The simple answer to this question is, yes, I have been camping. Did I enjoy it? The simple answer to that question is, no, I did not! I can see why people would, but it resolutely is not for me.
The first time I ‘went camping’ was in our back garden. On impulse, I had bought a tent on one of those discount sites. I’ve always liked the idea of camping and thought it would be a great family thing to do. My husband laughed at me when I suggested buying it, he knows me pretty well. But I had this image in my mind. When it arrived it stayed in its box for a long time, in the corner of the garage all but forgotten. One warm, sunny Saturday, though, I took our son to the zoo to spend some time with his godmother (and my close friend) and her daughter, leaving my husband home alone. Clearly, he got bored after mowing the lawn and when my son and I returned, he had put the tent up in the garden. Frankly, my heart sank because I’d walked miles around the zoo and was looking forward to a nice dinner, a glass of wine and a comfortable bed. I got the first two, I didn’t get the third. After much cajoling and persuading by my son and husband, I finally acquiesced and agreed to sleep in the tent. Consider, please, that we had no sleeping bags or camping mattresses. Instead, I think we used cushions from the sofa and pillows and duvets from our beds. Even the dog joined in with us. At the time, it was our very old and beloved West Highland White Terrier, Tramp so named because he always looked scruffy no matter how much time he spent at the groomers.
I remember at around 5am the next morning, crawling out of that tent which was dripping with condensation, vowing to never, ever go camping again. It would be quicker to tell you what didn’t ache after that night’s ‘sleep’.
I went back on that vow last year. Friends of ours own a forest in the Essex countryside where they sometimes entertain, in the summer especially. We were invited to lunch there one weekend, and my son and husband were invited to camp overnight as well. The lunch was very special for me as it was to be the first time I met my friend’s grandmother, a wonderful woman who has been a pseudo-development editor for my writing. Her gentle critique of my writing, her praise, and how she has set me in the right direction a few times has been more beneficial to me than anything I could ever have imagined. We exchange emails regularly, and she is a huge source of encouragement, comfort, and constructive criticism for me. I was so excited at the prospect of meeting her face-to-face, but nervous at the same time. I knew from my friend that she was an utterly amazing woman, knew that also from my communications with her, so I was nervous about meeting her in case I didn’t measure up to her expectations. I know it was all in my head, that I was projecting my insecurities, but I still anticipated that she would have them of me. Of course, as it turned out, she didn’t.
I’m a little intimidated by my friend who is a fantastically successful woman in her professional life and very clever. She has very ‘bohemian’ parents and an upbringing to match, and her grandparents have created two incredibly intelligent children who have both had successful literary careers. That level of intelligence doesn’t just appear, and through my dealings with my friend’s grandmother, I knew Judy was highly intelligent. I simply don’t see myself through that lens, and so I was nervous, excited and intimidated all at the same time. A real mix of emotions. I know when I am in such a situation I can come across as standoffish. I’m not really, I just don’t know what to say sometimes, so I keep my distance to make sure I don’t say something that I will end up berating myself for because it wasn’t (in my mind), the ‘right’ thing to say. When I am nervous, excited and/or intimidated, I demand perfection from myself which is an impossible dream. Making me more nervous and intimidated if I am honest. Why am I telling you all this in a camping story? It will become clear soon.
It is about a 30 minute drive to the woods from our house, and we were packed up to the gills with all the things the boys would need for their camping trip. And we had the dog with us as well, a rather large Newfoundland/Labrador cross. Also attending the lunch were our friends’ two boys, the youngest son also being a close friend of our son. My husband and son were just excited, that was their only emotion and so I went with the flow of that, not quite ready to articulate how I felt about meeting Judy. When we first arrived, I wasn’t entirely sure what to do but it was all a bit chaotic as everyone had arrived at the same time and with three silly dogs around, no one really paid attention to anyone until we decided to go for a walk around the woods. I hadn’t realised that they had been planted to celebrate the anniversary of the Battle of Trafalgar, and so I spent a lovely time chatting all things history with Judy’s husband who was the brains behind the woodland. The woods were utterly beautiful, lovely and cool on what was a hot day, and as woods are amongst my favourite places to be, I relaxed a little.
The lunch was perfect, but I immediately felt intimidated and nervous again as we sat down. So, I decided to have a glass of wine to relax me. And this is where the story becomes relevant – because in the end, I had a bit too much and couldn’t really drive home as planned. And because I’d had one too many and was enjoying the forest, I decided to stay with the boys and camp. I had a marvellous time with Judy in the end, who is as amazing in person as she is in email, and felt ridiculously pleased when I knew what the word for the study of saints was (hagiography), a question posed by Judy’s husband and which I was the only one able to answer. So, I began to feel more confident. After all, this time I was with experienced campers, and I could somehow ignore the fact that there was no running water or electricity and the only amenities was a very rustic loo. I was on such a high because Judy’s parting words to me were ‘don’t stop writing’.
