Walking round the room singing Stormy Weather

To be honest, I hadn't even contemplated the fact it might rain. At all. I even had second thoughts about the waterproofs. They were taking up valuable space that might be otherwise occupied by floaty summer dresses or nice sandals. Our first stop in Rotterdam was a real wake up call. It poured. And poured. And poured. Even the Dutch friend who came to see (and as everyone will tell you, the one thing the Dutch do well is camping) couldn't believe it. She seemed particularly perturbed by the awning to the campervan which had a steady trickle of water seeping through it. I knew things were bad when I heard Sim say to Edie, who was complaining about the cold 'Put your long trousers on then'. 'Mummy didn't pack me any' was the reply. Cue us trying to find a cheap pair of long and warm trousers in Brussels a few days later (yes, yes a few days later. Oh come on, I had to make sure the rain wasn't just a freak of nature - it's August for Heaven's sake)

Our history with holidays and weather isn't great. The by now legendary holiday with my parents in Menorca in 1996 is still talked about. 'We haven't had storms like this for 50 years' the locals said. I lay in bed at night actually believing we wouldn't be able to get off the island. When my dad got up at 2am to see if he could stop the torrents of water rushing under the front door over the beautiful marble tiles he stepped into several centimetres of water. Oh yes, the summer of '96 was a good one in the Balearics. And I can guarantee they haven't had weather like it since. And as always happens with us, everything cleared up the day we left.

So although Holland and Belgium were disappointingly cold, I kept myself cheery with the thought that once we got into the Vendee - things were sure to pick up. It's practically the south of France. We arrived after a long, hot journey to see our friends Zak and Sarah to be told that they hadn't had rain for three months. To them it's a big deal - they run a livery stables and no rain means a hike in hay prices and no feed for the winter. They didn't need to worry. The next day it started pouring, and didn't stop - even as we left. They were delighted, we were soggy. I had an email from my neighbour Anne suggesting that we might be able to supplement our travels by setting up the 'Courtie Family Rainmakers'. Bookings available via the website.

I bought a toothbrush, some toothpaste a flannel for my face ...

One of the most popular questions we’ve been asked is how we would go about packing for a year. No matter how far ahead I plan or how many lists I write I am still the person getting onto the ferry with a hairbrush in one hand, and a pair of shoes and a packet of teabags in the other. I always take too many clothes, always end up not wearing half of them, and go home having lost a hairbrush taken too many shoes and clutching an unopened box of teabags.

So where were we to start? Sim had his all planned. He was going ‘traveller’. You know the stuff, anything beige, navy or khaki. Zip off trousers, dries in seconds. Blends into the environment without being noticed. Completely practical. Completely unfashionable. (This reminds me of a story I read a few years ago about ipod owners who were being mugged for their mp3s because thieves knew they had them because of the white headphones. The police were advising people to use cheaper headphones. Apple’s quote was that ‘our clients would rather be mugged than be seen wearing inferior headphones’ Brilliant.)

So what were we to pack? We all bought a backpack, and we worked on the same principal that had got us to Biarritz by train a few years ago – if you can carry it, you can bring it. We sorted through clothes, we’re chasing the sun for a year so banked on not needing jumpers and the like. (Holland clearly didn’t get that information ahead of us arriving there, it poured for three days – so much so that by the time we got to Brussels we had to buy Edie a pair of long warm trousers. Her bronchial pneumonia is clearing up nicely, thank you). The girls also had a box of personal stuff they wanted to take. (among the more random items: 4 travel photo albums – one including just photos of us. ‘But we’re all going on the trip’ I said to Bethan. ‘I’m bringing it for the memories’ she replied.) I was particularly proud of Ella who had a load of schoolbooks which were the important ones from year 7 for Bethan, and Bethan herself who is the worst hoarder and packer in our house. On the Biarritz trip she took two alarm clocks – one of them broken. And as she pointed out she could carry it, so by our own rules, it was allowed. I looked at her tiny box of things for this trip and remarked on how well she’d done. She gave me that look only 11 year old girls can give and said sweetly ‘Of course I’m not taking much – you’ve thrown everything else of mine away.’ Ouch.

