In which Henry and I dine at the Courie Inn, Killin

When I returned to the table, Henry Morton was deep in conversation. “What are you up to H V?”, I ask. “Just speaking in Greek with Elleeni”, he replies.”Do you know, I haven’t had such an opportunity since researching ‘In the Steps of St Paul’ (Rich & Cowan October 1936), in which I retraced Paul’s journey from Tarsus, via the Areopagus sermon, to the scene of his martyrdom in Rome?”. “And brushing up my rusty Greek is made better by the fact that our waitress Elleeni is so young and beautiful”, he adds with a devastating 20th century smile, causing both her, and me, to blush.

It was H V’s idea to venture out to the Courie Inn in Killin in the heart of Perthshire. “I want to taste true Scotland again”, he asserted, “and somewhere different from those drafty old hotels I encountered in 1929 Dumfries and Galloway”.

‘Courie’ - Scots for ‘snuggle or nestle’, describes this place to perfection. I could see immediately its fascination for Henry. Hotel, bar and restaurant snuggling to the east edge of Sron a’ Chlachain just a little way from the Falls of Dochart at the head of Loch Tay. To get there we have hired a 1920 bullnose Morris (that Henry insists on calling ‘Maud’ for some reason) which we park at the village hall, and walk down to the inn.

Ms Jinny, Courie’s young manageress, had reserved a window table to allow H V to observe the comings and goings, and, as he is wont to do, to make the odd jotting in his notebook.

At Henry’s insistence we share a ‘Wee Tasty’ - haggis, Stornoway black pudding and a wee tattie scone. “This is Scotland in perfect parcels”, announces H V as he pours creamy whisky and chive sauce.  Our main dish is succulent, tender Lamb rump on a bed of mash, peas and roasted vegetables.

“All good inns should possess a boast”, he asserts as he scribbles in his notebook, “and Courie Inn’s boast is the most divine food served by two angels”. “When you write about it, remember to tell them I said so”, he adds wistfully. And so, faithfully, I do.

Replete, we depart Courie Inn through the public bar and its lively group of locals and visitors chatting to the sound of draft beer being pulled from the cask. Outside, low cloud has descended in the darkness, and mizzle drifts sideways across pavement flags.

“Tomorrow, if it is fine, we shall need to walk off our supper”, reflects HV, “now, which of the Munros should we scale?”, he continues, “Ben Lawers or Beinn Ghlas?”.

“Let’s find the car and leave tomorrow to take care of itself”, I reply, as we splash our way out along the Main Street in the direction of Fingal Stone and the loch.

In which Henry takes me to Wigtown for a book

“Before we head up to Ayr we should take the bus to Wigtown”, says H V, “and I will educate you ‘twenty first century www’s’ on exactly what you are missing”. “They are things called ‘books’, and I insist that you do not leave Galloway without owning one; or at least feeling one in your hand”.

To emphasise the point Henry points to the letters FRSL after his name. “Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature”, he whispers discretely. “Order of the Phoenix Greece, and Order of Merit of the Italian Republic too”, he adds, “although I don’t speak about the latter since Italy became so liberal”. “And if you are a good student, I will treat you to a half of best bitter in the ‘Galloway Bar’ in the Main Street of Scotland’s Book Town”.

To see a country, you have to put on your boots, cut a stout walking stick from the hedge, brave the elements, and tramp with the feet of the curious. Alternatively, you wave down a bus. So that is precisely what H V and I did, taking window seats towards the back to afford a better view of the Galloway countryside. It is rich and lush. Rainfall ensures that it is washed and verdant. From our perch we look east to the blue sea and west into the low lying green hills of Wigtownshire.

Shortly after crossing the River Bladnoch (with its new distillery bearing the sign ‘Closed to the Public’), we enter Wigtown from the south and alight by the inn. Ahead is a seriously elegant town boasting a huge Main Street. Here, no matter what the shop, it features books. Henry smiles. “It is like stepping back to 1933”, he says as he leads me to ‘The Book Shop’ - the largest for second hand books in Scotland. 

