It's that time of year again...

... when Flipping Caravans start infesting the countryside. As I discovered yesterday when I attempted to do something as simple as nip the mile or so down the road into the village to get some milk, bread and comics for Mini and I (The Beano and both The Times and the Daily Mail respectively in case you are interested). It took pretty near a quarter of an hour to cover the distance; as firstly I had to wait as a procession of the grotesque things passed my driveway, and then attempt to join the queue of hapless ordinary motorists which had formed behind them. Had it not been raining when I started, I would have reversed back up the drive when I first clapped eyes on the caravan procession and walked down instead, but I am NOT getting wet, not even for the necessary pint of Angevin morning tea.

Not only were the things, out of necessity I suppose, crawling along, but they also had periodic episodes of slamming the brakes on: presumably as they saw the traffic islands narrowing the road opposite the village green and - shock! horror! - as the near-senile occupants encountered the 'wiggly bit' a bit further on and panic set in. So you can see a journey which normally takes a couple of minutes was lengthened to over seven times that length of time by the lunatic traffic laws which permit these obscene vehicles to trundle around uninhibited at any time of the day or night. It probably won't take my clever readership long to intuit that, by some miracle, were I to become Minister for Transport the very first thing I would do would be to ban caravan traffic between the hours of 6am and 10pm; thus ensuring that firstly their deranged owners didn't annoy the rest of the population in daylight hours and secondly a fair number of them would be taken out by the drunk drivers pouring out of the pubs after 10pm and the knackered commuters on the roads before 6am. The Caravan Club would also be deemed a terrorist organisation on the grounds that their members regularly cause far more chaos on the nation's roads than they could if they merely put bombs on a few motorways. Perhaps I should write and suggest this to Geoff Hoon (the guy apparently 'in charge' of transport)... but on second thoughts he is just the sort of crazed lunatic who would own a caravan himself, so perhaps not.

Please note, I do NOT include motorhomes in this tirade. They can work up to a decent speed, aren't a liability to reverse and as far as I can see, are driven by your more on-the-ball sort of 'tourer'.

Whilst on the subject of caravans, has anybody else noticed the ludicrous names the things have? Presumably these are dished out by the manufacturers in a vain attempt to make the them sound exciting? Because, let's face it names such as 'Hideous Lump of Metal', 'Mobile OAP Home', or 'Please Pass Because My Underpowered Car Can't Do More Than 35mph With This Thing Stuck To It', whilst true, are not going to have the things rolling off the forecourt like hot Ferraris, are they? I have also noted that the names which do find their way onto caravans fall into three broad categories (I surmise to cater to three aspirational groups who are delusional enough to even consider purchasing one):

1. Names like 'Swift', 'Sprite, and 'Ranger'. Presumably these are meant to falsely tempt the potential buyers into imagining they'll be merrily speeding on their way to their glorified-picnic-area-of-choice? Because let's face it, by no criteria could a caravan be called 'swift'; a large cubic lump of metal, however mobile it might be, bears about as much similarity to a sprite as a dung heap; and people who buy the things tend to only range as far as the stocks of Tena-Lady they can carry with them will last.
2. Names such as 'Charisma', 'Senator', 'Challenger', 'Conqueror' and 'Buccaneer' which I suspect are there to appeal to the male side of the caravan-purchasing equation who would rather imagine they are closer to a variety of aging Clint-Eastwood-style Marlboro Man, than to the crimpelene-slacks-wearing individuals they actually are. This, I would suggest, is rather sadder than category 1. WAKE UP GUYS - in the very purchase of the Flipping Caravan you are placing yourself firmly in a group where Foggy and Compo would feel comfortable and, no matter what piratical name you give your rusting heap of junk, it's going to have about as much swash and buckle as a can of mushy peas. Captain Jack Sparrow you are NOT, far less Jonny Depp - in any incarnation.
3. 'SMUG' names, like 'Applause', 'Accolade', 'Pageant' and 'Ovation'. Now, this is a bit of a more subtle approach and one which I suspect is designed to appeal
A) to those who feel they will get 'value for money' from their tin can and therefore deserve some credit for their financial perspicacity. YOU ARE DELUDED my little caravan-loving pals, if you imagine for one minute that is the case. For starters, the cost of the things is astronomical; bearing in mind the average age of a caravanner in the UK and the dwindling number of years they can reasonably expect to be able to drive a car and caravan safely, they could probably go on at least one luxury holiday a year, and several mini-breaks, for the same amount of dosh. Then we have the increased fuel consumption to add as their poor little cars try to drag the thing along the roads; the nightly cost of berths in the picnic-areas-laughingly-described-as-caravan-parks (having done some quick research these are NOT cheap!), and the cost of gas, batteries and other consumables in the tincan itself. Add on the insurance charges for the caravan, the cost of maintaining it, and the higher fares on ferries etc if you daringly venture out of the UK and it's painting a pretty grim picture. So no 'Applause' for you, my poppets.
B) Alternatively, it occurs to me the smug name could be attempting to appeal to those who, in buying their own little home on wheels, could be giving themselves a massive pat on the back for thus cleverly avoiding the necessity of interacting overmuch with the locals should they venture out of Britain. I can just imagine them congratulating themselves on being able to have their Own Cups Of Tea with their Own Ghastly Culinary Concoctions lovingly created on their Own Little Stoves in their Own Little Mobile Shack. And thus avoiding the Horrors Of Foreign Food and Foreign People. In which case, you do indeed get an ovation, comrades - as I see the back of your metal box thump off the ferry on the other side of the Channel and thus out of MY country. The UK can do without this sort of bigotry, which has made it the laughing stock of Europe and held us back for too long. I hope your camping gaz appliance blows you and your flipping meat-and-two-veg to a place far further away than Europe...

Roll on the day when the rule of law finally breaks down and it will no longer be an offence to fit missiles to the front of one's car. Because me and whatever incarnation of the Aquatic Passat I'm driving then will be out there... be very scared, caravan owners, because I will be watching you....