Englethwaite Hall isn’t flashy. It doesn’t promise you a five-star resort or a butler. It promises you a clean pitch, friendly faces, and a chance to slow down to the speed of a kettle boiling. If you’ve ever found yourself staring at a caravan repair manual and crying, this is the place for you. If you’ve ever defended your camping holiday to a “holidays in Spain” friend, this is your vindication.
I left feeling like I’d had a holiday from real life, even if I did spend ten minutes trying to fold a canvas chair back into its bag. It’s a spot where you can be gloriously, boringly content. And that is something worth parking your pride—and your caravan—for.
