Bertha sits pleasantly idle on the drive. Enjoying her own vacation, she is no longer roughly pulled along the many concrete ribbons of motorway, as her shiny cutlery rattles and left open cupboard doors slam aggressively shut. She wears her barely visible, touring badges with pride as she remembers sunny days spent in Holland, Germany and France.
She has lived a life has Bertha, her original family obviously took good care of her, although for a while she had no purpose. Left alone, unloved and neglected, in a forest of nettles and dandelions that grew lazily around the arches of her tiny wheels. Her new home is much prettier. It's garden is cared for. It's family busy and overcrowded, so Bertha has a new role as a spare room, which suits her retirement perfectly.
As her owner lovingly restores her, she dreamily sits in the sun admiring the rambling roses that climb the white picket fence. She is so pleased to see that daisies are being planted in the front border, as they sway in the breeze, they really brighten the place up.
Bertha feels content in her old age, she feels loved again, admired and useful. Her peeling paint is in need of a fresh coat, but she overheard her owners making plans to get the job finished this weekend, as they were tidying up the red vine that climbs gracefully up the front of their little, old house.
Of course, with some work she could tour on the road again, but for now she is happy to be static, behind white picket gates, and watch the passers by on their way down to the quayside and the pub. Her life is peaceful. She is satisfied with what she has and where she has been. Her life as a retro caravan, sitting in the front garden is completely idyllic.