  

Within moments I loose H V amongst a thousand dusty tomes, later to see him holding a wooden ladder on which a young girl is doing his bidding to retrieve a lost 1929 first edition of  ‘In Search of Scotland’. 

  

Beltie Books comes next, where tea, scones and jam delaying our desire for a pint. And then we descend towards the ancient Parish Church of Machutus. “Solitary penance; prayer and mortification; let us leave St Machutus to his fate and go cheer ourselves by the bay”, remarks H V as he closes the old oak door, turning to his left and ignoring two commemorative marbles bearing the names ‘Margaret’.

There was a dispute in the 17th century between the Church and the Monarchy.  It is 1685. The King, now ruling over both England and Scotland, forced Episcopalianism on Scotland;  the people who refused this imposition, having signed a Covenant together to do so, became known as Covenanters. The campaign against the Covenanters escalated, with rulings, legislation, and sanctions such as fines, banishment and finally the execution of ‘The Wigtown Martyrs’.

 

Margaret and Agnes Wilson were the daughters of Gilbert Wilson, a prosperous farmer. Gilbert and his wife conformed, and attended Episcopalian services in the parish church. Their children  refused, so their father was fined by the Courts, and had soldiers billeted upon him. They stole his stock and possessions leaving him all but ruined.

With the death of Charles II in February 1685, there was hope for a lull in persecution.  The young Wilson girls, Margaret and Agnes, came down from the hills to live with Margaret McLachlan, a 63 year old widow.  A local man betrayed them when they came into Wigtown, and the two girls were taken prisoner.  At the same time, Margaret McLachlan was seized while at prayer in her own home.  The women were required to take the Oath of Abjuration which, a year earlier on the order of the Privy Council, had been administered to everyone in the County over the age of 13 years.  

Refusal to swear the Oath allowed execution without trial;  men could be hanged or shot;  a new sentence had been introduced for women:  death by drowning.  The women refused the Oath and were brought before the Commission.  The Commissioners, described as ‘five of the most vicious scoundrels in Scotland’ found the three women guilty on all charges and they sentenced them  ‘to be tyed to palisadoes and fixed in the sand, within the flood mark, at the mouth of the Blednoch stream, and there to stand till the flood over flowed them, and [they] drowned”. Agnes (aged only thirteen at the time) was reprieved when her father promised to pay a huge bond of £100.

On 30 April 1685, a pardon was issued in Edinburgh for the two Margarets.  It mysteriously disappeared.  The women were taken out and tied to stakes in the waters of the Bladnoch on 11 May 1685.  The older woman was tied deeper in the river channel forcing 18 year old Margaret to witness her death, in the hope that she would relent.  Instead, she seemed to take strength from the older woman’s fate, singing a psalm, and quoting scripture.

The Penninghame parish records say that Margaret Wilson’s head was held up from the water, beseaching her to pray for the King.  She answered that she wished the salvation of all men, but the damnation of none.

The Kirkinner records state that Margaret McLachan’s head had been “held down within the water by one of the town officers by his halberd at her throat, til she died”.  A popular account adds that the officer said “then tak’ another drink o’t my hearty”.  Legend has it that for the rest of his life the man had an unquenchable thirst, and had to stop and drink from every ditch, stream, or tap he passed, and he was deserted by his friends.

Henry and I gaze out across the now boggy marsh beyone the cross marking the place of execution. Gulls rise in the distance and two black crows cawk from a nearby ash. A chill breeze blows through the willows. 

“We had better go for that earlier bus”, says HV. “Somehow, I no longer have the desire for a pint in the Galloway Inn”, he continues, pulling down his felt fedora and knocking the bowl of his pipe against the wooden rail.

In which Henry tells me about McGuffog

Overnight a sharp, wild wind cuts through the gorse and briars where we camp, and rain lashes the roof of the Tracker making a thundering sound, reminding Henry of the night in 1929 that he was blown into Kirkcudbright. Then, he recounts,  the wind shuddered at windows and doors of the little town, sweeping round corners with the fury of an invading army.

