Camping

When I was growing up, we used to camp every summer. It was what our family holidays were. I loved it. Then, when I was first married, Husband and I camped for a week-end two or three times, before complications like... babies... came into the equation.

Husband and I have always planned to camp with the kids. Philosophically, we're committed to the idea. It's just that it hasn't happened in practice. But... ta-da... we're going to go next week-end. We're borrowing a tent, and a lot of equipment, and I'm selling the idea to the children that it's a trial camping week-end. If it goes well, we'll buy our own tent and stuff. If it doesn't (ie if they bicker, fight, don't help with chores, irritate their parents), then it'll be their first and last childhood camping experience. So no pressure, then.

I like the idea of camping. I really do. Back to nature, away from the stresses and strains of daily life, no xbox or other modern evils. But then, when I stop to think about it, I can't help wondering whether some modern evils are actually not all that evil. The dishwasher, for example. The central heating. The hot shower in your own bathroom, a few paces away from the bedroom. The shower you can potter over to in your PJs, cup of tea in hand, rather than having to get dressed, trek across a rainy field, fiddle around with an unfamiliar and - one suspects - deliberately complex shower system, in order to stand under a tiny dribble of lukewarm water, while the wind howls around your ankles, and whips your nice dry towel off its inadequate peg into the puddle on the concrete floor, in which floats the detritus of the previous shower-user. D'you see my point?

I lay in bed last night, talking to Husband about our forthcoming adventure. "I'm looking forward to it", I said.  "Time with the children, without the usual distractions. We'll have to take a pack of cards, and some games, and books. We'll have to work out what food to take. They can get involved in the cooking. And the washing-up. Oh, I've just remembered what washing up at a campsite is like. Cold water, so you can't get rid of the grease. And then your hands smell all morning, but you can't be bothered to tramp all the way back to the shower block to wash them. And anyway, there'd probably be a queue at the showers. And they might not have functioning hot water in any case. And I'll be cold at night. I hate being cold at night. My feet will be cold all week-end. We'll all get smelly. I hate that. Sticky armpits all week-end. I need my bed. How will I be comfortable on a mattressy thingy? They're rubbish. I won't sleep. You know how grumpy I am if I haven't slept. The children won't sleep either. We'll all be lying awake at bedtime while they make jokes about farting in their sleeping bags. I'm definitely not cooking anything, either. We'll have dry rolls and water for breakfast and then eat out for lunch and dinner. Ohhhh...Why did I think camping was going to be fun?"

As you can see, there's quite a wide gap between the philosophical commitment, and the not-so-philosophical anticipation of reality. So if any of you seasoned campers out there have any tips, I'll gladly receive them.  The tip I've been offered most frequently so far is "it's lovely when the weather is nice, but don't go camping in the rain". Get real, Peoples. We're going to Northumbria.

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