Tuesday 17 July 2018

Camping with friends.


This is what happens when 8 adults and 28 (or 49 - whatever) kids go camping.

1. There are no mealtimes. I don't mean - we-all-sit-down-at-5-oclock mealtimes, I mean that there is absolutely no discernible time allocated for people to eat a meal. None at all. It's quite passable to cook and eat a BBQ pork rib at 7.40am.
2. It is also entirely acceptable eat 4 more ribs at 10.45am, just "coz they need eating".
3. One may as well eat 8 burgers this evening too or else "we'll have to bin them".
4. You have to share food. This is because, in the 24hours that you have been camping, everyone has lost or misplaced the food stuffs that they've brought with them. This is because either a. the rolls are buried under somw towels b. the kids have picked them up for inspection and taken them into someone else's tent or c. the kids have thrown them into a bush or posted them down a drain.
5. You have to share appliances. There is never a more worthy messiah in your camping group than the guy who brought a fridge. It will never contain any of this food stuff - only everyone else's beer. Someone will also have packed a BBQ and coals. This means that he/she has to do all the cooking for 3 days. Someone has brought a kettle. This is undoubtedly the worst responsibility, as the tea-run happens the very earliest in the morning.
6. Wildlife. It's harsh when you are exposed to the elements. Not only does your 4-man Explorer Tunnel Tent turn into a bee-hive, the SeaGulls (or HerringGulls as we have been advised by our own Glen "DavidBellamy" Peacock) wake up at 4 o'fucking clock and start screaming their heads off on top of your tent. They also rip apart your bin bags and stamp on top of your car with their stupid big fucking flappy feet. This is all happening 70cm from your weary throbbing head so it's safe to say you cannot go back to sleep.
7. Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! Samuel Taylor Coleridge was right. But you don't get no sleep in a tent. You go to bed freezing. Freezing. And comfy. After 1 hour, you are no longer comfy and even more freezing. Inflatable Air Beds are manufacturered by tricksters on the Island of Arsehole. They never really work. If your husband moves, you flip off. You move roll into the middle. It's covered in a film of sweat. The sheets peel off the corners. Sleeping bags are no good past the age of 30. The only thing that is comforting is your pillow brought from home and even that is covered with clumps of grass from where the 49 kids have been "playing" in your bedroom during the day. By 4am, on the heady awakening by the gulls, you are BOILING LIKE THE STEAMING PIT OF SCORCHED HELL and everyone in your family seems to be laying on you. Your bladder feels like a boiling vat of acid and you can feel a urinary infection coming on. You have been holding onto this wee since 12.30am with the hope it will disappear. Of course it hasn't. You should have gone to the toilet block (which is only 1km away, you're lucky) when you first felt it and then you would have slept. But you didn't, did you? Your back is broken from laying on the floor, so at first, you cannot get up at all. One of your kids announces that he needs a really bad poo and so you can't procrastinate further. As you rise from the gritty groundsheet (the kids have also left some grapes on the floor which are squashed into your clean clothes), your head reminds you of all the wine you snaffled last night. Due to the Sahara temperature in the tent, you feel you might vomit. Child reminds you of his urgent bowel sensations. You drag yourself out of the tent into the sharp sunshine and feel your eyeballs expode. It's 6.08am.
8. The Night Ranger rocks up to your group to "have a word" at 8.30pm. It was probably later than that. As he approaches in his Jeep, everyone in the group goes "SSSHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" whilst stifling laughter. In our intoxicated state, we all think that we can pull the wool over this chap's eyes and convince him that the racket and swearing is not coming from us. Everywhere else in your row of pitches is deathly quiet, but it *can't be us, mate! No way*. 
9. When the Ranger leaves, group declares that we need to be quiet now. This rule of considerate muffled whispering is forgotten in 3minutes and then we start talking loudly again. 
10. The only brilliant thing about this period of the evening is that the kids are fast asleep because they are truly exhausted. 
11. When you are camping and you need the toilet, you have to walk to a toilet block which may or may not have loo roll. Halfway through the walk to the loo, you turn around to see 8 of our group's kids following you. They all need a poo, are all desperate, you are in charge of them. Their parents wave at you from their tent and put their thumbs up with a smug smile. 
12. The woes of camping are forgotten when you are partying and drinking elbow to elbow in the clubhouse watching a negotiable cover of ShowWaddyWaddy amongst people from Halifax. The gin (with ice! luxury) and cold beer sinks wonderfully, and the kids have spent around £41 in the arcade to win a Refresher sweet. The beers line the stomach for the bucket of fish and chips that we all need for our fifth dinner.
13. Taking down the tent is easier than putting it up, which is the ultimate test of a relationship and everyone talks to their Partner through gritted teeth and hates them.
14. There was a huge group of Polish or Czech people camping along side us. They seemed like us; lots of cooking and drinking beer. Except they didn't have to shout at their kids and they played twee hand clapping parlour games in the evening with each other. Like what kids do in a playground. It was mesmorizing. It made me momentarily doubt our group's parlour (and ever so slightly public) party game of doing the foulest fart and assigning it to someone's unsuspecting and innocent wife.
15. The only topic of conversation for outdoors life: bowel movement. We all want to know who has had a poo, when you last had one, what was it like and which are the best toilets for this. The men delcare their achievement after breakfast each morning. The women take a little longer, usually after the second gin at 10ish. When a woman arises from our chair and looks in the direction of the toilet whilst grimacing, fellow women around the camp nod in in support. She needs a poo. We are rooting for her. A few minutes later (because she hasn't taken a fucking SmartPhone or newspaper with her because there are kids that need looking after and she doesn't go camping to spend half the bloody morning on the damn toilet) she emerges looking svelte and wiry. "Been?" enquiries one wife. Woman smiles. "OK?" enquires another wife. Woman nods. All is well in the world.
16. Man version.
Bloke massages own stomach with a distorted gurn on his face.
"Oop, look at 'im" says Husband 1.
"Yep, says Man, "Ooppphh".
Man looks at toilet and continues to massage abdomon with precision.
"I'm waiting until I'm really ready", he says.
"Want a CheeseBurger?" says Husband 2.
"Yeah, ba" says Man.
Halfway through CheeseBurger, Man starts to wince more extremely.
"Just Go!" says Wife 1.

"Daaddd, can I have a .....", says Child 1
"Deal with this will you?!" says Man to Wife 1.
Wife 1 eye rolls.
"For Goodness Sake!" says Wife 2.
Man arises from chair and waddles over to the toilet block, batting away an child that approaches him needing assistance.

2 hours later, he returns, carrying a newspaper, a bottle of Lucozade, and a packet of Smiths Squares. He also looks like he has had a relaxing shower.
"Where have you been?!" says Wife 1.
"Aww, I wanted crisps!" says Child 2.
"How was it buh?" asks Husband 1.
Man nods smugly.
"Feel better after that buh, he declares patting his stomach, who is having that?" he asks, pointing at a bacon roll.
Husband 2 starts wincing and massaging his stomach.
And it continues.