This morning, here, the same gorse and briars are decorated with finches harvesting blackberries. Quiet in warm sunshine, ahead of us ripples the Bay of Galloway, and afar side, rise the hills beyond Auchenmaig on the Whithorn peninsula.

H V (as Henry insists that I call him) takes a long draw on his pipe emitting a cloud of tobacco smoke to disperse a column of Scottish midges. He squints out over the bay. “Pass me the binoculars, would you please”, he calls as he gazes out to the little fishing skiffs hunting mackerel. “I wonder, can we see the Merrick from here?”, he questions.“We should be able to do so on such a clear day. It is the highest hill in the south of Scotland, and is generally observed dozing in a white cloud like an old man asleep under a handkerchief. Sometimes, when he awakes with his head in the light of the sun, foolish people like myself think to outwit the old gentleman and so, grasping our sticks, we set off in his direction with great dispatch and vigour, but lo, in the twinkling of an eye the Merrick whistles towards the Atlantic and up comes a cloud which he promptly assumes”. 

“Did you know that the meaning of Galloway is ‘Land of the Stranger Gaels?”, he continues,  “It comes from Gall, a stranger, and Gaidhel, the Gaels.”

“I believe over there, south and deep inland lies the little town of Wigtown?”, he muses. “Was it Wigtown - or another Galloway town where I saw the name of ‘McGuffog’ written over a shop? I made enquiries about what was to me, an unknown clan; but no-one seemed to think it at all interesting or remarkable”.  “At the time I even looked it up in the local telephone directory. Do such things still exist, I wonder?” 

“Give me a moment, HV; I will check that name out on the internet”, I reply as I turn back to the wifi zone of the campervan. “Internet? That’s a truly ugly word if you don’t mind me saying”, calls H V. “All the more reason for us to take the road to Wigtown”, he adds. “Isn’t it now the book-town of Scotland?”

I leave HV with his thoughts of books and Wigtown, and search for ‘McGuffog’ on the ipad.

‘Recorded in the spellings of MacGuffog, MacGuffie and MacCuffie, but more generally in the short forms McGuffog, McGuffolk, McGuffie and McCaffie, this is an early Scottish surname. It is unclear as to the origin, which may be locational from an estate called Guffokland, believed to have been near Stewarton in Argylshire, or possibly a patronymic from the early Gaelic name MacDabhog, which translates as the son of David. It is said that the family of McGuffok were once very powerful in Central Galloway, with Patrik McGuffok being a herald on behalf of Sir Robert Bruce, and making statements on his behalf in the year 1291. It was probably his son as Richard McCuffok, who in 1329 was confirmed as the owner of lands in "Kelinsture and Cloentes" for services to King Robert, The Bruce (1306 - 1329). Other recordings from that period showing an early spread of the name through the country include: John McCoffot, the rector of Gewilston in Galloway in 1347, Ellen McGuffok in Aberdeen in 1376, and Thomas M'Guffok, who is recorded as being secretary to Margaret, the countess of Douglas, in 1429. The name spelling as McGuffie is apparently first recorded in 1513 when Colonel John McGuffie, was one of the list of Scottish officers killed at the battle of Flodden in 1513, whilst in 1570 a Provost M'Guffie was recorded in Wigtown, and John M'Kuffie in yet another variation of the spelling, was a councillor at Kircudbright’.

HV glances over my shoulder. “Now you have the information; but unless you write it down for posterity, your efforts and thoughts will be little more memorable than those of Devorgilla”, he chides.

In which Henry and I arrive in Galloway at the World’s End

As we arrive Henry observes, “The Mull of Galloway is, in a sense, the Land’s End of Scotland. It is the extremity of a long slender strip about thirty miles in length that, but for the narrow neck of land between Glenluce and Stranraer, would be a little island of the coast of Wigtownshire. It has, like all out-of-the-way places, an island atmosphere”.

