Our man in the van: We’ll do anything but use the toilet

Now we’re into our second week in the van, I’m ready to pitch my theory on resistance to cabin fever: the duration for which you’ll happily sleep in a van is inversely proportional to the number of people staying in it.

Hardly a groundbreaking hypothesis, I know, but it has been much more comfortable in the van since half our party said au revoir the morning after the Sweden game.

Things had started to get cosy. Ours is — according to the rental company — a maximum three person van, with a double bed in the back and a small single bed which is folded out from a tiny table and seat behind the driver’s chair.

In Paris, two of us shared the bed, another slept in the single and the fourth turned the passenger seat in the driver’s cabin, reclined it as far as he could, and stretched his legs out across the legs of the man in the single bed.

This arrangement was at its most difficult if anyone had a call of nature, as the single bed blocks the way out, and one of our self-imposed rules in the van is to not use the on-board toilet.

The rental agreement states that we have to return the van as we received it, and that doesn’t just extend to a full tank of diesel, but also an empty waste tank.

To spare us the hassle of cleaning the latter, we just don’t use it at all. Having witnessed one Irishman walk through a campsite with his sealed waste container, arms outstretched, nose turned up in disgust, I think we made the right call.

The campsite toilets, showers and other facilities have been excellent so far, making this rule easier to obey. We hadn’t extended this policy to the cooking equipment on board, but so far it has been pub grub all the way.

France maybe the home of fine cuisine, but so far our dining experiences have been limited to whatever is on the menu in the bar. This may change soon, because I think if we see another pizza we’ll scream.

So for now the two of us still here haven’t killed each other, though the van did feel a little smaller the morning after one heavy session of singing and pints in an Arcachon bar, a night described by one 81-year-old Irishman over with his son as the best craic he’s ever seen in a pub.

Tomorrow morning we start the long trip to Lille. We’ll head east, come around the south of Bordeaux where we’ll then head North and break for a night in Tours, before setting off the rest of the way on Monday morning.