Why going camping is really just like life
Life is too short for un-happy campers
It’s that time of year when all the talk about with people is plans for the Christmas break plans. This is always a great way to learn a little about the sort of holidays that people like to take and who you need to take a mental note of who you would never go on a holiday with.
For me, it’s anyone that’s going camping.
The funny thing about people who camp is that if they can smell it may not be something that interests you, first they look at you with pity and incredulity then they spend an hour trying to convince you why it’s so amazing.
It generally revolves around a certain spot that their family have camped at for 150 years, the tramps, the ability to really unplug from the everyday stresses and just become at one with nature.
There is an inference that I just haven’t gone camping with the right people. I can tell you now, I’ve certainly gone camping with the wrong ones. Hence my camping PTSD.
I realise that in a country of campers and outdoorsy people I’m running the risk of being burned at the stake (no doubt with two sticks rubbed together).
A modern-day pariah due to being honest about the fact I don’t want to use a long-drop, I don’t want to queue for a shower or a coin-operated washing machine.
My name is not Houdini, so I don’t belong in a sleeping bag and I most certainly don’t want to sleep on an airbed. Not one I have ever spent the night on has ever stayed up. Ever.
There has been a lot in the news lately about the cost of inflation. Well, I can you, when it comes to camping, the cost of inflation is bloody sore hips and a stuffed back the morning after. Airbeds are the equivalent of a 90-year-old man, except no amount of Viagra will keep any airbed up.
The last time I camped was 15 years ago. One ex-bloke fancied himself as Bear Grylls, so decided we needed to take his new tent and go bush. My daughter was 4.
Putting up a tent as a couple is the same as having your partner as a navigator on a family trip. It invariably ends in disaster.
Thank goodness for GPS. There is still no such app for putting a tent up as a team, but after that experience, I would rather have been in Gore (or Zimbabwe).
Positive encouragement and a sense of humour were required but were sadly lacking in this instance.
I wanted to have some fun and a laugh, but the whole thing became a chest-beating exercise. Some people can suck the fun out of camping like sucking marrow out of bone.
My poor girl was so badly bitten by the 50 million sandflies at Piano Flat where we were camping that while Bear went to kill a woolly mammoth or catch a fish for our dinner, I was left bashing our washing on rocks and trying to stop my girl scratching her nether regions (or any orifice actually), because they were relentless and the poor kid was miserable. But hey! She was camping. Winner winner Bison dinner!
After said display of masculinity and a lack of fun, when we got home, I promptly decamped – from the relationship. See? I can camp.
I’m not a princess by any means, I just love electricity, I like my roof, I love my shower and I love turning my oven on. The one positive about camping is that you arrive home with a sense of wonder at how amazing all these things are again.
I think camping is like life. Pick the right one to do it with and the journey will be a lot more fun. If your tent falls down – laugh and start again. If the spark goes out, rub those sticks together and get that fire back and finally pick the right people to do your “camping” with. Life is too short for un-happy campers.