Well, it’s high time I put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, as it were) and shared a proper look back at the little chap who consumed a good six months of our lives: Pat Van.
It still feels a bit surreal, reflecting on the whole escapade. Cast your mind back to November 2023. Ebony and I were still firmly rooted in Norwich, watching the East Anglian skies while dreaming of the Scottish Highlands and islands. Pat Van, a humble little Vauxhall Combo, former Royal Mail (hence the name) van with a whole lot of potential, was meant to be our ticket up there. Our rolling basecamp. Our mini-Scottish castle on wheels.
The truth is, neither of us had the faintest clue what we were doing. We went into this DIY conversion project with zero experience, armed with little more than a stack of wood, some wonky tools, and a rather optimistic outlook. It was a steep learning curve, I won’t lie. We spent winter evenings in the freezing cold, scratching our heads over wiring diagrams and trying to figure out how to make a the interior LED lights work properly. There were moments of utter frustration, absolutely, but looking back now, it was some of the most genuine, ridiculous fun we’ve ever had. Every little shelf that stayed up, every bit of carpet lining that didn't ripple or fold over - it felt like a major victory. He was a project, a steeplechase, and an absolute joy all rolled into one.
We did get to Scotland, of course, but the adventure took a sudden detour. Instead of winding through the Irvine Valley, we were just outside Cumnock in East Ayrshire, doing the sensible, grown-up thing: driving around checking out areas where we might actually live. Pat Van was serving a different, more practical purpose, and he was doing it brilliantly, carrying all our hopes and dreams (and too much luggage, probably) around the stunning countryside.
And then, just like that, the music stopped.
It was during that trip, in the blink of an eye, that Pat suffered a major engine failure. A terminal one. Our fabulous little DIY camper, who had taken us through months of building and had finally got us to Scotland, was deemed unrepairable.
Honestly, we felt absolutely gutted. Devastated is the only word for it. It was like losing a faithful, hardworking old friend. All the memories of those cold Norwich nights, the laughter, the head-scratching over the insulation - it all came flooding back.
The last time we saw him, he was being gently loaded onto a flatbed transport. Watching Pat Van being driven away, bound for a breakers yard in Glasgow, felt utterly heart-breaking. It was a truly sad, final ending for a project that was all about new beginnings.
So, Pat Van, if you can hear me out there in the algorithmic ether, thank you, mate. You taught two complete novices more than we ever expected, and you got us to Scotland. You didn't give us the Highlands trip we dreamed of, but you gave us something much better: a brilliant, bonkers story, and a whole load of unforgettable memories.
Cheers to the little van that couldn't quite make it, but who was a champion nonetheless. We’ll miss you, pal.
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