A change is as good a rest, they say. 

Change can be an invigorating thing. After 4 years on Roads Policing and 20 years as a PC/DC I felt the time was ripe to spread my wings and move upwards. Whilst a great role, policing the highways and byways of Somerset is not without its risks, and 2hrs of commuting every day followed by a shift of driving extremely fast over long distances was starting to take its toll on my general health and sanity.

Thankfully this time the promotion board recognised my months of preparation and gave me the thumbs up. Being offered a post closer to home sealed the deal that this was a good thing to do, albeit a shame to leave such a great RPU team. And the big cars.

A serious collision before Christmas- a whisker from death through no fault of my own, and the subsequent near-total lack of support from within the department just served to confirm my choices.

My first week as a response Sergeant was a genuinely eye-opening whirlwind. Definitely the first time in years that I felt like I’d earnt my money, so after a busy set I was ready to relax.

There’s a thing about motorhomes that just provokes guilt if you don’t use them. I hadn’t been out properly in Hetty for months, so decided to make the most of Mark being away for work and hit the road for a couple of days.

Quick fill of water and we were on our way, passing my mum who had commented archly on how windy it was. Naturally I hadn’t done anything as sensible as checking the weather forecast. No wind down in town!

As I wound the old girl out of Minehead there wasn’t anything much weather-wise to speak of. I’d normally go over Wheddon Cross/Exford/Simonsbath as it’s a less challenging route, however road closures dictated it was Porlock Hill instead today. The old girl doesn’t mind it, but it’s a first gear crawl, and woe betide stopping. As a front wheel drive van with, ahem, a very weighty backside, traction on hills can be an issue. And a standing start on a 1 in 4 hill? Nah.

Thankfully we didn’t meet anything on the hairpin, didn’t have a horde of honking angry motorists behind and moved out onto the moor.

As we crossed the open moor, I started to notice something a bit odd with the steering. Slow puncture maybe? Definitely a bit wobbly. I pulled over to check matters, and was knocked sideways as I got out by incredibly strong wind. Yeah, that’ll be it. No faults.

We continued up the coastal road past County Gate, still gently swaying in the wind, in my 10ft sail. Countisbury Hill was the next obstacle but that’s fairly mellow in the 1 in 4 hill stakes so a second gear descent.

The powers-that-be weren’t finished with their road closure fun, so we were diverted into Lynton itself. I decided to scope out Valley of The Rocks as a possible overnight parking place, but it’s a bit well signed telling you not to, so I carried on.

I walked the South West Coast Path along this route a few years ago, and this is a fantastic section, through the grounds of Lee Abbey. There’s a toll road, which intrigued me, and led straight to my second choice of overnight stop, overlooking Woody Bay. £2, worth a punt…maybe.

Now, I am not a fair weather campervanner. Quite a hardy one, in the scheme of things, and small lanes don’t scare me. Of course, it helps having an aluminium-skinned and slightly battle scarred van, but I’m very good at piloting her around the wilder regions and gnarly roads.

Therefore, when I saw a sign saying “No HGV’s or caravans”, I blithely continued. I’m neither, right?! I’ve successfully passed these signs many times before.

But then the road got narrower, and narrower. And indeed steeper. These things have a habit of combining to form a really big problem. Especially with lots of wet leaves everywhere. Cold and damp kills traction. We were also rapidly starting to lose daylight.

It comes as a gradual realisation. Small branches hitting the top of the van, then slightly larger branches. A big clunk as the TV aerial detaches in its self-defence mode. Stopping completely wasn’t an option as I wouldn’t get going again. Backing up would be a long trek. Through the same branches. With very limited visibility.

This was FULLY committed. No passing places whatsoever, so meeting something would be a 1 mile reverse. Back through the trees.

The Tv aerial clunked against the roof. That was a later problem. The big “now” problem was a lightly overhanging, but very substantial oak on the verge. With scuff marks on it. So, the only option, with no real visual terms of reference, to crawl past it as far away as possible, waiting for the inevitable crack on the huge glass solar panel.

Thankfully we passed underneath, just, with another couple of miles of the same. Naturally, when I reached the next fork, and took the Slattenslade turn to the left, this was also wrong. A road going to the same place but, if possible, tighter and gnarlier than any of the preceding toll road.

