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28th April 2017

I am a Cancerian. A crab. A nest-building, home-loving organiser. A bit of a control freak. Yet I had reached the age of 45 without ever setting foot in a motorhome.

Surely, this would be my perfect holiday. Like a crab, I’d get to carry my house around with me then retreat into it at the slightest danger, or drop of rain. So on a bright February morning we set off on our inaugural expedition in a brand new luxury Bailey 79-4T to test this theory in style.

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Accustomed to travelling in a Peugeot 207, the size of the Bailey took some getting used to. Hubby had confidently driven it all the way from Bristol to Southend the day before, but I was a little anxious. Apparently my constant sucking in of breathe and “oooh blimeys” were not helpful to hubby at the wheel.

Halfway up the A12 I relaxed and even found myself waving (gloating) to fellow motorhomers. The elevated view from our Bailey cockpit really added to the enjoyable travelling experience. Arriving and hooking up at the forested Suffolk site was blissfully stress free.

My early camping experiences left memories of cold hours of setting up before finally sitting down to baked beans in the dark. Cranking up the heating, pouring a chilled glass of Sauv Blanc watching a Muntjac deer feeding outside, I was starting to understand the unique beauty of motorhoming.

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Dinnertime. What do we fancy? In full Nigella mode, hubby had stocked the fridge and cupboards with a plethora of choice. Garlic prawn pasta? Kung Po chicken? Even the teenage daughter was impressed by the meal he prepared in a forest on a cold February evening. 

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The next few days heralded visits to Southwold, Minsmere, Dunwich with the highlight being a glorious meeting with a seal pup on Aldeburgh beach, all courtesy of the Bailey Autograph. There was always somewhere to park, make a cuppa and enjoy the view. Bliss!

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I knew it, motorhoming is my perfect holiday, I was right (I usually am, just ask the hubby).