Benny And The Breakers
Benny, the Breakers Yard, and the Buzzing Bargain Hunt
Why scrapyards are underrated (unless you’re a wasp or a mildly traumatised motorhome)
When you own a classic van like Benny, you get used to one truth pretty quickly: maintaining him isn’t always about popping into Halfords for a quick fix, it’s sometimes about full-blown foraging.
And that’s how I found myself in a local breakers yard last week, donning a hi-vis vest and channelling my inner Lara Croft, in search of treasure: a working spare wheel cage (thanks to the RAC destroying the original one) and some good old-fashioned cupboard catches (because apparently Benny’s like a game of Motorhome Roulette, and everything likes to fly out on corners).
Now, Benny was not fully on board with this little jaunt. In fact, I’m fairly sure he thought his time was up as we rolled into the scrapyard, surrounded by the skeletal remains of campers past. You could almost hear his hinges shudder. But I promised him this was about preservation, not punishment, and off I went with Grandad Dave (my stepdad) to scavenge what we could could.
Why Scrapyards Deserve a Bit More Love:
Breakers yards might not smell of new leather or have a coffee machine in reception, but they are the unsung heroes of budget-conscious, rare and older vehicle maintenance.
If, and it’s a big if, you can find the part you need, it will cost a fraction of the dealer price, that’s if the dealer even stocks it anymore, which in Benny’s case is a hard no.
But be warned: you may also find…
Rusty screws welded in by time and rain
Sharp things determined to find your shins
Entire hornets’ nests inside a decaying motorhome door
Yes, really. On this particular visit, we disturbed not one, but two enormous wasp nests while poking around a once loved motorhome. Cue poor Grandad Dave getting stung and doing a dance that not even TikTok’s ready for.
Still, we found what we came for (eventually): a solid spare wheel cage and those elusive cupboard catches.
The Aftermath (and the Victory Dance):
Yesterday, that spare wheel cage was lovingly fitted by Grandad Dave, and Benny’s spare is now safely secured beneath the van and not rattling around our living space like some sort of oversized bowling ball.
The cupboard catches are still to be installed so that our next adventure won’t be accompanied by a chorus of rogue utensils and slamming doors. The end result is more confident adventures knowing that should we ever get another puncture, we’re well equipped.
Benny might have feared for his life in that scrapyard, but I like to think of it as a little organ donation clinic for vans. He’s stronger, safer, and sassier than ever, and all the better for it.
Next stop: the open road. With our spare wheel not wedged behind Leo’s seat for once.
The Surprisingly Essential Travel Item I Never Leave Behind.
Do I use egg cosies? No, I’m chaotic, not Victorian!
But that question unlocked a full blown confession about one of my most treasured possessions: my tea cosy.
Now before you judge, let me say this: when you’re parenting solo on the road (and constantly interrupted mid-brew), a tea cosy isn’t just a cosy, it’s a therapeutic coping mechanism.
I’m a tea snob at heart. Coffee has its place, but tea is comfort. Tea is home. Tea is survival.
And yet, despite boiling the kettle roughly 86 times a day, I rarely drink a full hot cup. More often than not, I find stone-cold mugs dotted around Benny, like the forgotten dreams of a tired mother.
So I developed a system. A slightly shocking system that would make tea purists weep:
I brew three teabags in a four-cup teapot
Let it reach the perfect strength and REMOVE the teabags
Add milk straight into the pot (yes, INTO the pot)
Stir lovingly
Pop the tea cosy on like a woolly little crown
And just like that, I’ve got a stash of non-stewed, hot cups of tea that I can grab whenever the stars align and I actually get to sit down.
No reboiling. No microwave. No wasted teabags. No lukewarm disappointment. Just hot, comforting sanity in a cup.
So while others pack power banks, portable grills, and folding furniture, I proudly bring my teapot and tea cosy. It might not charge your devices, but it recharges me.
Helen’s Unofficial Motorhome Brew Kit
4 cup teapot (mine’s seen better days, but I love it)
My woolly tea cosy (yes, it travels with us)
A mix of Betty‘s afternoon tea, Smuggler”s Gold, and some Emergency herbal teas
Fine bone China cup, my current favourite is made by Dunoon (I know, an accident waiting to happen on bumpy Benny journeys)
No cupholders means no travel mugs sadly
So no, I don’t bother with egg cosies. But if you ever see a steaming teacup perched on Benny’s table, now you’ll know there’s a whole ridiculous system behind it. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.
A huge thank you to Robert, one of our lovely followers, for the question that sparked this post. I know a simple yes or no would’ve done, but sometimes, life’s not that simple. Especially when it involves tea.
If you have a question for Leo or me, or about our travels or motorhoming in general, please pop them in the comments or use social media and we’ll be delighted to answer them for you.
Back On The Road!
Benny’s Back on the Road — and So Am I (Sort Of)
This morning, I waved Leo off on his school residential — his first big solo adventure ever!
There are no violins playing, but the truth is… life with a child like Leo is a beautiful, relentless battle. Every single day we fight for the basics: medical care, education, the support he’s entitled to — or simply unpicking dysregulated behaviour to bring comfort in the moment and learn from it for the future.
The bureaucracy, the red tape, the constant advocating, and the need to micromanage every detail of your child’s care… it wears you down.
The Emotional Toll of Caring
It’s not just physical exhaustion.
It drains your mind, your heart, your soul.
