Let’s talk about the other campers. There’s always a couple who set up a full outdoor cinema on their pitch, complete with fairy lights and a projector screen, just for a Tuesday evening. You’ll peer over, half-jealous, half-admiring their commitment. Meanwhile, a friendly dog will trot over and try to steal your sausage roll, with an owner who apologises so profusely you feel sorry for them.
And then there are the ducks. Moorhampton has a resident duck population that has zero respect for personal space. They waddle through your pitch like they own the place, quacking judgement on your awning alignment. You’ll find yourself negotiating with them: “No, you can’t have my biscuit. Fine, just one corner.” It’s ridiculous, but you’ll feel a pang of sadness when they move on to annoy someone else.
Moorhampton Caravan and Motorhome Club Site | Alan Rogers
Evenings: The Golden Hour of Laziness
As the sun starts to drop, the whole site exhales. You’ll see fairy lights flickering to life, turning each pitch into a tiny, glowing island of calm. The barbecue smoke mix with the scent of damp grass—it should be unpleasant, but somehow it’s pure comfort. You’ll sit in a folding chair that’s slightly too low, nursing a cold drink, and think, “This is it. This is the life.”
No emails, no deadlines, just the soft murmur of conversations from nearby pitches and the occasional bark of a dog chasing a phantom hedgehog. It’s the kind of quiet that makes your shoulders drop a full three inches. You’ll forget that your phone only has one bar of signal, and you’ll honestly prefer it that way.