As I finally pulled into the Woody Bay carpark, I did the usual dance of trying to find a level spot. Having found one, I noticed the roof windows rattling. Really rattling. Rip off in the night rattling. So I moved again, and eventually found a level perch pointed into the wind. No rattling, safe skylights, phew! Aerodynamics, readers…

The next order of business was to reattach the TV aerial… I don’t trust my roof ladder at the best of times, and halfway up it, nearly being detached by the wind, was when I realised that actually, I didn’t fancy appearing on one of those ambulance documentaries about the stupid man on the hill, so I sensibly tied the ladder back up and retreated inside, cunningly managing to do it instead by standing on the table and hanging out of the skylight. Success.

It’s a wonderful feeling to be safe inside, wind howling outside and light fading. Hymers are great in the cold, with a strong gas fire and great insulation so before too long I was snug, warm and with a curry to heat up.

What Woody Bay lacks in shelter, it oddly makes up for in full 4G signal so I was able to catch up with the most recent episode of a recent Police documentary. On which I shall hold my tongue.

Bizarrely, despite howling, gusting 50mph winds I slept very soundly that night in the fantastic over-cab bed cave, my only slight error was bringing a very thin duvet, with a 5 degree night this meant a hoody was required in bed.

The next morning I awoke to find an eerie silence and no wind whatsoever. I had a Teams training session to log into, and given that the Internet signal was still perfect I opted to stay in the van, on the hill. Paid my very reasonable £3 to the online honesty box.

The next order of business was a brief wander. Yes, brief. That was the idea. However, as former and current partners will (fondly) know, I have a habit of turning every walk into an epic.

All I really wanted to do was to wander down to Woody Bay just down the road/path and have a look at it. Steep, but only a couple of miles round trip, then jump in the van towards Ilfracombe and afternoon cake.

This started off well… it’s a lovely walk down and the lime kilns at Woody Bay are fascinating. Also some of the finest coast around here.

The walk back up was where the fun occurred. I’m a poster boy for poor walking decisions, and this one was magnificent. All I had to do was walk back up the road but no, I was convinced the Coast Path joined up with where I needed to go.

…and that would probably be true, if I’d gone in the correct direction. As I merrily yomped along the coast in the failing daylight, my conviction that the intersecting path was…just up there…waned rapidly.

Turning back isn’t something I relished, so I figured I would just have to keep going up to Heddon’s Mouth, which I knew, and picking up the road back to the van.

Naturally, whilst this was a route I was confident in, it was a VERY long detour. The views on this section of coast path are spectacular, but it’s difficult to fully enjoy them when you’re in slight anxious stomp mode.

Nonetheless, I calmed slightly once I was heading inland on familiar paths.

Once I was on the road back, I could fully relax and had an interesting stroll through the ancient village of Martinhoe…and then a muddy scramble up a ‘shortcut’ footpath proving, once more, that I never learn.

Finally, 7 miles later, I caught sight of the van. Phew, and with a little daylight left for the drive towards Ilfracombe. I again proved my lack of learning by opting for the A399 which, from experience, is a horrible road for large vans, especially at ‘rush hour’.

“What a dump”, I pondered, as I passed through Combe Martin which seems an epicentre for utterly suicidal vans, and indeed bizarrely angry motorists in general, including one lady who, faced with a mild shrug on my part for her misunderstanding of the highway code, immediately pulled in and jumped out in a ‘come at me bro’ manner.

I rolled into Ilfracombe with a slight sense of relief, to leave that road, and also to finally shake off the scaffolding van welded to my rear bumper.

My parkup, later than expected, was the Ropery Road car park in Ilfracombe, run by the town council and campervan-friendly. There are 5 dedicated motorhome spaces at the back which are much longer than standard, but these were taken up with roving fulltime vans, and besides, I don’t feel comfortable side by side. Hetty isn’t a very long can so I tucked into a normal space.

Winter price…24hrs…£2.90. Exceptional.

I set off to explore the delights of Ilfracombe. I knew from previous experience that it’s a bit ‘edgy’ out of season so didn’t have high hopes. I was determined not to resort to Wetherspoon, although it is quite a nice one, so had a wander around the pubs.

I opted in the end for the George and Dragon, partly for the impressive “Oldest Pub” title, but mainly because it was the first one that didn’t look particularly violent. It was, after all, a great choice, with a friendly chatty landlord and well kept beer.

I decided not to press my luck with Ilfracombe too much, so supped up and headed out, fought past some feral youths into a chip shop and hastily retreated to the van to eat.

Ilfracombe’s not a bad place in daylight, even in the depths of winter, with a nice quayside to wander around. Brekkie at the poshest spot just over the water, because I felt I deserved a counterpoint to soggy fish and chips in a van.

And that was that. I would have been tempted to stay out another night but folded at the sight of a full 24hr forecast of rain. Total spend for a lovely little break? Probably £50ish all in.

Proper job.