Brighton Caravan And Motorhome Club Campsite

Right, let’s talk about the Brighton Caravan and Motorhome Club Campsite. First things first: it’s not just a place to park your tin box on wheels. It’s a basecamp for madness, seagulls, and questionable weather.

The Location (Or, “How to Feel Fancy and Scruffy at the Same Time”)

This campsite is perched on Bald Hill, above the village of Rottingdean. Yes, “Rottingdean” sounds like a zombie apocalypse, but I promise it’s charming. You get panoramic views of the South Downs and the sea. Honestly, the sunsets here are so ridiculous you’ll fake a yoga pose just to Instagram it.

You can see Brighton Pier shimmering in the distance. But you also hear seagulls cackling like they own the place. They do own the place. Just surrender your chips immediately.

Checking In: The “We’re Adults Now” Moment

The reception is a small, tidy building with friendly staff. They’ll hand you a map and a smile, but the real hero is the security barrier—it makes you feel very VIP. No, you can’t sneak in a bouncy castle. Don’t ask.

Pitches are a mix of hardstanding and grass, all with electric hook-ups. My advice? Grab a grass pitch near the edge. The view is better, and you’re closer to the fresh breeze that smells faintly of candy floss and regret.

The Facilities: Clean Enough to Eat off the Floor (But Please Don’t)

The shower block is immaculate. I’m talking heated floors, powerful showers, and cubicles that lock properly—a minor miracle in campsite world. The water is hot, which is important when you’re trying to scrub off yesterday’s beach sand and Ben & Jerry’s.

There’s a laundry room and a dishwashing area. The dishwashing sinks are deep and have two basins. Honestly, it’s the bougie end of camping. You half expect a butler to hand you a towel.

The Dog Walk (or “The Poop Bag Olympics”)

This site is super dog-friendly. There’s a dedicated dog walk area, complete with bins and bags. But here’s the catch: the seagulls will judge your dog’s every move. They perch on fences, watching, waiting, and probably plotting a heist.

Brighton club campsite and caravan park | The Caravan Club

My spaniel tried to chase one and ended up tangled in a hedge. The seagull won. They always win.

The Local Area: More Than Just Bad Puns

You’re a short walk from the Downs Link, a footpath that goes all the way to the sea. Walk down to Rottingdean village for a pub lunch. The White Horse does a Sunday roast that will make you weep with joy. Weep quietly—seagulls will steal your tears.

Then there’s Brighton itself. It’s a 20-minute bus ride or a 45-minute walk along the cliffs. The bus is called the 12A, and the driver may or may not narrate the entire journey like a tour guide. It’s free entertainment.

Things to Do (That Aren’t Just Eating Biscuits in Your Van)

The Royal Pavilion is weird, wonderful, and looks like a wedding cake designed by a genie. Go inside. It’s worth the entry fee just to see the “what was he thinking?” wallpaper. Also: the seagulls won’t follow you there. Hallelujah.

The British Airways i360 is a giant needle that lifts you up into the clouds. It’s overpriced, but the view is spectacular. You can see the campsite from up there. I waved. Nobody waved back.

Brighton Club Campsite | The Caravan Club

The Best Bit: The Quiet Hours

The site enforces quiet hours from 10:30 PM. No loud music, no generators, no late-night karaoke. It’s bliss. You can sit outside with a flask of tea and hear nothing but the wind and the occasional drunk fox. Trust me, they’re funnier than you’d expect.

By 11 PM, the whole place is silent. It’s the kind of quiet that makes you feel like you’ve escaped the world. Until a seagull screams at 4:23 AM. But that just adds character, right?

Final Verdict: Should You Go?

Yes. Absolutely. This campsite is a gem. It’s well-run, clean, and close to everything that makes Brighton ridiculous. But bring earplugs for the gulls. And cash for the fish and chips. And a sense of humour about the weather—it will rain for exactly 12 minutes, then be glorious.

You’ll leave feeling tired, sun-kissed, and slightly traumatised by the seagulls. But in a good way. Like a holiday hug that smells of salt and victory.

Now go book your pitch. I’ll be there, eating chips on the cliff. And if you hear a scream? That’s just me, losing my last chip to a bird.