Few weeks ago I wrote off my Skoda, no one hurt and the insurance company was generous with the settlement.

Few weeks later and I’m spending a night my 2016 Citroen Berlingo

I’ve added window insulation and researched that ventilation is key so have the drivers window and rear doors cracked.

I chose the Berlingo because the passenger bulkhead can be removed and my folding camp bed fits in OK. With a forecast of minus two I have rigged up a survival shelter over the bed.

I fancied somewhere near the sea and found an app called park4night, this is a member driven map of places you can campervan overnight for free. I fancied the beach road near Keyhaven, but it’s spring tides and the app warned of flooding. So I headed for Calshot.

Parked up on Jack Maynard Road early afternoon (25th November) and the cloudless bright day had brought out the crowds as I took the last place.

I had a little mooch over by the rough ground by the lagoon where a slack handful of campers / motor homes had set themselves up. I headed west along the gravel beach feeling the sea feed my soul.

The brightly coloured beach huts were mainly shut up tightly with just a few open, ladies outside enjoying a glass of Prosecco. With out prying I snuck a look inside, it was a nautical paradise.

Onwards the number of other walkers declined and signs saying private beach appeared. Further it now said that even down to low tide was private. Something called the Cadland Estate, I pushed on but only saw one fellow walker on this stretch. Later the signs said Natural England but it was still Cadland Estate, odd as I could hear the sound of gunshots from the estate. The final part of the private beach has signaled by a tall groyne and barbed wire. I had to go to the waters edge to get past.

The head of the beach now had tumbled down concrete and brick sea defences. There were two small towers in the water and more slabs of concrete. All was explained with a war memorial, bedecked in poppies, and an information board. Mulberry harbours had been built there and from that spot many souls said good bye to their homeland one last time, heading for Normandy.

I was now at Lepe and greeted by a wood and glass super cafe that wouldn’t have been out of place in California.

Again the car park was busy and I didn’t want to risk the ‘private beach’. I walked back down autumnal country roads arriving in the dark at Ashlet Creek for a pint in the Jolly Sailor.

Five hours after leaving the van I was back, despite being dark there were some kids looking like they had been swimming under the flood lights of a car. I decided that the lagoon would offer a more peaceful sleep though it was prohibited, there was a large motor home clearly set for the night so I felt safe. I cooked my dinner beside the van as a massive cruise liner headed out, the passengers enjoying fine dining and certainly a night in more comfortable bed.

I got in my sleeping bag, the survival shelter offering little extra warmth, it as cold. I added layers of coats and still felt like I dosed rather than slept.

Despite the cold 6.30 soon had me up and I moved to the beach car park. Sausages sizzled as the sun rose. The odd dog walker and a couple of open water swimmers also enjoying the dawn.

Too early to head home I drove to Lymington, a walk around Normandy marshes and a coffee at the town quay.

Of the countless yachts at Lymington only two really floated my boat, the drizzle was turning into rain and I headed home.