I’d been really looking forward to kitting the van out. After the initial fun of choosing material for the curtains I had visions of beautifully coordinated shabby chic crockery and cutlery. When we turned up at our friends Lynne and Jon’s the day before we sailed, and emptied everything out of the van to re-pack it in some order I realised our only utensils were a frying pan, 4 mugs and a sharp knife. Lynne, realising we were in trouble, quickly rustled up a picnic set, two pans from their camping trip the weekend before (‘If I give them to you, it means we don’t have to go again’) and a trug which as every Cath Kidston devotee will know is a MUST for a camping trip.

And the most important piece of packing – the medicine cabinet. We’ve spent a fortune on jabs for the trip and medicines. I woke up one morning the week before we were leaving shouting ‘threadworm tablets’. I had to consider every eventuality. Our brilliant practice nurse Steph, had provided up with the prescription medicine she thought we would need – we topped it up with bottles of calpol, bandages, first aid tweezers and threadworm tablets. (Come on, would you know how to ask for them in Turkish?) Jon spent an hour or so cutting up the medication to pack it into a Halfords tool bag – each with its own separate compartment. His medical knowledge was invaluable. And as he helpfully pointed out, if we hit hard times – there’s going to be a market somewhere for all those drugs ….

We're all going global!

When my husband suggested a year out travelling the world, I had many thoughts. First of all, would we have to sell the house? (This was a big no-no for me, perenially risk averse, I'd need some security to come back to) Secondly would I be able to take my hair straighteners and lastly, when could I start perusing 5 star hotel brochures? So he did what he's very good at. Answers to the first two were almost immediate 'No and yes'. Then he spent a couple of weeks lulling me into a false sense of security, before dropping the bombshell. In this instance and you'll get the picture pretty soon that bombshells are regularly dropped by him - it was (in his words) 'the three words that every girls dreams of: In a campervan'. 'Why?' I bleated weakly. Cue a long monologue on how flying into airports and transferring to hotels wouldn't give us the full experience of the journey, we wouldn't meet real people, we wouldn't see the off-the-beaten-track places. Oh and it's cheaper, he added pouring me a glass of wine.

Now if you know my husband, you'll be reading this and shaking your head in disbelief. Not at his craziness, but at my naivety. You'll be remembering the time he decided to manage a boy-band. ('It could be a great career move') or the time he persuaded us all that a snake was the perfect pet ('It only needs feeding once a week.' Me: 'What does it eat?' Him: 'Dead mice') How could I be so stupid as to think a year travelling would be straightforward? Not a chance. 

So for 15 months, I have woken in the early hours panicking about one aspect or another of the trip. How would we school the girls? Would they fall behind? Would we get malaria? (If it can happen to Cheryl, no-one's safe) Where would I plug my straighteners in? It's probably the right time to address the hair issue, because I know you're probably thinking this is a slight overreaction on my part. I only have longer hair because I have straighteners. My hair is horribly curly and not in a nice way. I just couldn't (literally) get my head around looking back on photos of the year with my hair looking like a mop. I may be obsessive, I clearly have issues, but you'll just have to bear with me on this one. My friend K has seen my hair when we've been camping and she will testify it's not a pretty sight. In fact when we told her we were going away, pretty much her first question was 'What about your hair?'. (Other first questions included 'Where's the toilet?' Answer: ' We have a spade' and 'Are you taking the children?' Answer: 'I don't suppose we can persuade you to have them for a year?') So the straighteners are coming (along with the children). In fact, two pairs of straighteners are in. My electric pair and a gas powered pair bought for me by one of my friends who understands my issues. Sorry, but I don't think this is the last we've heard of this subject.

So here we are 15 months later, about to start the biggest adventure we've embarked on. The schools have been fantastic, we've said goodbye to everyone, and we're on the cusp of something big. We generally can't even drive into town without a row ensuing between the three girls. How will we make it round the world? And living in a campervan? It must have been pretty strong wine he gave me that night .....

PS as an additional feature in this blog, each entry title is a lyric from a song. No prizes, it's just for fun, and I'll give you the answer in the next entry.

Today's is very hard, so I'll give you a clue. Neil Hannon wrote it.