On Storms, Draughts and Wearing Coats Indoors

Heavy rain imprisons us. We have been locked in our little box for thirty-six hours now, trying to judge gaps between downpours to take the dogs for essential toilet breaks. The one saving grace is our sea view, which is revealed to us when the rain briefly eases off to a steady downpour.

We lay last night in the drop-down bed above the driver and passenger seats listening to windblown rain bouncing off our thin plastic roof like handfuls of thrown gravel. Thunder crashed and lightning flashed, but we were warm and dry in our duvet cocoon. Getting out of bed this morning was less pleasant.

Our Hymer is a cold home if we park facing the wrong direction. We always try to stop port side windward.  The motorhomes weakness is its starboard side. There’s a large vent behind the fridge and another behind the oven. A gale blows through both of them unless the vents are sheltered, as it does through what’s left of our rear bedroom window.

Last summer, I reversed the Hymer along a narrow passage at a boatyard through towering sailboats on steel cradles. I should have checked for open windows first. Cynthia and I taped the shattered pieces together, ordered another through our Dutch motorhome mechanic and waited, and waited, and then waited some more. The old Hymer window needs making to order. We’ve been waiting for the replacement since last August.

In the meantime, wind whistles through untaped cracks and through the fridge and cooker vents. We parked facing the sea for the view. The price we pay for the sight of crashing surf as we eat our meals is a draughty home. Our internal thermometers are set differently. While Cynthia works her early morning magic in front of a flaming stove dressed in a light summer top, I sit still as I type, exposed to a constant breeze which chills me to the bone. Sometimes I have to resort to wearing a fleece hat indoors, occasionally a coat too.

I suppose a possible solution is to get off my fat and lazy arse and give Cynthia a hand with cooking breakfast. I could, but she does such a good job. It’s a shame to disturb her.

Bands of rain sweep towards us

Bands of rain sweep towards us

Early morning in a draughty motorhome

Early morning in a draughty motorhome

Please Help Keep This Site Online

If you enjoy reading these posts, if you find the masses of information on this site and my popular narrowboat site, livingonanarrowboat.co.uk both useful and entertaining, please help keep it available for those who both want and need it. There are eight years of painstakingly written and researched information on hundreds of posts and pages on the two sites. They may be lost forever if I can't find a way to maintain them. Click on the button below to find out more.

Click Here to Find Out More
Paul Smith

Click Here to Leave a Comment Below 4 comments
Paul Kelly - February 27, 2018

Paul,I temp fixed our smashed/cracked window with some 2mm poly bought from B&Q and a specifc glue for same from same.Itb works a treat,I asume similar store in France/Spain,UK total cost was maybe GBP 13,store cut me Poly to size as long as you buy complete sheet – a thought?? regards

    Paul Smith - February 27, 2018

    Thanks for the suggestion Paul. I’ll bear it in mind, but the window has been broken since last summer. We’ll be driving north to the Netherlands in four weeks. Our long awaited replacement window should have arrived at our Dutch repair centre by then.

Ian of Alchemy - March 1, 2018

“Our long awaited replacement window should have arrived at our Dutch repair centre by then “.

Great to see your optimism still shining bright after so long in the cold draughts !

Thats the way ! 😊

    Paul Smith - March 1, 2018

    I don’t know whether it’s optimism or desperation Ian. The Dutch company has had the order for six months now. The window would come in handy today. Forty knot gusts have turned the inside of the Hymer into a wind tunnel!


Leave a Reply: