In my sporadic grumps I'd been imagining spending the entirety of the Christmas period in a tent, far away from any kind of frivolity or need for explanation. Nearing the end of December it wasn't traditionally appealing weather for camping, but we bumbled down to Dartmoor to find a little wilderness. It had been a while since Burt* had been on an adventure that wasn't purely practical and the sound of him dragging our "new" bell tent up the hills reminded us why we need to buy a less rusty exhaust pipe.

*There was only so long we could refer it as the carpet van. His name is derived from his facial expression and burbling engine noises.