Meet the Crew
Five characters. Four legs. Four wheels. Questionable decisions.
Every adventure needs a crew. Ours consists of two humans, two dogs and one much-loved VW campervan called Vinny.
Between us, we bring the essentials: cold cider, cocktails, biscuits, a dartboard, far too much camping equipment and enough dog hair to reupholster the van.
We’re not hardcore adventurers. We’re much happier finding a good walk, a dog-friendly pub and somewhere lovely to pitch up for a few days. Things don’t always go according to plan — but, frankly, that’s usually when the best stories happen.
So, before we go any further, meet the people, paws and wheels behind Pitch & Giggles.
Michelle
Chief Calmer, Spider Slayer & Keeper of the Cold Cider
Michelle is the methodical half of the operation. While Alex is standing by the door asking why nobody is ready yet, Michelle is still patiently doing the thing she was asked to do three minutes ago — properly.
She doesn’t particularly worry about forgetting things. If we haven’t brought it, we probably don’t need it. That said, the travelling dartboard and oche somehow do qualify as essentials.
On site, Michelle’s responsibilities include maintaining calm, killing spiders, swatting wasps and ensuring everyone else has what they need before she’ll properly switch off herself. She has considerably less tolerance for wind, which she regards as a particularly tedious form of Chinese torture designed primarily to break camping equipment.
Her nemesis is the awning. It’s been erected three times. Nobody enjoyed any of them.
But give her a comfortable chair, a cold cider and a warm evening and she’s happy. Once the dogs have been walked and are snoozing, Alex is relaxed, nothing else needs doing and the stars are beginning to appear, it’s time for a little Kitchen Disco.
Natural habitat: Comfy chair, cider within reach
Never knowingly travels without: Dartboard and oche
Natural enemy: Wind. And the awning. Definitely the bloody awning.
Camping philosophy: If we haven’t got it, we don’t need it.
Alex
Campsite Domestic Goddess & Director of Cocktails
At home, Alex isn’t exactly campaigning for more housework.
Put her on a campsite, however, and she undergoes a remarkable transformation into a domestic goddess intent on feeding and looking after absolutely everybody.
This is a woman who has cooked a full roast pork dinner with homemade apple sauce while camping — on Vinny’s single-burner hob — presumably while neighbouring campers quietly contemplated their Pot Noodles.
She’s also responsible for Procurement…..Unfortunately.
Vinny has spent several years absorbing an endless procession of camping essentials, including numerous Temu discoveries, Swingball — played once — and, more recently, an ice maker and Ninja coolbox. The latter purchases have absolutely nothing to do with Alex’s cocktail-making operation. Obviously.
Her homemade rhubarb syrup finds its way into margaritas and martinis, while her Werther’s Originals toffee vodka has become something of a legend among our VW camping crowd.
She is also Zia/Auntie Alex: provider of swimming trips, presents, illicit goodies and an apparently bottomless supply of ice cubes to the younger members of our camping family.
But camping does something else for Alex.
Work and everyday life can be stressful. Once she’s away in Vinny, the responsibilities start to disappear. Her sparkle comes back. Our little van becomes a safe, cosy cave filled with dogs, friends, books, good food and the occasional cocktail.
Preferably several cocktails.
Natural habitat: Cocktail shaker in one hand, Paige Toon in the other
Camping essential: Increasingly difficult to define. Apparently an ice maker now.
Special skill: Producing food nobody has any right to expect from a campervan
Weakness: Mud. Alex and gravity have an ongoing disagreement.
Vinny
Transport, Accommodation & Family Protection
Vinny is our 2014 VW T5 T30, our home on wheels and the reason any of this happens at all.
We had him converted to order by Buy a Camper in South Devon and, seven years later, he’s very firmly part of the family.
The name started simply enough — Vinny the VW — although there’s always been a slight Mafia undertone. And it suits him. If Vinny were human, he’d be that favourite uncle who can still party with da family but who you instinctively know will make sure everybody gets home safely afterwards.
Technically, he started life with us capable of sleeping more people.
Then, at Dubs in the Middle, the wood in the pop-top bed bowed, the screws pulled out and the hydraulics made an enthusiastic attempt to fire the entire bed through the front of the roof.
Vinny has been strictly two-berth ever since.
He’s carried us around the NC500 over 18 nights, survived a shredded tyre and prompted one slightly embarrassing breakdown call in Wales when a deeply concerning noise turned out to be… a loose casing.
But he’s never actually let us down.
He’s small. With two humans and two dogs he’s occasionally very small. Several days of bad weather can make us dream of something bigger, and packing everything away simply to move to another location isn’t always ideal.
None of that really matters, though.
Because whether it’s Michelle and Hendricks having a rainy lie-in twenty minutes from home, or all four of us hundreds of miles away on an adventure, Vinny does the same thing.
We close the curtains.
And we’re home.
Safe, warm, dry and together.
We even camped on the driveway in him during Covid. Michelle sleeps better in Vinny than she does in the house.
He’s not just how we get away.
He’s the place we go to get away.
Born: 2014
Occupation: Campervan, safe space and occasional bedroom-launching device
Biggest adventure: 18 nights around the NC500
Family motto: Vinny looks after da family.
Hendricks
Senior Campsite Inspector & Biscuit Connoisseur
Hendricks Hall is an 11-year-old first-generation Labradoodle, Michelle’s velcro dog, Alex’s baby and the senior statesman of Pitch & Giggles.
