“Fraud, Family, and Flat Floors: A Moho Misadventure” We came back from Newbury Showground feeling like we’d just been crowned royalty of the motorhome realm.
- Three sunny days.
- New friends.
- Plenty of laughs.
- And… oh yes — we may have accidentally bought a replacement motorhome. Just a small purchase. Barely noticed it, really.
We were also teetering between joy and melancholy, knowing we were soon saying goodbye to our beloved “Happy Little Place” — the moho that had seen us through every wobble, wrong turn, biblical flood, and wonder-filled lay-by since August.
The Letterbox of Doom
Back at the flat, tired but happy, we swung open the apartment block door, blissfully unaware that fate was about to trip us up — with a bent bit of metal.
Our letterbox was ajar. Not just ajar — violated. The lock was bent, like it had been through a minor post-based car crash. Jo had noticed tampering weeks before, but we’d waved it off like a poorly-written soap plot. This time, it was unmistakable.
Oddly, the post, letters not the said car crash post, was still inside. And more oddly, among the bills and leaflets promising 10% off denture glue, were two treasures:
- A credit card I hadn’t ordered
- And the PIN for said card Whoever had done this wasn’t just nosy — they were professionals.
I was being… cloned.
The Great Identity Heist
Naturally, I told Jo we were heading straight to the police. We marched down, righteous and caffeinated — only to find two officers walking to the locked doors in front of them and us.
“Station’s closed,” they said. Of course it was. Welcome to Britain.
They advised calling the fraud line instead first thing in the morning, they were also closed as no crime happens at night. So home we trudged, my credit score flapping nervously behind me like a windswept umbrella.
I logged into Experian.
20 attempts to open credit in my name… on one day.
Twenty!
That’s not identity theft — that’s a hostile takeover.
What followed was an exhausting montage of:
- Calling banks
- Cancelling things I didn’t sign up for
- Locking down everything except the biscuit tin It cost me a couple hundred quid just to secure my financial life. Jo started handing me cups of tea like I was running mission control at NASA.
Family Feud: The Probate Wars
Then things took a darker turn — cue EastEnders drumbeat.
We began thinking: Who could have done this? I’m very protective of my data. I use fake birth dates online. I give less away than a tax-dodging magician.
Then it hit us.
My brothers.
You see, until Dad passed in August, they’d been largely absent. Then, as if summoned by the scent of inheritance, they emerged — texting threats, making demands, and acting like they were in line for the crown jewels.
They’d even tried to get my bank details under the pretence of “sending my share”. I wasn’t having it. I contacted the probate solicitor, only to learn they’d sacked him the moment they got probate. Classy.
We got threats. Jo got a cheque — I got a nasty letter.
And the pièce de résistance? They claimed to have “forensically examined” our accounts and threatened to call the police — for stealing my father’s money, the very money I never touched except as LPA, despite six years of care.
Honestly, Netflix should call. I have scripts for days.
Faith, Fraud and Floors
We informed the police. Solicitors advised caution. I wrestled with Christian forgiveness and the less biblical urge to launch potatoes at their windows. God would reap justice, I was certain of that.
But back to our Happy Little Place. We had dreams of upgrading to an Adria — and my inheritance (what little I received) was going towards it. But with the fraud damage, credit blocks, and Jo’s work future uncertain, the loan was doomed.
And just like that, BANG! The Adria was off the table.
We grieved. We really did. That van was like a five-star hotel on wheels, complete with mood lighting and a full lounge where you could stretch without hitting the kettle.
So, in true British style, we had a cuppa and cracked on.
Enter the Burstner: Redemption on Wheels
That weekend, we took Happy Little Place to Highbridge for warranty work. While we waited, we wandered… and there she was.
- A 4-year-old Burstner Harmony TD744 Line.
- Only 10,000 miles.
- Drop-down bed.
- Flat floors.
- A full-length lounge that didn’t require human Tetris.
It was love.
It was as though Happy Little Place had whispered, “It’s alright, I’ve taught you well — now fly free.”
Even better, Highbridge could sort the finances. Our old van had decent trade-in value, and Dave — the world’s most patient salesman — helped us stitch together a deal that made sense.
We put my inheritance towards it (insert spiritual eye-roll at the irony), and July 2nd became our official collection date.
Farewell, Happy Little Place
We’ll miss her. Her squeaky door. Her tiny dance-floor of a kitchen. Her personality — part stubborn, part sweet.
She saw us through our first motorhome journey, our learning curve, and yes, even our drone incident (but that’s a story in a previous blog).
But “Happy Little Place II” awaits — shinier, roomier, sassier.
We’ve learnt a lot this past month:
- That fraudsters are relentless.
- That family isn’t always about blood.
- That a motorhome can heal you from the world. We’re not bitter. Okay, maybe just a little. But mostly, we’re thankful. Praise the Lord!
Here’s to new beginnings, slightly flatter floors, and the unshakeable joy of knowing that adventure waits — just one ignition key away.
Post-Script: Jo’s Final Thought
Joanna wanted to add one final comment:
“Our close family and our few friends are the most precious. Walking the path of honesty and righteousness can sometimes be hard but knowing that what we have done is the right thing, this will give us peace to be able to sleep and stand up tall and straight.” Fair point, Jo. Fair point.
Thanks for reading — and do follow along for more adventures, laughter, mishaps, and hopefully no more mailbox crime scenes. Security Questionnaire Coming Soon: “Burstner Baptism: Our First Trip in the New Beast” Also in Development: “That Time the Drone Tried to Kill Me”