A cold, wet breath fogs the inside of the windscreen and the little fan heater hums like it’s trying to blow up a hot air balloon with a paper straw. It’s zero degrees in here and the heat isn’t touching the sides. Morale is similar. So today’s heroic act is not a fancy fit-out or a miraculous time-lapse; it’s me, in a woolly hat, admitting the van build has been glacial for six months and choosing to tell the truth anyway.

I’ve lifted the floor, I’ve put in two windows, and I’ve got one of those windows sitting a bit too low with a lesson baked in. The point of this project, right now, is to get back into the rhythm of sharing—story first, sawdust second. If you came for hardcore build porn, fair warning: this is the bit where we make tea, pick our way through mess, and line up the next sensible step. Unsexy. Necessary.

Tools & plan
Gloves on, kettle on, optimism fading. I’ve got a useless fan heater, a flask, a scraper and pry bar for the floor, the impact driver, a tape measure, masking tape, a broom, and a roll of butyl and sealant for the window fitting I probably shouldn’t attempt in this cold. The plan is simple: warm up what I can, tidy the battlefield, check the window heights and seals, make a list that won’t lie to me, and film a straight catch-up so the story gets moving again.

A cold, miserable start
I plug in the heater and wait. Nothing. Not even licking the bloody sides of the van. Adhesives won’t cure, fingers won’t bend, and the floor looks like a skip had a night out. I give up on any job that needs temperature or finesse and switch to something I can actually do: sweep, stack, take stock. Then I make tea, because I am not an animal.

Why the build stalled (and why I’m back)
The last meaningful work happened in August 2024. Then life crept in, the evenings got short, and I lost the thread. Work had overtaken life, now dont get me wrong I love travelling around the UK, going on road trips, 70 hour weeks doing events BUT all of this comes at a cost and my health was starting to suffer and so was van built movitvation.

Perhaps if it had been a simple van build, one where I didn’t have to rip out all the old guts from it being an ex works van, a build where clean, sound deadening, insulate etc and seeing forward progress might have helped keep me going.

Gear migrated into the van and formed a small city-state of procrastination. The algorithm didn’t miss me; I missed the habit of showing up and telling the story. So I’m using this muddy, cold day as a restart. Not a transformation montage. A line in the snow: here’s where we’re at, here’s why, and here’s what’s next.

What did get done: floor up and two windows

Small wins, but they count. The floor’s up, which means I can see what I’m working with—ribs, wiring routes, the lot—and it forced me to confront the state of things. Two windows are in. One looks bang on and gives a nice look outside. The other looks… eager. It’s sitting lower than planned. It lets in light, it seals for now, but it’s not where I wanted it. Useful and irritating, like a smoke alarm with ideas.

The window that went too low (and what I learned)
Cause, first. I used an exterior panel line as my datum and didn’t properly account for the interior build-up: battens, insulation, cladding, furniture heights. Add in the panel curve and a trim ring that steals a few millimetres, and my “that’ll do” turned into “why is the horizon in my shins?” Consequences: the sightline’s lower than ideal, the inner frame wants to clash with a rib, and I’ll have to be extra careful with sealing where the skin flattens near the lower edge.

Fix, not panic. I’m not cutting a new side of the van. I’ll:

  • Overbuild the seal: fresh butyl tape, tidy bead of polyurethane, and a modest rain deflector above to shed water.
  • Pack the internal framing to bring the window reveal up to the same visual height as the other side.
  • Adjust furniture design so sightlines and trim align—think a slightly higher ledge beneath it to balance the look.
  • Black trim tape around the perimeter to visually raise it a touch from outside.

Lesson learned: pick your datum from the interior finish height, not the prettiest line in the metal. Mock-up with cardboard, sit on a crate and check the view, then commit. Measure twice, argue with yourself once.

This channel isn’t just builds: setting expectations
I’m back to making videos because I like telling the truth about projects that take ages. There will be how-tos when the jobs suit it; there will also be days like this, where the biggest win is sweeping and admitting a mistake. If you’re here for the story, welcome. If you want more technical deep-dives, tell me what you’re after in the comments and I’ll film those moments when the temperature lets me use glue without moral support from a radiator. A like and a nudge always help keep the kettle boiling.

A small win anyway
Tidying turned into progress. The floor is clear, the fixings are bagged and labelled, and I’ve got measurements for shims and framing around both windows. One clean patch caught the light and, for a moment, the van looked like potential rather than penance. It smelled like effort and a hint of tea. I’ll take it.

Reflection / Humanity
This is the unglamorous bit nobody shows on Instagram: breath clouds, numb thumbs, and decision fatigue over a hole that’s already cut. Van life starts long before the sunsets and the scenic lay-bys. It starts in tiny, boring acts of maintenance and the willingness to keep going after you get something wrong. The romance isn’t gone; it’s just wearing thermals.

Next steps / wrap-up

  • Warm the workspace: small oil-filled radiator, insulating the doors before adhesives.
  • Reseal the low window properly and add a rain bar.
  • Pack and frame both windows to a matching interior height.
  • Deep clean the floor ribs; treat any surface rust; plan insulation layout.
  • Re-lay the subfloor once the temperatures are sensible.
  • Film short, honest updates rather than waiting for “big reveal” days.

I won’t pretend this is flying along. It isn’t. But the story’s moving again, and that’s how builds get finished—one truthful day at a time.