I had a cooker, a fridge, a thingy to pipe out waste water, a pull-out double bed, a shower and a nice china tea set. You wouldn't have thought so many creature comforts could be fitted into such a minuscule space but there was even a loo in this chintz-upholstered pod of cream-painted dinkiness that was going to be home for the next two nights. And I had a plastic can of blue stuff to put in the loo. It was the one thing that had always deterred me from taking a caravan holiday. Would I be up to the challenge of a chemical khazi?

Despite that, I had always fancied caravanning. There is something about not having to submit to B&B landladies or hunt for hotels, about being free of airplane angst and sleeping close to nature and travelling with your own roof over your head like a snail, albeit a snail leading a parade of aggrieved motorists desperate to get past.

Yes, it was the open road for me, or rather, the Blackmore site run by the Country and Caravanning Club. My caravan was an Avondale two-berth and I even had an Izuku Trooper to tow it around so I could experience what it was like to be the most reviled creature on the road. For days beforehand I had been practising my king-of-the-road look, the one with the air of quiet mastery that says, "Don't mess with me. I've reversed a caravan."

The Blackmore site is one of 93 run by the Camping and Caravanning Club in the UK and is open all year round. It is well run, spotless and beautiful. Even the dustbin areas have little picket fences around them. You do not have to be in a caravan to stay there; tents and camper vans are made just as welcome. There are 200 pitches with hook-up points for electricity, a recreation room, launderette and two large, squeaky clean shower blocks with, oh joy, real loos.

It is situated close to the splendid old town of Malvern, against a backdrop of purple-blue hills and on the edge of the village of Hanley Swan, which sounds like the sort of name a writer of 1930s detective thrillers ought to have. Beyond lie Worcester, Tewkesbury, Herefordshire and a cornucopia of delights to be explored at leisure: the county cricket ground and 14th-century cathedral, the Elgar Trail. But instead I devoted the afternoon of my arrival to performing excitingly novel acts - such as connecting the waste-water pipe to the waste-water tank and trying to remember which red button operated the hot water system and which fused all the lights.

Exhausted by my labours, I then walked the pleasant mile or so into Hanley Swan where a traffic jam of 4x4 vehicles was being caused by a line of ducks crossing the road (clearly they didn't know I was about to be let loose with my Avondale). The walk back seemed considerably longer than a mile, no doubt owing to the half-pint of red wine I had consumed with my Thai curry at the excellent Swan Inn. This was also possibly why I couldn't work out how to transform two sofas and a table into a double bed, but I was narcoleptically comfortable on the sofa with just a caravan window between me and The Great Outdoors.

I woke to the tweet of birds and "Mornin's" of pre-breakfast dog-walkers (there are three essential words you need if you want to shine socially on a campsite. One is "Mornin' "; the others are "Artnoon' " and "D'Evenin' ".) A couple wearing floppy hats and carrying shooting sticks meandered across the road. Children rode up and down on scooters. Buxom ladies headed off for an early morning jog. My caravan seemed rather humdrum and denuded beside the pennants and decorated flagpoles that graced the homes of more seasoned campers.

I knew I was hooked when I started leafing through brochures for gazebos, awnings and pup tents. I tried to tell myself that what I really wanted to be doing on holiday was white-water rafting followed by a spot of yomping up Kilimanjaro, but it was too late. I found myself whistling nonchalantly as I hung up wet towels in the laundry. I wanted to play ping-pong in the recreation room, and wear white ankle socks under open-toed sandals.

Instead I set off for a look at Malvern, though a baffling mass of B roads meant I fetched up not in the centre of town (famous public school, priory, elegant Georgian buildings) but a kind of Malvern-lite. It was nevertheless very nice. It had a proper high street with proper old-fashioned shops called things like Wireless Supply and Max's Quality Hairdressing For All The Family. I considered popping into London House Outfitters to see if they had any white ankle socks, but decided that would be too much excitement for one day and returned to the camp site. People were still sitting on foldaway chairs and the same boy was going up and down the drive on his scooter. The site manager's motor mower chugged peacefully along a distant patch of grass. No one played loud music or left engines running or vomited outside bars. The same couple with the same floppy hats and the same shooting sticks were crossing the same stretch of road.

I was reminded of sunny suburban cul-de-sacs of childhood and here, I do believe, lies the charm of the caravan holiday; not only is it home from home, but it is home that does not exist any more, a peaceful haven of quiet contentment where no one scratches the paintwork on your car or rings up in the middle of dinner to flog you double glazing. You go off hiking. You go exploring on your mountain bikes or walk the dog. You hammer in tent pegs and nurse the barbie into action and sleep log-like in unpolluted air. It isn't exotic. It isn't extreme. But the people sitting in the autumnal sunshine looked as free of care as if they were sipping piña coladas under waving palms on Mustique.

And caravanning is so cheap, especially if you have C&C Club membership. Even in high season, a pitch at Blackmore costs only £5.50 per adult per night (it's £1.65 for children, who get in free in low season), and there is a £13.50 special deal for families. For this you get loos, showers (including facilities for the disabled), washing-up sinks, laundry, parent and child room, recreation hall and play area, as well as a caravan service point, and there is a shopette at the site manager's office if you run out of milk or chocolate. Backpackers get a special reduced rate of £4.80. The main overhead is the £1.65 for your electric hook-up. Pets are welcome as long as they are at all times kept on a lead no longer than two metres.

Every little unit brought their personal touches to the holiday. There was a gin and tonic tent and a chardonnay tent. At six each night, a serene young woman plonked herself on a folding chair behind a picnic table and watched the sun sink over the Malvern Hills with a giant glass of red wine. A girl walked a rabbit on a collar and lead. Hale-looking greybeards carefully prepared slices of lemon, a young mum spoonfed her baby on the grass. People lit barbecues and adjusted windbreaks and reclined in their gazebos. Little girls played football. Everyone said "D'Evenin'" to everyone else.

And I tell you something amazing. I had feared boredom, but time absolutely whizzed by. And on my last day, having lived in my caravan, I was now about to find out how to drive it. Barrie Price, the lovely site manager, showed me how to prepare it for the road. We tucked away the waste-water pipes and the little metal legs on which my home had rested, and jammed the crockery tightly together at the back of the shelves. We hooked the caravan on to the back of the Isuzu Trooper, I started the engine and moved gingerly down the drive. It was remarkably easy. Even reversing it was not the ordeal I thought it would be.

There will be no stopping me now. Derwentwater in the spring. Then the Scottish lakes; I might even bring the family hamster - on a two-metre lead, of course. And later, who knows, I might cross the Channel in a motorhome and hitch up my waste-water pipe in the Vendée, or Mediterranean Spain, Norway, Hungary or any of the dozens of other sites offered by the Carefree Travel Service, the foreign touring division of the Camping and Caravanning Club. I might even get to grips with the chemical loo. Yee-ha! Queen of the road!

Getting there: Blackmore Camp (Site No 2 Hanley Swan, Worcestershire WR8 OEE, tel: 01684 310280) costs £5.30 per adult and £1.65 per child. Non C&C club members pay £4.50 more. Further information: The Camping and Caravanning Club, Greenfields House, Westward Way, Coventry CV4 8JH (tel: 02476 694995, campingandcaravanningclub.co.uk). Members pay £27.50 a year and get reduced fees at 93 sites nationwide and other benefits. There are 320,000 members. An "entry-level" Avondale two-berth costs around £10,000.