We are here in Galloway - me and Henry. It is our third visit to Scotland. Henry’s followers will know that he, then aged 37 years, came first to Scotland in 1929 and last visited in 1933. Readers of my blog will recall that 2018 is my third consecutive year here. Whilst previously, I have contrasted Henry Volam Morton’s accounts with my own, this time, I thought it would be fun to invite Henry to travel with me and to chat about our experiences. Henry was good enough to accept.

“Look over there! Just as I remember it from 1929”, he recalls, “a soft, gentle land of woods and broad fields continually swept by sea winds”. “Yes”, I retort, “the same fields and sea, but the some of those secluded little lanes and the lonely white farms have been replaced by B class roads and pink houses with satelite dishes”. 

HV looks thoughtful and lapses into an unusual silence, which within moments he breaks with the words, “Stephen, dear boy,  the secret is to see this landscape through my eyes; and before me through those of King Alan, John Balliol and Devorgilla. It is your task to find and recount the romance of true Galloway”. 

“Shall we take the high road by Glen Trool and the Merrick?”, he suggests. “ Where the road reaches its highest point is a magnificent view of the loch lying below, trees creeping down the flank of the opposite hills, little islands of tall dark firs near the shore, and on a piece of high ground overlooking Loch Trool an immense boulder poised upon a plinth?”

“Let’s leave that as a memory of yesteryear”, I reply, “unless you are keen to visit the cosy little cafe at the visitors’ centre? How about taking the coast road from Port Logan to Ayr?”

And so we agree.

Henry settles down in the passenger seat, observing the power and girth of the Fiat Ducato Enduro 5 compared with his bull-nosed Morris. “Not only do you not have to double clutch, but the whole process is automatic”, he observes as we descend towards the sea. 

Below us, the bay spreads with small foamy waves whilst gulls circle on a high wind. As we approach we notice the tinder gorse dressed with late summer red campion and purple vetch. Crows staking out the cropped fields rise to chase a raptor as it  cythes the ash branches in its bid to escape. 

Tonight will be spent at New England Bay.

Scotland - the promised land

“ This is the border. Over it is the loneliness of the sea; the rise and fall of its hills are as the sweep of frozen billows...”.

“The heathery moors slope down to a distant valley. The sun is setting. The sky above the Lammermuirs is red and troubled. The wind drops. The autumn mists far below are creeping from wood to wood. The smoke from chimneys hangs motionless in the air. Thin veils of grey wrap themselves round the foot-hills. Feint white serpents of mist twist above the green-wood outlining the course of a stream and river. It is a study in blue. In the foreground, like a promise of the highlands, and as notable as a ship at sea, rise the tall peaks of the Eildon Hills, blue as hothouse grapes, standing with their feet among the woodlands of the Tweed”. 

H.V. Morton (1892-1979) was one of the first great travel journalists, his prime writing years straddling the Second World War, but his heart lodged in a land that existed before the disappearing worlds of Empire and simplicity.

Stephen Twist (1950’s sometime - present) is one of the least known writers of all time, his prime writing years yet to be realised, but the flame in his heart rekindled by the writings of his mentor, is returning to Scotland.

And so it is. Stephen and Henry - the two of them, without Henry Morton’s bull-nosed Morris and rough tarmac, but with Stephen’s Auto-Trail Tracker camper and motorway asphalt, together will be heading for the border, and beyond.

To follow their conversation, you will have to follow this blog. It will tell you how they get on as travelling companions, of the things they love, and their pet hates; of that which has changed in the intervening years since 1928, and those things that have remained the same.

The first chapter is imminent. All the more reason to subscribe. That way, you will not miss a heart-beat of the trip, nor the long view through time, the mists of the borders, the Highlands and the west coast of Scotland.

