Camping - the verdict

One of the troubles with blogging is that you sometimes anticipate what you are going to do in real life in terms of how you are going to blog about it. So when we set off for our camping trip, I'd already semi-written in my head two possible posts. One ended: "...and as I lay there, listening to the birds singing and watching the morning light creep up, I felt so relaxed and happy, that I knew camping had found itself a new convert". The other ended: "...and I decided that, much as I like the idea of camping, I'm just too old and comfort-loving to enjoy the reality".

The trouble is, neither applied. I didn't love it. But I didn't hate it. It was... ok.

We arrived at the campsite late on Friday night. There was a fish and chip van on the site, which seemed like a good start to the week-end, so we ate fish and chips in our car. (Too cold to be outside.) Then we started to put up the tent. The instructions start like this:

"Helpful hint: Please practice pitching your tent in good weather before you go away on a holiday or break. This ensures that you are familiar with the tent, with the experience being especially valuable if you later have to pitch in adverse weather conditions."

Eminently sensible. We hadn't done that, though. (And I didn't like the mis-spelling of "practice".) We did ok for a while, and got the hoops into the flysheet. It was windy, and the flysheet kept ballooning up, but morale was high, and it all seemed like fun. Then the instructions started talking about fitting the hoops onto the pins, and we hadn't a clue where or what the pins were. At that point, the nice friendly man from the next door pitch came over, and asked if we needed a hand. We said, yes, we do need a hand. He proceeded to instruct us and help us put up the tent, which was just as well, as the light was fading and so was I. (We did have a Plan B, I hasten to add -we're not THAT gung-ho - but it was nice not to have to fall back on it.) Meanwhile, someone from another tent came over and asked us if we'd like a cup of tea. We said, yes, we would like a cup of tea. She then pressed us to partake of some of the chili which she and her family had had for dinner, (but we'd already had the fish and chips). They are very friendly, those camping folk down in Northumberland.

The first night passed without adventure. On Saturday morning, I was the first up, and I had the kettle whistling on the gas, cups of tea ready for all, and cereal standing by bowls, before you could say "continental breakfast". It was sunny. Camping felt good.

We spent Saturday at Alnwick Castle (thoroughly recommend it, good day out), and then Saturday night in the tent, again without adventure. We packed up the tent on Sunday morning, and then headed back to Alnwick to visit Barter Books. If you like second hand bookshops, this one is a must. It's in the former station, and is wonderfully atmospheric. It's where the original "Keep Calm and Carry On" poster was found, which is framed and displayed over the counter.

But back to Keep Calm and Carry On Camping. What's the verdict?

I can see us having fun, camping as a family. The week-end brought back lots of memories of my own childhood camping experiences, and I'd love my kids to have similar memories of their own. But it's not exactly comfortable, is it? The facilities at the campsite were very good, but it's all very communal, isn't it? I'm not sure my idea of fun is a draughty shower in verucca city, having to hurry because I'm aware of the queue of people outside.

The children rose to the occasion. They said afterwards that they'd enjoyed it and would want to go again. There wasn't much bickering and complaining, though I wouldn't swear it had been exactly a zero on that front. 15-yo deserves a medal, for sleeping in the living bit of the tent (it was a 4-person tent - Husband and I took one sleeping compartment, 12-yo and 9-yo took the other). We hadn't velcroed the groundsheet to the flysheet, and I could feel a howling gale around my be-bedsocked ankles as I prepared for the night. 15-yo had a horrendous cold - the kind of cold that makes your head feel like an exploding tomato. But he laid his poorly head down on a rolled-up fleece (pillows provided only for the over 40s), in the gale, without complaint. His cold was much better in the morning, oddly enough.  Husband also gets a medal, as he'd been out camping in the hills with the school Cadet Corps the night before we camped. That's devotion to duty for you.

So we're going to buy a tent. We concluded that camping would be a fun thing to add to the family repertoire. I envisage us using it for week-ends here and there, and though I wouldn't rule out camping for a week or two as our main summer holiday, I also wouldn't rule out renting a holiday house instead. It struck me that camping isn't the cheap option that it used to be. You're looking at £25 a night, or more, and you can easily get a holiday house for a family the size of ours for 4 times that. Plus you have to buy the tent and kit in the first place. I pointed this out to Husband. He invited me to think of it in this way: you can have 4 weeks' holiday in a tent for the price of every 1 week you can have in a holiday cottage. But hm... I'm not sure I'd come down as equivocally in favour of the 4 weeks under canvas as he would. Short, sharp, sweet, luxurious burst of holiday might win over prolonged discomfort. (And it's not "under canvas" these days, is it? It's "under nylon" which doesn't have the same ring at all.) I've also just been browsing the Eurocamps website and other similar ones, and those fixed tents seem pretty reasonably priced.

The one thing I would have changed about the week-end was the location of our tent. The campsite had caravans round the edge, presumably because they need their electricity hook-ups. We were shown to a pitch in the middle. In the morning, as I stretched and yawned and poked my head out of the tent door, I wasn't greeted by a rural vista of beauty and serenity. We were surrounded, at close quarters, by a ring of caravans, 4 x 4s, and motor-caravans. It wasn't exactly the "back to nature" experience that camping is meant to provide. More like being on a stationary grass version of the M25. Another time, I would choose my own spot, or if that wasn't allowed, request a rather more secluded one.

I think this post has given an unfairly negative impression. I sound very reluctant. But we did have a good time, and we've made the decision to buy a tent. That can't be a bad conclusion, can it?

Anyone selling a tent?

                                                    Alnwick Castle as we saw it, on a sunny day, with a carpet of daffodils. Beautiful.
                                                            Photo credit:  bbc.co.uk

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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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