But Leo’s needs come first. Always.
That’s the job.
That’s the love.
That’s also the triumph — and the cost.
The Habit of Doing It All Alone
Somewhere in all that giving, I’ve realised something important:
I never ask for help.
I don’t accept it when it’s offered.
I don’t rely on others — because, in line with past experience, it’s the only way to avoid disappointment.
As much as that’s stubbornness and independence (and, let’s be honest, pride), it’s also me robbing others of the joy I know so well: the joy of giving.
I love to give — of my time, of random gifts, of comfort. It brings me happiness to lighten someone else’s load. But I’ve rarely allowed that same joy to be returned.
A Work in Progress
I’m working on it.
So… I’m trying to break the habit.
Leo’s away, and instead of filling the time with chores or overcompensating, I’m choosing rest.
Sleep
Eat well
Cook over a campfire
Try out some new recipes using beautiful Devon produce
(After all, Cooking, Campfires and Chromosomes isn’t just a catchy title.)
And most of all: breathe.
Benny’s Back Too
Benny — freshly MOT’d, fully suited, and hand-washed within an inch of his bumpers — is thrilled to be back on the road.
And me?
I’m quietly thrilled to remember that I still exist outside the role of full-time carer.
To Other Parents and Carers:
Please remember this:
Ask for help.
Accept it when it’s offered.
Let people in.
You’re not failing by asking.
You’re not failing by resting.
The housework can wait.
You’re not weak for needing support.
You’re simply human.
Let this be your reminder — and mine. 💛
Bucket Hats and Wobbly Legs
Fun fact: the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct in Wales is the tallest navigable aqueduct in the UK, soaring 126 feet (38m) above the River Dee, and stretching a leg-wobbling 1,007 feet (307m) across the valley on 19 skinny stone arches. Sounds like a relaxing stroll, right?
Well… Leo wasn’t so sure.
You can walk it, paddle it by canoe, or float across in a longboat—but Leo opted for the “if I can’t see it, it’s not scary” approach and yanked his bucket hat down over his eyes like a medieval visor. To be fair, I don’t blame him—it’s basically sky-walking with a handrail.
Still, he was brave, put his head down, and made it all the way across AND BACK with only minimal whimpering (mostly from me). A proper adventurer!
Our Wild Ride!
On our recent adventure to Morecambe, we happened on a funfair and of course Leo wanted to go. We did the ‘House of Fun’ and then he wanted to go on the dodgems, and we had tokens to use, soooo…
Neither of us could have known that the metal plate in the footwell of the side I got into, was a dummy. Neither could we have known that the metal plate in Leo’s footwell, was the actual accelerator. The ride operator was impatient and hurried us into the car to start the ride, so we just climbed in. I would say at this point, Leo has no idea what an accelerator is, and was completely unaware of the power that was about to be bestowed on him. In hindsight, this was never going to end well. There were a mixture of other cars on the circuit, but mostly Dad‘s and young children out for what they thought was going to be the equivalent of a Sunday drive. There was also the boisterous ‘go lightly’ family who were hell bent on bringing death and destruction to not just each other, but anyone in their path. I had a firm grip of the steering wheel as our car suddenly hurtled at full speed, which felt like 80-85mph. I took my foot off the metal plate I thought was the accelerator but still we gathered speed. I turned frantically toward Leo trying to be stoic and calm (so as to not worry him) but he was already terrified and had adopted what could only be described as the ‘brace’ position, with his thumbs in his ears and the remaining fingers clasped tightly over his eyes. There was no penetrating his self inflicted force field so in my terror, I had to try and lean over him to try and physically lift his leg off the accelerator. Bear in mind that I was also trying to steer our way out of danger! Anyway, I was pulling at his tracksuit bottoms and his leg but it was impossible. He was rigid with fear and I think like me, just wanted the ride to end. Can I also add at this point, that it’s so hard trying to give the illusion that everything was under control. Not just to Leo but also onlookers who had me branded as that ‘competitive’ mum with a point to prove. A lot of this is a blur but I remember being on the verge of T-boning another dodgem containing a little blond girl and in taking evasive action, planted Leo and I at full speed into an empty dodgem on the side of the track. I instinctively put one arm out to save Leo which resulted in me flying forward and impaling myself on the steering wheel in dramatic style, winding myself. I may have blacked out for millisecond but I suddenly became aware of Leo trying to get out of our car and run the gauntlet to the other side of the track where we had alighted. I pulled him back in and sat him down and before I could stop him putting his foot down, whoosh…we were off again!!! I can honestly say I have never been more terrified in my life. Just when I thought I couldn’t be in any more pain, we crashed into the barrier and were then slammed from behind by one of the ‘go-lightly’ family. Leo had found his stride by this point, confusing my maniacal screams of terror for joy, and shouted “Again, Mummy! Again!”
I signalled to the ride operator using the international sign for ‘Finish!’ (using the throat slitting action) to which he promptly disabled our car to finally end our ordeal.
I’m still not recovered but I am chuckling about it, mostly because full on laughing hurts! I genuinely think I have broken a rib which may or may not be sticking into my lung, and I may need a knee cap replacement when we return home. The main thing is though, Leo has had a good day and is thankfully injury free. Not sure where we are heading next, but it better not have a funfair. 😂
P.S. I genuinely don’t think Leo has any clue of the part he played in our near downfall. Ignorance really is bliss. 🥰
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