Twinwood Trail

Friday 15 December 1944, at 40 years of age, Glenn Miller left RAF Twinwood  to fly with two others to Paris. Their single engined plane disappeared over the English Channel, leaving behind a huge chasm in the big band world.

Miller's music remained; and seventy three years after his death, the Glenn Miller Orchestra under Ray McVay returned to Twinwood. So did we.

This blog is about our third visit to the Twinwood Festival at Clapham near Bedford. It is about music, dancing, vintage, camping and friendship; and gives a little glimpse into two decades of Twentieth Century.

It is just before noon on Thursday 24 August. Stephanie and I are passing through Milton Ernest on the A6 Bedford Road  in our Auto Trail Tracker. As we approach Church Green a dark green Hillman Fourteen pulls out sharply in front of us from the entrance to Milton Ernest Hall. The hurrying driver is Lt Col Norman F Baessell, the off side passenger pilot F/O John Morgan. We catch a momentary view of a man in the rear near side seat. He appears tall and slim with rimless spectacles. His black hair is brushed back with Brylcreem, revealing a high and distinguished forehead. We catch the sound of voices, and discern an American accent.

Within a mile, the Hillman turns into Milton Road and a mile later into Twinwood Road taking the entry to Twinwood airfield. Whilst we wait in a row of stationary motorhomes and caravans, it speeds unhindered towards the control tower, skidding to a halt on the cinders by a stubby UC-64 Norseman. By the time we enter the airfield, the plane is leaving the runway climbing into a mackerel sky. I squint into the southern sun, but all I see is a greying dot. From behind the control tower comes the sound of Moonlight Serenade. He has left; but his legacy remains.

This, our third Twinwood visit, is marked by supreme organisation. The Twinwoodians, headed by Zoe and John Wolicki, Ann and Peter Barrett, Stephanie Rose and me have reserved five adjacent camping pitches on Campsite B, just a short stroll from the access track to the arena. Having overnighted at Grafham Water, we are the first to arrive. We take an end pitch as gatehouse and set up camp. Within the hour other Twinwoodians arrive, and by nightfall we sport a full-size living room (courtesy of Peter Lewis) and a flamingo decorated bedroom (courtesy of John Wolicki). Before long Stephanie and I are dancing.

There are some things you really need to know about thriving at Twinwood before you come.

The first is how to dress. Most first-timers cautiously take an understated line, hoping to blend into the background. At Twinwood there is no background, other than seventy years of fashion history. You can survive without food or alcohol - but not without your best vintage wardrobe. Twinwood is about dressing to impress. Nothing is 'over the top' - there is no top. There is a bottom occupied by the few dowdy day trippers who have self consciously not made the effort. Here are the best-pressed uniforms, the handmade shoes, 1940's buttoned dresses, 1950's circle skirts filled with petticoats, tweed suits with fob watches, trilby hats and spats. You simply have to dress to enter the era - whichever one you have chosen to access.

Second - get talking. Twinwood is about bands, music and dance. But it is also about a cultural history - a time when people greeted each other, knew their neighbours, complimented and engaged. Anonymity has no place at Twinwood. It is possible to be shy and reserved, but the greatest joy comes from meeting other enthusiasts, some of whom have created whole new personas for you to explore. So ditch the reserve, make eye contact, conversation and find out their story.

Third - the performances. With acts like 'The Manfreds' it is tempting to play it safe, park your folding chairs in the arena, and take up residence there for the weekend. Our advice is 'forget the big names, and hunt out new talent'. With thirteen venues - Arena, Control Tower, Colonial Club, Le Monde Electrique, Moonshine Glade, Liberty Stage, Nags Head, Casablanca Club, Cafe de Bois de Jumeau, Dance Marquee, Hangar Bar, Tin Hat & Carnaby Club and Soulshack - it is quite possible to find enough gems for an eternity ring. For 2017 there were 55 acts over 4 days. As will be evident from the Twinwoodians Facebook page, the headline acts were less of interest than the peripheral performers who produced acts to delight.

