For all those who know me, I don’t camp. There is nothing about it that appeals to me. I don’t like the idea, the reasons, the set up.
But someone I know decided to have a birthday party in a camping site. And I decided I could give it a go, only for one night.
I wasn’t sure what to pack. People were scaring me saying it “gets really cold”, “layers are the secret”, “always take flip flops to shower”, so I ended up taking a theatrical approach – several costume changes later and a fake “I am embracing this thing” air.
I wore palazzo trousers and wedges for the day festivities, which included an amazing hog roast. The day progressed nicely, and boyfriend pitched the tent, made sure all was “comfortable” for the night ahead.
At around 8 o’clock, I decided it was time for my costume change, time to wear a more “camping” outfit, so I donned my Hunters, leggings, a leopard print crop jumper and a furry crop jacket. Bf laughed. He said I was a fire hazard around the camp fire. I escaped un-roasted.
So I went to “bed” in our 2 man tent. The air mattress was actually ok. I changed into my super warm pyjamas, put my earplugs and eye mask on, and managed to fall sleep. For a couple hours.
Got woken up by boyfriend going to the “toilet”. And I needed to go, so I went in the bush, not before putting wellies back on. As I re-entered the tiny tent and lay down, the little light hanging from the ceiling attacks me, falling directly on my nose, causing me to cry.
At that moment, the statement that sums up the “camping” part of the trip got blurted out in anger: “I don’t understand why would people want to do this for fun”.
You won’t see me in the fields any time soon.