The site is a fantastic base for exploring the New Forest, which is basically a giant, grassy theme park for dogs and people who like to slow down. You can wander out of the campsite gate and be on a footpath that leads to a pub that serves chips the size of your forearm. The ponies roam free, looking at your caravan with that “You’re in my living room” attitude that only a horse can pull off.
Cycling is a big deal here, and you’ll see families wobbling along on bikes that look like they belong in a museum. It’s not a Tour de France; it’s more like a leisurely wobble to the nearest ice cream van, which is exactly how it should be. The biggest decision you’ll make is whether to walk left or right along the gravel track.
The Evenings: Biscuits and Gossip
As the sun goes down, the campsite transforms into a constellation of glowing caravan windows. You hear the clink of wine glasses, the hiss of a gas stove, and the unmistakable sound of someone trying to light a damp firepit. It’s a communal orchestra of domesticity, where everyone is doing the exact same thing: relaxing.
You’ll find yourself comparing sitting-out furniture with your neighbour. “Oh, that’s a nice chair,” you’ll say, while secretly checking the price of it on your phone. The conversation flows as easily as the tea, covering everything from traffic jams to the correct way to fold a groundsheet. It’s low-stakes socialising at its finest.
The Caravan and Motorhome Club | est. 1907, the original caravan
Then comes the great biscuit debate. Someone will produce a pack of custard creams, and the whole pitch becomes a judge’s panel. “These are better than Hobnobs, aren’t they?” No one agrees, but everyone keeps eating them anyway. It’s these tiny, ridiculous moments that make you forget about your day job.