 Fourth - dance. Many visitors to Twinwood don't dance either by choice, necessity or inability. It is not a problem for there are dozens of foot-tapping events that will keep you entertained for hours on end, or simply watch Twinwoodians Neil and Carla Warren, the award winning ballroom experts. But with such great bands and fabulous music spanning the 40's to the 70's, being able to get onto the dance floor makes a huge difference to how you will feel about the weekend. Each day there are dance classes at all levels covering Swing, Lindy, Charleston, Balboa and Rock & Roll in the Colonial Club, Marquee, and Tin Hat. Get along to find a partner or learn a few solo steps. Better, take a few modern jive lessons before you come, so you can hit the floor dancing.

Twinwood 2017 was a massive hit, blessed with glorious sunshine. Eight raindrops fell on Saturday before we woke, and thereafter all that remained was for the stewards to complain about a sea of parasols in the arena. Will Twinwood 2018 be so kind? We hope so, and trust that you too will enjoy this headline event with great bands and new friends.

Campervan Inventory

They arrive on site; perhaps with levelling blocks, a mains cable to the electric point, occasionally a waste water carrier, and maybe - if the weather is right - the roll out awning. The motorhome is then done. Its occupants retreat inside for tea, emerging later to walk the dog, or cooler nights to fit insulated screens.

What goes on inside? And more to the point of this blog, what is it that have the owners brought with them? 

Readers will recollect my earlier blog dealing with payload, and recall that our camper's load can be important, especially when travelling abroad. So now is a good time to review what we carry - and why. Of course, the content of our motorhome is a matter of choice, activity and taste, so this blog will hardly be definitive. But it may get you thinking about what you take with you, what you leave behind, and suggest some items to acquire.

We will start with the essentials for all motorhomers, whenever or wherever you travel.

The first - is water.

Motorhome manufacturers boast about the size of their water tanks, perhaps rightly for travellers who free-camp for days or weeks on end. Our water supply is key to many aspects of modern motorhome life,  not just for cleaning teeth. Save for the large trucks, few systems require water for heating, but with ever-expanding washrooms and well-equipped kitchens, the requirement for a good supply becomes essential.

One litre of water weighs one kilo - not by accident (the specific density of water = 1000kg/m3) - and that is almost a third more than gasoline. A full 100l tank adds 100kg to your vehicle, effectively undoing all of the manufacturer's tricks to reduce its weight, and often halving your payload. So this is one good reason why, when travelling, Stephanie and I don't carry a tank full, choosing to fill up on site; and why on leaving we drain all but 20 litres - hence the two taps on modern motorhomes. Clearly,  it makes conservation sense to calculate filling time against the length of your stay so that you don't wate time and water.

With this in mind, in addition to a flat-fold hose together with a combinationn of tap attachments, our first tip is to carry a shortened flexible funnel (3.49 on Ebay), together with an empty 10l clear camping canister (3.79 on Ebay), both of which of minimal weight.

Second - food and refreshment

I suspect that many motorhomes are filled with tins and packages. Stephanie and I spend substantial time travelling in the Scottish Highlands, and even 8,000 miles to Argentina, but rarely too distant from a shop. When away we are keen to try the local produce, with three benefits - the chance to try something new, to meet local people, and to reduce the van's travelling weight. For special items that may not be sourced locally, look to your packaging, and reduce this with plastic containers - ideal for storeage, convenience, and weight.

Third - clothing

Like many experienced motorhomers, Stephanie and I (in addition to our tango wardrobe) have evolved our 'motorhome wardrobe'. By necessity, this is seasonal, with both 'winter' and 'summer' clothes' which we switch as the season progresses. Even when wild camping, there comes a time when the launderette, or camp site laundry beckons - so why equip with too much? Think layers, and pack the staples - fleece, easy wash trousers, waterproof, hat, gloves, strong shoes, small rucksack, and a comfortable change for evenings in the van. 