The invitation for that weekend also came at a difficult time for us as a family. As I have said in other blogs, life has not been easy for us financially the last two years, and sometimes it gets more difficult than others. That was one of those difficult times, and I think the opportunity to not be in the house was one we were only too glad to take. To escape for a day from all the things weighing us down was, I think, seductive. We certainly did shed our ‘new’ personas of stress and worry for those hours I think. I know I saw my husband smile more that day than I had done for a long time.
So, decision made and everyone else who could have given me a lift home gone, I settled down with the boys. We roasted marshmallows and ate the leftovers from the picnic and I drank more wine. Too much wine, really. I’m not very good when I’ve drunk too much, especially, wine, in that I will sleep very soundly for about 2 hours then lie awake feeling ill for much of the night, usually dropping off again around 4am. Which is why I don’t tend to drink the stuff usually, a max of 2 glasses once a week. That’s normally my only alcohol intake. But this day, I pushed my own boundaries way too far, and felt like I drank more like 2 bottles. And I was distinctly uncomfortable and not a little cold, frankly. The dog was in the tent with me, and he was snoring something terrible, as was my husband who had also imbibed. And our friend who at least had a tent on his own, but who I could still hear. The two boys were in their own tent, further away from the cacophony. It was no symphony, I can tell you.
At what felt like the crack of dawn, when I had managed to drop off to sleep, I could hear the dog moving around. As I say, he is not small so he’s not light-footed either. What he was doing as it transpired, was worming his way out of the tent, somehow managing to squeeze between the gap between the groundsheet and the zip. I was tired, probably still a bit drunk, and pretty bemused at his behaviour so I watched, not thinking he could really do it. But he did. The thing with my dog is, he’s a bolter. He will wander off in his own sweet time, has absolutely no road sense, and will chase a scent to the moon and back if allowed. He wouldn’t harm a fly, but he will get lost. So, I realised, I was going to have to go after him. I’ve never really slept in a sleeping bag before that night, so it took me quite a few attempts to get out of it, get up, get something on my feet and get out of the tent. By which time…no sign of the dog. I didn’t even know which direction to go in for a minute.
The first thing I thought was…follow the food. So, I went to the site where we had eaten lunch the previous day. Not there. Then I went to the site where we had eaten our dinner and roasted marshmallows. Not there, either. By now, I needed the loo so that took more precious time. Without any other options, and hoping that the woods were relatively secure from the road at least, I just followed my nose thinking that if I kept an eye out and wandered the perimeter, I would eventually find him. Which is what happened. He was rooting around, quite happy to be free and meandering around a wood investigating all the scents. In my state, I hadn’t brought his lead with me but he’s a good dog on the whole and was happy to trot alongside me when I found him. To be honest, I think he was a bit relieved that I’d found him. That’s the thing with Oakley, he’s a bolter and a wanderer out of instinct but as soon as he goes too far, he starts looking for me. I’ve noticed this on walks in familiar areas, so I am pretty sure he was getting a bit nervous. Certainly, he didn’t leave my side again.
The problem now was, we were both lost. I hadn’t picked up my phone either, so it was a case of continuing to wander until I found (or heard) the others. I don’t know about you, but really it’s not easy to find your way around a wood unless you know it perfectly. Because a lot of it looks the same, really. Don’t get me wrong, on a beautiful morning as this was and being what felt like the only person awake in the world, it was glorious. But slightly daunting. I did make sure I listened to the birds, listened to the small creatures I could hear scurrying around in the thickest parts of the woods without concerning myself with what they were (I knew there were likely to be grass snakes in there), and admiring both the trees and the flowers. It was genuinely lovely to be able to appreciate it with the only other being that was living completely in that moment with me, my lovely dog. When we are on a walk together I always try to spend at least some time behaving like him insofar as I am completely in the moment and thinking of nothing else other than putting one foot in front of the other and enjoying my environment. It isn’t as easy as it sounds, which is why I haven’t yet mastered the art of doing it for the entire walk. But that morning, I did manage to do pretty well especially considering the monster hangover that was threatening.
So, I have never camped for more than one night. I have contemplated returning to the woods this summer and perhaps camping again, but the reality is I won’t. I will let the boys go alone and hopefully meet up with Judy again somewhere else. Camping is not for me, I’m afraid. I loved moments of the second camping experience (especially the early morning walk), but not enough, if I am being brutally honest, to repeat it. It was lovely to be away from the house, it was lovely to forget all the things weighing us down, it was lovely to be out in the fresh air and amongst nature. Especially amongst the trees. But sleeping in a tent? Not so much. I am, however, happy to explore the opportunity again as and when glamping is offered. I suspect that might be more my thing.
Louisa Simpson 