Victor the Vito, our humble little camper, is hanging up his airbed. He\u2019s been cleaned, seat-restored, and returned to civilian life as Paula\u2019s pride and joy. He served us well\u2014even if his idea of luxury was a kettle balanced on a gas ring and a midnight dash to the bushes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\ud83c\udf89 Enter Wilko: The Crafter of Dreams<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
A king-size bed<\/strong> (no more midnight pump wrestling)<\/li>\n\n\n\n
A shower and toilet<\/strong> (farewell Tupperware pee pots)<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Enough electronics<\/strong> to make NASA nervous<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n\n\n\n
He sat there gleaming like a promise of freedom. We picked him up Friday night and by Saturday, we were packing for a five-day break. Paula sorted the cupboards. I tackled the electrics. Wi-Fi? Check. Water tank? Holds 200 litres. Filled? Eventually.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We ordered Chinese (my pre-race ritual), popped into the pub next door for a pint and a gin, then walked our feast back to Wilko. Taskmaster on the telly, gin in hand, Chinese in lap. Bliss.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The bed? Oh, the bed. We melted into it like tired marshmallows. Best sleep in months. I even dreamed of knowing which button boiled the kettle.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n
Hills = designed by a sadistic geographer<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Back pain = uninvited guest<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Painkillers = placebo pills<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n\n\n\n
Walking helped. Runners asked if I was okay. (\u201cYes, I just enjoy a scenic stroll mid-race!\u201d) Steps, wet grass, woodland trails\u2014it was scenic. I think.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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\ud83d\udc91 Paula, the Finish Line Angel<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
And then, like a vision from the mist, there was Paula. Fresh as a daisy, smiling like a saint, waiting to run the last stretch hand-in-hand. She could\u2019ve flown ahead. She didn\u2019t. Romantic? Yes. Competitive? Not even slightly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One dodgy back. One patient Paula. One extra kilometre nobody asked for. Two hands clasped in victory. First medal to enter Wilko.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n
Back to Wilko. Time for a hot shower. Except\u2026 200 litres takes longer than a hosepipe splash. No water. First task: failed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We headed to Brixham via lanes so tight Wilko had to inhale. Paula, navigator supreme, found us a spot by the sea. I bet she\u2019ll swim later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Met Simon and Tracey for a catch-up. Expected Wetherspoons. Got a fish restaurant. Lemon sole in batter? Bold. Not great. Tracey brought the wedding album\u2014lovely pics. We walked off the meal with a pint and a sunset.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\ud83e\uddad Paula & The Seal<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
Back at the beach, Paula went for a swim. Too cold for me. She swam with the local celebrity seal. I swear they were one dog paddle away from synchronised swimming.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Me? I stayed ashore, chief sea glass inspector. While others risked frostbite and befriended wildlife, I conducted archaeological digs in the shingle. Someone\u2019s got to maintain standards.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Parked close enough to hear the waves and seagulls plotting chip-based crimes. The sun set in a blaze of gold and pink. It felt like a glossy travel brochure. Time to toast a cracking camper day with a G&T.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n
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