Happy Camper

My Dear Princess and Dear Fellow,

"Oh f*** off," said Caro when I told her that Jefe wanted to go camping for his 49th birthday.

"My last birthday," as he is fond of saying. Or, "the tenth anniversary of my 39th birthday."

He seems to have issues with aging.

"It's great!" I tell him. "My team at Kiwibank seem to think I am 'venerable' now! Between my advancing years and my English accent, they believe whatever bullsh*t I say!"

He was unconvinced. 

But as I have never been camping in my life I decided to go along and help the auld feller celebrate. 

"Camping?" snorted Caro. She likes to tell how she was made to go camping a lot as a child. Once, as a girl scout, she was in charge of a group of other girls when a cyclone hit and their tents blew away and they had to be rescued by parents.

This is how I came to be taken to the camp site by Manda on Friday evening, after we had picked up Chinese food. Jefe had already pitched a tent for me* - it was his old tent (they have now upgraded). 

We had a lovely evening of food, laughs and drinking in front of a roaring fire built by Jefe himself. Manda and Jefe are definitely in their element in the outdoors, they have all the bits and pieces to make meals and hot drinks and everything. 

I am not an outdoorsman. I contributed what I could by telling the campfire tale of "Bloody" Mackenzie and The Black Mausoleum in the most portentous tone I could manage, as the flames licked at the darkness and smoke disappeared into the night sky.

"I'm not sure I should tell this tale," I began. "For fear, that in the telling itself, I may summon something... UNCLEAN..."

I am SUCH a Shatner when I have an audience. 

I was helped by nature. When I was finished the fire suddenly DIED. And then one second later, the flames flared up again. 

I blamed Bloody Mackenzie. Thanks George.

They seemed to like it. 

By now the fire was dying anyway and the hot day was turning cold. Really cold. Really bloody cold. Really effing bloody cold and freezing and Baltic. 

I went to bed and tried to get comfortable. I was wearing all of my clothes and put all of my spare clothes into the sleeping bag too. But then there was the other problem. 

I am a flapper. I flap. In bed. I toss and I turn. Like I am trying to wear myself out before I can fall asleep.

Have you TRIED to turn over in a sleeping bag? Have you?

It took about 30 mini-turns to flip over. And by the time I have done 30 mini-turns I am fully awake. 

Long story short, between the cold and the flip-flip-flip-flip-flip-flip-sleep, I think I got about 3 hours of sleep in total. 

Today's blip was actually taken the morning after. As you can see, it was very very very very very ball-shrinkingly cold. 

I am not an outdoorsman. 

S.

* Don't be disgusting.