      

Fourth - motorhome specific kit

There are some items that all motorhomers should acquire before their first journey. Here is our selection:

Levelling blocks. Levelling a motorhome is not a luxury - it is essential if you are not going to 'live on a hill', always tackling a slope. Even Caravan and Motorhome Club premier sites require these; and for wild camping they are essential. For historic reasons, I carry four - two Milenco Quattros, and two small Fiamma light weight. The former are heavy, but robust, and give a high level of elevation on uneven ground. The latter are convenient for those occasions when you simply need minor adjustment. To remove the guesswork add a Milenco superlevel indicator. 

Mud mats. If your motorhome is on a Fiat, Peugeot or Citroen chassis it will be front wheel drive, and mud mats will be essential on grass after rain, whatever the slope. These are cheap to acquire (or make from bread crates) and are light to carry. Do not leave home without a pair. Team them with a light weight nylon tow rope with snap-ring, which we store accessibly with our warning triangle and wheel jack.

Insulated screens. Unusually these find their way into the 'essential kit' list. For Stephanie and I, they have more to do with condensation than heat. They retain a lot more heat for winter camping, and reflect strong sunshine, making your motorhome more comfortable whatever the weather. They also provide an extra layer of privacy. But it is in relation to windscreen condensation that they come into their own, effectively eliminating the problem when living in a van. We recommend Taylormade screen covers in the long fitting, as these cover both screen and bonnet ventilators, as well as providing an easy fold-down section to admit daylight. If considering winter camping, why not buy a bonnet cover at the same time - you will be surprised by the difference it makes.

Waste water carrier. Most motorhomes are equipped with an 80 litre + waste water tank, meaning that you can store grey water for several days. However, when not regularly drained, water in the grey tank becomes fetid, and that will explain the smells sometimes appearing in your motorhome. Relying on the onboard tank also means you will have to make regular journeys to a motorhome drainage point (if one is available). The simple answer is to carry a waste water carrier, allowing grey water to drain rather than collect in the onboard tank. A carrier also avoids the necessity of queueing for 'the long drain' at busy departure times. Is a carrier really an essential? Many are happy to do without, but having one smooths the way.

Outdoor seating and matting. Some motorhomers love their attached or drive-away awnings. However, they do come at a price - as to cost, weight, and time spent in putting them up.  If your motorhome comes with a roll-out awning you will have a simple alternative for quiet weather and avoid the problem of muddy shoes and boots in the van. The art is to make the most of this space. Stephanie and I recommend the acquisition of woven plastic matting, available at most motorhome or caravan dealers. Use it equally on grass (where it allows the grass to 'breathe') or hard standing (where draining is not a problem) . Ensure that you have a selection of metal pegs and a mallet to anchor your awning and mat. It is also wise to buy a roll of webbing to secure your awning for those times when gusts of wind may cause havoc. 

Most motorhomers also buy lightweight fold-away seating for outdoor use. Bear in mind if you have a folding table in the van, this can be used outdoors. If you don't have an outdoor electric point consider packing an extension lead, especially the type that provides three pin and USB points.

Heating: Your motorhome comes with an efficient heating system which should keep your van toasty even during winter use. But there are times when you may seek just that little bit extra. The Dimplex Coldwatcher MPX500 has a number of advantages. Position it in the cab area, either vertically or on its side, it is 500w rated, uses low power, thermostatically controlled, convector style it is silent, light to move and almost indestructible.

Tool kit. The 'garage' in some motorhomes resembles a veritable workshop with everything but a lathe and welder. For the purpose of this blog I advise a small collection of the following tools: variable-head screwdriver, pair of adjustable spanners, pliers, hammer, folding knife, zinc hose clips, plastic cable ties, bungee ties, strong cord, small 12v compressor, tyre pressure guage, heavy duty tape, spare fuses, WD40 or silicone spray, high viz jacket, protective gloves. Additionally, I store a torch and sheet of heavy plastic in case I need to slide beneath the van.

