In this Mercedes Sprinter camper conversion, I clean and prep the floor, scrub away grime, and check for rust — practical, unglamorous progress with lessons learned along the way.
A new dawn, a dodgy door, and a Dishmatic revelation
It’s a new day I’ve been off sick for a few days, some bug doing the rounds, and in true Sprinter fashion the van waited until I was half-dead to remind me who’s boss. But sick-bed boredom leads to online shopping, and now I own my secret weapon: a Dishmatic. A scrubber with a handle. Revolutionary stuff.
Today’s goal, before earning that rewards pint of Hawkston while the rugby’s on, is to make the floor look less like a biohazard. Not spotless—just “drop-a-biscuit-and-maybe-still-eat-it” clean. Cold day. Tight deadline. What could possibly go wrong?
The kit and the cunning plan
Right, before enthusiasm packs up and leaves — kit check. Gloves, because this floor looks like it could start a new pandemic. Bucket of proper hot soapy water. A stiff brush for morale. The DeWalt armed with a nylon wheel for when the brush gives up. A few screwdrivers, mostly wrong. Safety glasses I’ll immediately lose. Dust mask. And tea — Welsh, gold-top, dependable.
The mission’s simple: clean what I can, leave what I can’t, and avoid doing something stupid. Door seals? Not today. Cold fingers and bad moods make for terrible mechanics.
Clip faffing 101
Those smug little trim clips are first up for battle. Wrong screwdriver in hand — naturally — and somehow it works. Confidence spikes. Always a mistake.
The final clip refuses to budge. Rage builds. Solution: tea.
Ten minutes and one Welsh brew later, I try again. Turns out, patience beats brute force. Push the tabs in, then lift. Click. Free at last. Plastic intact. Pride slightly dented.
The horror beneath
Trim’s off, flooring peeled back — and I instantly regret my life choices. This isn’t dirt; it’s stratified history. Layers of glue, grit, coffee, and despair. A geological timeline of poor decisions since 2016.
Gloves on. Cloths are for optimists.
Mr DeWalt to the rescue
Mr Brush makes the first brave sweep. Thirty seconds later he’s just moving filth around like a budget broom. Time for escalation.
I fit the nylon/fibreglass wheel to the DeWalt. Not a wire brush — those turn van floors into modern art. Safety glasses — found them on my head, obviously — and a dust mask on. The drill hums to life. Small circles, light pressure, moderate speed. Let the wheel do the graft.
Grey grime becomes clean primer. Little islands of paint start re-emerging. Actual colour. Progress you can see and, unfortunately, smell.
Rust reality check
Every van’s got secrets, and as the scum lifts, the freckles show. A few seams are speckled brown. Nothing fatal, but enough to note.
There’s evidence of old welding — a lumpy bead slapped with paint by someone in a hurry. Seen worse. Future-me with the welder will not be happy. Present-me is filing it under pub-later problems.
The rule: if a screwdriver goes through it, it’s for another day. “See it, note it, don’t spiral.” That’s the mantra.
The wash-down — and the Dishmatic moment
Once the grime’s loosened, it’s showtime for the new recruit. Hot suds, Dishmatic in hand, overlapping strokes like I’m polishing a tiny, angry boat. The handle keeps my delicate little pinkies out of the sludge. Genius.
Work in small sections: scrub, wipe, rinse. Change the water when it looks like canal runoff. Don’t flood the van — this is a clean, not a baptism.
Avoid seams and drilled holes; trapped water equals future rust. If you slip, grab the heat gun and pretend it was intentional.
Safety & sanity reminders
Eye protection — always.
Dust mask — grime dust isn’t seasoning.
Gloves — because you don’t want whatever that sticky patch was.
Ventilation — cold lungs beat chemical headaches.
Tea — the most important PPE of all. Reset button in a mug.
Small wins, not Instagram perfection
There’s a fantasy version of this job where I strip the entire floor to bare metal, treat every inch, prime, seal, and re-fit it all before sunset. This is not that version.
This is the human one — sniffly, cold, and fuelled by determination and sarcasm. Real van life isn’t cinematic; it’s grinding through the bits no one films and calling it progress.
Progress roundup
• Sliding door threshold: scrubbed, de-gunked, no longer a biohazard.
• Front third of floor: scuffed, washed, mostly paint again.
• Rust freckles: spotted, noted, future-treatment list.
• Trim clips: removed and saved intact. Small miracle.
• Rubber seals: untouched. Boundaries are healthy.
Didn’t strip the whole floor. Didn’t start welding at 1 p.m. Didn’t lose my temper (much). That’s a win.
Lessons from the sludge
- Start with the worst spot; early wins fuel momentum.
- Push clip tabs inward — don’t pry like a maniac.
- The wrong screwdriver sometimes works, but the right one feels smarter.
- Nylon abrasive wheel > steel. Let the tool do the work.
- Rust happens. Note it, don’t panic.
- Dishmatic = hand saver. Don’t knock it.
- Tea is a legitimate coping mechanism.
- Stop before cold stupidity sets in. Heroes weld another day.
The humanity of it
By the end, the van smelled like effort — and a hint of bleach. My gloves had seen things. A screw disappeared forever. The drill sulked. I found my glasses on my head, again. I nearly ate a floor biscuit.
But then a patch of clean metal caught the afternoon light, and for a second it all felt worth it. A little less rust, a little more hope.
Small wins. Stack them. That’s how you build a van — one unglamorous, oddly satisfying day at a time.
Next steps (for a warmer day)
- Treat the rust freckles with converter and zinc primer.
- Seam-seal the joins — smooth and neat.
- Prime scuffed areas ready for sound deadening.
- Add insulation and underlay before laying the new subfloor.
- Decide between plywood or composite — and seal those edges.
Nothing heroic. Just steady, deliberate progress — the kind that adds up quietly in the background while life carries on.
Final Cup of Tea & Sign-Off
Floor cleaner. Rust identified. No major disasters. Fingers intact. Face not rust-coloured. That counts as a good day in van-building terms.
Next time: rust treatment, seam sealer, and possibly an argument with a heat gun.
For now — tea in hand, van smelling faintly of soap and victory.
Onwards.
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Ep11: Stripping the Van Interior Without Losing Your Mind
Sound Deadening vs Insulation — What Actually Works
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