A Dull Woman's Van Life

It had been a while since our little family had been away in the van, and even longer since the Famous Five had managed to gather together. So on Monday 29th December, we finally converged on Pooley Bridge for a long-awaited New Year escape.

Pooley Bridge sits at the northern tip of Ullswater, a small village shaped as much by water as by time. Long a crossing point for travellers heading through the Lakes, it has weathered floods, rebuilds, and centuries of footfall. Today it remains a place of gentle charm — stone houses clustered around the river, boats bobbing at the lake’s edge, and the fells rising quietly behind it. It felt like the perfect place to pause the year.

Monday was spent nesting — vans levelled, kettles boiled, and plans sketched out after a brief but enthusiastic conflab. With the next day’s walk agreed, we retired early after an evening walk with Pepper, ready to make the most of the daylight.

We woke to a cold, clear morning with sharp wind and crisp views across the lake. After a lazy start, we gathered ourselves for a walk up Heughscar Hill, taking the route via the stone circle above the village. This small circle sits high on the fellside, its stones scattered rather than formal, thought to date back to the Bronze Age. Like many Lakeland circles, it feels less about grandeur and more about place — positioned to watch the land, the water, and the sky, quietly holding its ground against the elements.

From there we climbed higher, the wind biting but manageable, wrapped in layers and good humour. There is something deeply comforting about walking in the Lakes with good company — conversation flowing easily, silences equally welcome.

Pepper, utterly beside herself with joy, bounded between the group, thrilled to have the whole pack back together again. Despite the cold, we were snug enough, moving steadily, cheeks pinked by the wind and spirits lifted by the landscape.

New Year’s Eve arrived quietly. Mark and I opted for an early dinner at the Crown Inn before returning to the van, where the evening’s celebrations unfolded.

By nine o’clock there were a few mutterings about not making it to midnight, but champagne has a way of sharpening resolve. Suddenly fireworks cracked into the night sky — and just like that, it was the New Year. Laughter, raised glasses, and the gentle satisfaction of welcoming it in exactly the right place.

On the 2nd of January, we said our goodbyes and headed off to our next, separate destinations. Mark and I had planned two nights in the beautiful village of Austwick.

On arrival, while setting up, we noticed a few unexplained drips of water on the countertop. This isn’t entirely new — very cold weather combined with cooking, heating, and breathing can create condensation that collects in the roof. But after a bitterly cold night at –4°C, the water found its way into the electrics and shorted out the heating.

Rather than risk a thoroughly miserable night, we made the sensible decision to pack up and head home a day early. Disappointing, yes — but also a reminder that van life, for all its joys, still answers to weather and winter.

Even so, it felt like the year had been opened gently: with friends, cold air, shared walks, and a sense of having begun as we meant to go on.

There was something fitting about beginning the year this way — wrapped in layers, walking into a sharp wind, sharing simple meals and familiar laughter. The cold stripped everything back to what mattered: good company, steady ground underfoot, and the quiet joy of being together in a place shaped by time and weather. Even the early return home felt like part of the lesson — a reminder to begin the year with flexibility, gratitude, and the sense that sometimes, enough really is enough.