Peaks & Troughs

We were afforded views of aesthetic majesty as my campervan trundled through South Yorkshire along the A628 into the Peak District via Glossop. Our destination a campsite on the periphery of the Derbyshire village of Hayfield.

The bewitching views of Kinder reservoir and moors around the Snake Pass once again reminding me of why I could never live anywhere else other than this sceptred isle. The United Kingdom greater than the sum of the numerous scenic parts, of which this was one.

My partner Sarah, although equally as enamoured by the view breathing in anxiously and gripping the steering wheel ever tighter as every vehicle passed in the opposite direction on the narrow tarmac B roads. Each brisk intake of breath seemingly performed with a misguided hope the van would also narrow in unison with her lungs; allowing the motor home an extra few inches to avoid a collision.

Of course, the vehicle didn’t inhale in union with my beau’s sharp intakes of air. However, in circumstances where had one’s steering been awry could have proved costly, mercifully we didn’t collide with oncoming traffic. Consequently, arriving at our destination around 3.30pm Friday.

With this being the first camping trip of 2025, after six months, Sarah and I had to reacquaint ourselves with the basics of erecting the awning. Uncertainty leading to our graft being punctuated with observations like “I think it’s that bit goes into the kador rail, Gaz.”, “Is the pump hose supposed to disconnect while inflating this bloody thing?”, and “Hurry up and secure this, Gary. I’m gagging for a can of cider!”

 At around 4.30pm with all our accessories in place, fridge connected to the electric hook up and food unpacked, the t’old lass and I settled down in our easy chairs for the aforementioned drink.

The sun was shining, we were ensconced in a picturesque area of the Peak District for two nights, we’d some scenic walks with a picture postcard village nearby and all was well with the world.

Well, it was for the next hour or so. In those sixty minutes or so we chatted cordially with fellow campers. People equally as upbeat as we were about their current existential zeitgeist. Individuals in a mixture of campervans, tents, and motorhomes. The snugness of road widths within the site’s immediate vicinity ruling out any hope a caravan could reach this little pocket of Derbyshire.

Among our site neighbours an amiable widow from what she described as the ‘nack end’ of Stoke, which I’m led to believe is a colloquialism for the rough end of town. I endeavoured to comfort her by advising her (with tongue firmly in cheek) not to worry as Sarah was as rough as they come. A whimsical observation leading the two kindred spirits teaming up against me in a barrage of light-hearted jibes.

It was at this point my brio levels started to diminish. Firstly, upon checking my phone to witness the investment portfolio I’d put aside, allowing me to retire early, had in the last two days lost 10% in value. Mine and everyone else in the world’s investments heavily depleted by the moronic tariffs US President Donald Trump introduced last week.

It was also around this time the weather took a turn for the worst. The windstorms that picked up as the sun lowered in the west becoming a perfect metaphor for my own mood.

Yours truly’s anger not so much aimed at the clown in the US White House, moreover the individuals who enable him. My wrath saved for the toadying Republican senators/lawmakers, along with the hillbillies, rednecks, dipshits, 30-year-old virgins, shitkickers, and ill-educated fools incapable of critical thinking who voted for him.

I had a ‘discussion’ on social media lately with one of Trumps cult members, a man who falls under the ‘incapable of critical thinking’ category. Someone who, upon hearing my criticism of the Shitkicker King and his unsuitably for the presidency, asked “Why are you bothered, Gary? You’re not even American.”

A fool incapable of understanding how bad it might be globally to elect this sociopathic, mendacious, 34 times convicted felon as leader of the free world. To that fellow I’d like to say, “What happened last week is the reason I was bothered about Trump becoming president… I mean, on the campaign trail he said the quiet bit out loud regarding tariffs, and economists all said how disastrous it would be!… The clueless clowns who elected him have subjected this on the rest of the free world… Are you great again yet?!”

 Anyhow, enough already about Trump. I haven’t got time to write everything I need to get off my chest about that odious piece of crap… Back to the weekend’s campervan trip.

As Friday evening played out the winds got stronger and stronger at our Derbyshire campsite. Sitting under lantern lights, with an audio backdrop of Virgin Legends radio station, Sarah and I prayed the awning would survive the battering it endure under the prevailing elements. A conversation which went as follows:-

Sarah – “I hope the awning survives the battering it’s enduring under the prevailing elements!”

Me – “So do I!”

It wasn’t the most inspirational verbal interaction we’ve ever had. However, with merciless gales hammering the awning walls and roof lanterns swinging like a poltergeist had infiltrated the tent I wasn’t in the most talkative of moods.

 As the evening ended, I cut my finger on a shard of glass from a wine bottle which I’d spotted in my wine glass prior to swallowing it. God only knows what internal damage I’d have inflicted if I’d have ingested it!

Next day, when waking to even stronger winds, we decided to cut short our break. Throwing all our accessories in the van’s back we headed off home. I reckon if I’d have left the awning inflated, it’d blown all the way back to West Yorkshire after untethering it from the pegs.

On reflection, as I write, I should perhaps embrace these camping experiences more, accepting times when increment weather strikes as all part of the jeopardy faced when living outdoors.

After all, if Trump carries on the way he is tanking global economies I might not have a campervan much longer. I may have to sell the vehicle to make up for all the money the F***wit in Chief is costing me!!