Swansong of a caravan

The replacement of my cherished thirteen year old car Fiona last month, and the very good start with her much younger successor Sophie has got me thinking about replacing the caravan as well. It's even older than Fiona was: seventeen years old. And unlike Fiona, falling to bits.

Caravans get a terrible shaking-up when being towed. Their construction isn't flimsy, but it has for obvious reasons got to be lightweight, and eventually things begin to come apart. In my own caravan's case, the big wooden unit that surrounds the fridge-freezer has mostly broken away from the interior wall it was once attached to. Constant jolting, cornering forces, and the weight of the fridge-freezer itself have snapped its restraining fixings. 

It could be fixed back in position again, but when I enquired at the dealer's early last year, I was quoted over £2,000 for the work. That included a dealer's profit of course; but a lot of dismantling and reassembly would need to be done; the job would be labour-intensive and last several days. £2,000-odd was probably more than the caravan's value in a private sale, so from that point of view the expenditure would make no sense. Someone who had the tools, and skills, for DIY caravan work might tackle the work and make a good job of it, but I wasn't that person. So the only argument for throwing so much more money at the caravan would be that I couldn't afford a new or nearly-new caravan, but didn't want to give up caravanning. Given that, any expense could be justified, simply to preserve a usable holiday asset. 

Nevertheless I said no, and watched in dismay as the unit detached itself more and more after each trip. A problem like this with internal fittings didn't necessarily render the caravan unroadworthy, although I was warned that as the nearside wall of the caravan had now lost some support, it could buckle in certain circumstances. I said I understood, and was prepared to take the risk. Even so, I looked for a way to brace the unit back in its proper position, and from June this year developed a framework of bracing beams:

It wasn't intended to be a permanent fix, just a way of stabilising the problem. But still, it was a fairly neat - and certainly very cheap - temporary solution. Of course I could kiss goodbye to any sale while the bracing beams were in place. The errant unit would have to be dealt with properly for that to happen.  

However, I didn't want to sell. Not yet. I was very happy with my ageing caravan. It was still a warm and comfortable home-from-home, with all the cooking, washing, lounging and sleeping facilities I wanted. Inside and out, it had aged pretty well. Here it is, on site in North Devon last March:

By no means a battered hulk, although close up there are many little signs of wear and tear. Here it is with Fiona last July, in brighter weather at a site in Suffolk:

So my caravan still looks all right, even if the guys at the dealer's will have a laugh when they see my bracing beams inside. I won't mind; it remains a going concern, and might well soldier on to its twentieth birthday and beyond.

But its swansong is approaching. I thought Fiona would last for a few more years, but a very large potential bill led to her rapid replacement, and - to my surprise, I admit - the switchover to Sophie has been both affordable and very pleasurable. It's opened my eyes. I now see that sentiment made me cling to Fiona for far too long. I feel I should now consider the caravan in the same way, and make a definite plan to buy a new one.

It can't be immediately. I have Sophie's three-year finance plan to work through. The monthly payments are easily affordable, because I am simply diverting my new-car savings to cover them. But once Sophie's finance plan is paid off, I can spend a similar amount each month on financing a much newer caravan. That would get me a two-berth model only a few years old, something nice that would last me the rest of my caravanning days. I'm therefore thinking of replacing the caravan, come what may, during 2026. 

Will it last so long? I hope so. But I do expect a number of things to need attention. Things can suddenly stop working. For instance, on my last trip in September, while in North Devon, the strip light over the kitchen cooker and sink decided not to switch on. I first thought it was just the tube, and bought a modern LED replacement. But that didn't solve the problem. Closer inspection revealed a burnt-out switch:

Oh dear! Fortunately I was able to source a replacement unit, and fit it myself:

I can expect more things like this to fail in the next three years. Some, like this strip light, will be cheap to deal with. Others not. The biggie will be the fridge-freezer, although it's a simple device that has much less to go wrong than a domestic fridge or freezer. Maybe I'll get away with it.

I've just given the caravan a particularly good clean, inside and out, for its annual service tomorrow. I want the guys to see that I still hold my caravan in high esteem, and expect them to give it the same degree of TLC. I'm having the annual service done two months early, so that the caravan is in top condition for its early-December trip to South Wales. And possibly a short outing in January, if the wayward and unpredictable weather turns unseasonably mild and sunny.  

My attitude to the caravan has undergone a change. Buying Sophie has broken a spell. If I can part with a well-loved car (Fiona) and embrace a new one (Sophie), then I can certainly say farewell to a more mundane asset like a caravan. Cars have personality, and that's why you can love them, and why you might give them an affectionate name. But caravans are like houses: they are living spaces, places to be. My caravan has enabled me to have many holidays, and I enjoy being in it. But there is no great emotion; only respect, and a remembrance of many associations and experiences, some good and some bad. I would instantly adapt to something new.  

Even so, this particular caravan has served me exceptionally well, and will be cosseted in its final seasons. I will keep up its proper maintenance, keep it clean, buy small things for it, and generally make its last three years one golden swansong. Certainly, I'll make a point of taking it to all the special sites in England, Scotland and Wales that I've ever discovered, for one last time. What an excuse for an orgy of nostalgic caravanning!

And Ireland? The continent? Well, the ferry charges are a barrier, but I'm not sure I'd want to risk taking a old caravan so far afield. Scotland is different. A couple more visits there, even to the far north, will be something to look forward to eagerly.