His interests include food, pubs, food, gentle walks, food, humans and food.
He is essentially a four-legged waste-disposal unit blessed with an unexpectedly educated palate for the finer things.
Ask Hendricks if he’d like to go to the pub and you’ll see eleven years disappear instantly. As far as he’s concerned, every reputable drinking establishment should provide an endless supply of dog biscuits and people willing to fuss him.
Campsite arrival follows an equally established routine.
Get out of Vinny.
Immediate poo.
Ten minutes of excitement.
Relax.
These days he’s more steady plodder than intrepid explorer. His brain occasionally forgets he’s a senior gentleman and tells him to leap around like a puppy, only for his body to scatter metaphorical banana skins underneath him.
Then there’s his little sister.
It took Hendricks a while to understand why we’d brought home what appeared to be a living squeaky toy. Eventually he accepted Boë as family. He’ll ignore her when it suits him, become deeply irritated when she licks his face, and look thoroughly exasperated by her behaviour.
But if his gobby little sister gets herself into an argument, he’s right there beside her.
She’s a pain in my arse. But she’s MY pain in the arse.
Boë has also introduced Hendricks to the previously unexplored hobbies of bin-raiding and trying to hump other dogs. He remains genuinely surprised when his romantic advances aren’t appreciated.
For all the laughs, though, Hendricks is something very special to us.
He’s gentle, sensitive, astonishingly intuitive and protective without an ounce of aggression. He toe-taps his greetings, seems to understand a ridiculous amount of human language and can stare straight through you.
Once, when our friends’ black Labrador Ronnie disappeared into the darkness while camping, we sent Hendricks to find him.
A little while later, Hendricks trotted back out of the darkness with Ronnie beside him, looking immensely pleased with himself.
That’s Hendricks.
We sometimes think he could have made an incredible assistance dog.
Instead, he seems to have spent eleven years looking after his own two humans.
We’re very glad he chose us.
Perfect pitch: Off-lead walks, easy river access and a bottomless treat tin
Pub rating system: Biscuits + fusses = excellent establishment
Sleeping position: Own bed, unless it’s cold — then he’s the filling in a human sandwich
Official verdict: Hendricks Knows Best
Boë
Head of Security, Wildlife Surveillance & Unsolicited Announcements
Five-year-old Cockapoo Boë completes our crew.
Like Hendricks, she’s named after Scottish gin. Unlike Hendricks, she appears to believe she is responsible for the security of Western Europe.
Boë is sassy, gobby and offensively cute.
Arriving at a campsite means immediately establishing jurisdiction. Humans passing the pitch receive an extraordinary selection of warbles designed to solicit attention and strokes.
Dogs receive a rather different announcement.
THIS PITCH IS OCCUPIED. MOVE ALONG.
In the pub she’s generally good as gold, happily snoozing beneath the table — unless another dog walks in that she doesn’t like the look of, at which point our adorable teddy bear can perform an alarmingly convincing Incredible Hulk transformation.
Her greatest passion, however, is wildlife.
Boë’s recall is actually very good.
Unless there’s a squirrel.
Then we’re apparently working with more of an advisory system.
Once the squirrel reaches a tree, Boë will stand underneath emitting blood-curdling noises which, to the untrained ear, suggest a dog is being garrotted with barbed wire.
She is completely unharmed.
She’s just furious about the squirrel.
Her preferred sleeping quarters in Vinny are the double captain’s chair, giving her an excellent view through the window. This also enables Boë to provide her patented Campsite Alarm Clock Service.
Should one of our camping friends emerge from their van in the morning, Boë will warble, yelp and eventually jump on our heads.
Someone is awake.
Therefore everyone should be awake.
There may be biscuits.
Despite considering herself Hendricks’ superior, she adores her big brother — even if her insistence on maternally licking his mouth makes him question every decision that led to her joining the family.
And perhaps the best thing she’s given him is something she probably doesn’t even realise.
She’s kept him young.
Boë challenges us. She makes us laugh every single day. She’s far more independent than Hendricks and doesn’t hand out affection quite so freely.
Which makes those moments when she’s tired, turns back into our little teddy bear, climbs onto a lap and buries her face into your neck all the more special.
Because when Boë chooses you for a cuddle, you know she means it.
Natural habitat: Woodland with an irresponsible number of squirrels
Special skill: Going from teddy bear to DEFCON 1 without warning
Alarm setting: Whenever somebody on the campsite gets up
Official verdict: Boë’s Verdict — wildlife good, livestock behind a fence VERY BAD.
That’s Us
We’re not trying to conquer mountains, survive in the wilderness or prove that you can live for six weeks with nothing but a titanium mug and one pair of pants.
We like comfortable chairs.
We take a dartboard camping.
We own an ice maker.
One of our dogs expects pubs to provide biscuits, the other considers squirrels a personal insult, and somewhere in a cupboard is an awning we really don’t want to talk about.
Sometimes we’ll travel hundreds of miles.
Sometimes we’ll pitch up twenty minutes from home.
Because for us, camping isn’t really about how far we go.
It’s about closing Vinny’s curtains, putting the everyday world outside for a while and being together.
Preferably with a cold cider, a decent cocktail and absolutely no bloody wind.
Welcome to the crew.