don't care if I get lots of readers or if people like my stuff. I’m writing for me, and me alone. I need to get a heap of shit off my chest, and this is where I will be putting it. (But if you do want to read, then may your coffee always be the right temperature and your chocolate always have that lovely snap in your mouth between your teeth when you take the first bite.)

I’m looking forward to not having a writing schedule, no need to get paid for my writing, and no “look at me, I’m a brilliant writer” posts. Just writing for the sake of it, about anything that takes my fancy, because I can.

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