Medical kit. Whatever sort you carry, it must be accessible. Stephanie and I keep our kit in a shoebox beneath an interior seat that also has outside access. Here we have a selection of bandages, pasters, butterfly stitches, tape, scissors, plastic eyebath, small medical knife, antiseptic, pain relief and indigestion relief. 

Fire extiguisher. Manufacturers have made great strides in fireproofing motorhomes, but they are still a major fire hazard. It is for this reason that open pans should be attended, chip pans never used, and candles restricted to outdoor use. Modern motorhomes come with a fire extinguisher, which should be serviced periodically, and supported by a fire blanket. Bear in mind that should your motorhome catch fire, the only objective is to get out safely, rather than firefighting an existing blaze. Always ensure that your smoke and CO2 alarms are in working order.

Laundry kit. We tend to carry washing powder, hand washing soap, Vanish stain remover bar, small brush, window attaching clothes rail, light line, and pegs, all of which is stored in a small plastic wash bucket. Most commercial machines are coin operated, so it is wise to store some small change for this purpose and for parking charges.

Van care. Here we are addressing that which is essential whilst travelling.  Others may pack comprehensive van cleaning equipment, but my outdoor equipment comprises simply a wash cloth, retired wiper blade and small plastic bucket (which doubles for BBQ cleaning). For the interior, consider multi-surface and antisceptic sprays, J cloths, toilet fluid, dustpan and stiff brush.

Now we move on to the variable content of your van. Here, as with the list of items above, weight is an important consideration, so Stephanie and I have made evident compromises. The art is to get light-weight kit, and add back luxury items if your payload allows.

Let us start with the kitchen area. Most motorhomers use a low wattage 1 litre 240v electric kettle with automatic cut-off. Bear in mind that whatever size you need, it will take up valuable work surface. Some make do with a small whistling kettle for the gas hob. Stephanie and I carry both, using the quicker, safer, cheaper electric kettle when on hook-up. With this we use a Cafe Ole infuser teapot, six cup Bialetti coffee maker, and insulated mugs if you like your drinks hot. For cold drinks we have gravitated to superb replica plastic glasses both for Malbec and champagne. Not only has this choice reduced van weight, but the stress of breakages, especially in outdoor use. 

The late summer garden shop sales provide a profusion of melamine tableware which is ideal for both inside and outside your motorhome. Here weight is key, for you will spend time carrying, washing and storing your crockery. As an indulgence, Stephanie and I have two china plates - which frankly we prefer. For cutlery, select the basics and keep it in the van. This avoids the unwanted moment when you have the wine bottle, but not the corkscrew!

Pans must be simple, light and versatile. We advise a three tower pan/steamer set, to which we have added a frying pan, a small milk pan, and baking tray. Should you have a microwave, don't forget to purchase some non-metalic containers which may double for fridge storage. On the topic of storage, source pierced plastic boxes, which together with bubble wrap, makes accessing 'rattly things' so simple.

The bedroom. With our Auto Trail Tracker FB, we have a queen size rear bed, ideal for couples travelling alone. On this we have placed a Duvalay zipped topper which the manufacturers will cut  to measure. For bedding, we use a fitted bottom sheet topped with duvet and throw. The art here is simplicity, and with access to site laundry facilities, there is rarely need to carry additional bedding.

The bathroom. As with our bedding, we have purchased bespoke camper towels which, whilst not permanently stored in the van, are restricted to van use. Remember that motorhoming does not have to be basic, and a little luxury is sometimes appropriate, so buy quality. It is also the one occasion where others will scrutinise your towels whilst in transit to the shower block. The bathroom is also our place of choice to store cleaning materials, keeping them accessible where they are really needed.

So far, we have covered 'main kit' rather than luxuries. Those with pets will have further calls on their payload. Sports people will have even more kit, especially if you carry bicycles on a rear rack.  Bear in mind that unless your van has a greater than 3500kg gross mass, you are likely to exceed your MTPLM payload. But with clever sourcing and strict policies, you should stay legal and safe. Best of luck!