Camping Day 1

So today I embarked on a camping trip. I'm writing this as a backblip and have already posted for Sunday and Monday.

I love this picture. My dad and Mo took their bikes camping and never actually got them off the roof of their car! I think it was actually very kind of them as I didn't have a bike and would have had to make do with sitting about waiting for news of Grimsby losing at home to Darlington. :)

The sunset looked cool, the bikes had a lovely contrast to the sky so my Canon 400D did the hard work for me. Bingo.

I actually stole the idea from 'Our Trace', or 'Tracey' as she was christened. She is the wife of my lost cousin Daz who came on the trip. When I say Daz is lost I mean lost to me: we've probably only seen each other twice in twenty years. He lives forty miles away which in reality is criminal.

Let me tell you about Daz: Six foot two +, 18 stone and covered from head to waist in tattoos. They appear on the back of his hand, his neck, both arms and probably in places you wouldn't ever credit. He is living outside Doncaster and carries the brash Yorkshireman mantle with apparent ease. He'll talk to anyone, about anything and lives every day like it is his last: smiling and enjoying himself. He also has a heart of gold.

I've enjoyed getting to know him this weekend. He has a VW van he runs on used chip fat and has been advising me on the best cars to buy to be able to do the same. He wants a bit of hypnosis and he paid for my camping pitch. I will however furnish you with one story that had me shaking like a sh1tting dog with laughter.

We walked along a river and Daz spotted a small waterfall that had become clogged with leaves and debris. There was a rake stuck in the river to, so it looked like someone had tried to free it. Without a seconds thought he jumped down into the river (onto a convenient stone) and began tugging at the debris with the rake, shifting it and sizeable sticks at the same time. If you think you know where this is going you don't....

As he did so a gold landrover pulled up, and a short balding farmer in wellies (with buckles) and that barbour (or whatever it is) clothing peered through the window and asked what we were doing. Daz didn't hear him.

Slightly more aggresively he asked what we were doing, this time with a degree of agitation in his voice. At this stage he could only see the peak of the cap Daz had on.

Slowly, like a volcano rising from the earth Daz climbed out of the river. The farmer visibly shat himself as this man mountain just rose into his view. The hat came off revealing a shaven head and those (tasteful I might add) neck tattoos. It seemed to take an age for him to emerge from the river and place an elbow on the wound down window. As he did I swear to lucifer that the vehicle tilted slightly towards him under the strain.

Ow's it going kid?

Funnily the fifty five year old 'kid' otherwise known as Farmer Piles had changed his outlook on the situation. Daz was as nice as pie as he explained the excavation mission and how we all had to protect our nations waterways. The farmer couldn't get away quick enough. Daz turned to me and said: 'I won't be ostricised like that by anyone, I was only performing my civic duty to the countryside' before replacing his cap and throwing his arm around Our Trace.

He might look like a cage fighter, but he used the word ostricise and that for me is enough. Hell I can't even spell it.