Pulling into this site is like arriving at the polite version of a festival. There are no mud pits or dubious portaloos. Instead, you get a gravelly welcome that crunches satisfyingly under your tyres, as if the ground itself is saying, “Good choice, old chap.” The staff at reception are so cheerful you’ll suspect they’ve been spiking the tea with happy pills.
The site sits right on the edge of Moreton-in-Marsh town, which is a bit like having a pub in your back garden—except without the hangover. You can walk into the high street in about ten minutes, past honey-coloured stone cottages that look like they were built by a master baker. Pro tip: don’t try to clean your motorhome in the rain; you’ll just look tragic and damp.
The Pitch: Room For Your Actual Life
Let’s get to the important bit: the pitches. These aren’t those postage-stamp spaces where you have to fold your chair origami-style. No, these are generous, lush green rectangles that feel like real estate in a fairy tale. You get your own electric hook-up point, a water tap, and a drainage point so you don’t have to brave the “grey water dump” like a medieval peasant.
I set up my awning and immediately regretted not bringing a garden gnome to complete the scene. The grass is so well-kept you’ll feel guilty for parking on it. The only downside? Birds. They will watch you eat your breakfast with the cold, judgmental stare of a Cotswold pensioner who thinks you’re using the wrong fork.
