camping in style

I wont pretend that the thought of camping in the UK stirred up any excitement in me; quite the contrary in fact. Literally and figuratively, it put a dampener on my spirits. But other than camp food, it turns out that I was soon to swallow a fair share of humble-pie as camping proved to be a good laugh and not as unpleasant as first anticipated.
In an attempt to arouse a dose of enthusiasm I went in search of a pair of high fashion Wellington boots which I found to be cute enough to divert my attention from the dread of not showering for 3 days. That, coupled with the re-assurance that Bron and my flower tent would put all the other campers to shame, I set off with the rest of the gang ready to endure a long weekend of…fun…
My first hitch was the realisation that I had forgotten to bring crockery and arrived at Bron’s place armed with a spoon and a fork. Even now I’m not sure of the mentality behind that gesture, but I was quite focused on packing light to avoid banter from the boys and playing to the creature-comfort stereotype that they consider me to be. I was out to prove that I could rough it with the best of them. Eating out of my hands, however, was further than I was willing to go and thank you to Bron who saved me from that humiliation.
Thanks to excessive rain in the New Forest area, the campsite was reminiscent of a marshland. On one of our treks through the forest, while the others attempted a treacherous route to cross the river, I decided that conventionalism was not for me and tried to avoid the mud by finding a ‘less precarious’ path across. A few mud-up-to-my-knees moments later saw Ian coming to rescue me while lecturing me about going off on my own mission as opposed to ‘just going the same way as everyone else’. Ever the hero, while lifting me off my feet in an effort to set me safely on the river bank, ‘Tarzan’ swung me straight into a low hanging tree branch and just about knocked me out cold. While my forehead developed an egg shaped bump, we found ourselves doubled over with amusement.
Thanks to Clare’s generous offer of her yoga mat and Ian ensuring that I got the comfy sleeping bag, my sleep was deep and less painful than expected, barr for the loud music blaring from inconsiderate neighbours. After Steve surprised us by arranging a lush shower at the local gymnasium and Vanessa’s gourmet cooking, I’d have to agree with Christina’s sentiments of the weekend being more luxurious than camping as she knows it.
Preparing for departure on Monday, the girls’ found their car battery to have been exhausted by our insistence on pumping tunes from the car stereo the night before and Julie was forced to ask around the campsite for a jump-lead. After packing up, a cup of coffee was in order and as the mornings experience hadn’t deterred us from loud music, we failed to hear the panicked beeps coming from the car behind us in the parking lot as Steve calmly reversed. A loud thud and the thought of many pounds forked out on excess-insurance later, Steve returned to the car with relief written all over his previously horrified face. The car remained undamaged and we were free to enjoy our morning coffee break.
A frustrating trip through Eton, thanks to a grossly poor dining experience in The King and Castle pub, a tick for seeing Windsor Castle and we hit the M4 back to London. After all of my fuss, this was the true dampener on an enjoyable few days – the return to reality. But there’s always the reassurance that it’s never so bad when you are in such incredible company.