Extreme Holidaymaking with broadsheet newspapers and Ibuprofen

Twenty-five minutes to put the tent up, you say? Forty-five?  Double that last one and you start to come close.  The grim reality, played out against the unforgiving backdrop of a mid-afternoon Sou'Westerly blustering in across the sand dunes straight off the Irish Sea, had me and Charlotte battling with bendy poles for fully ninety-five minutes.  It felt like a hundred and ninety five.  Young Frankie, showing a presnce of mind beyond his tender years, witnessed the entire farrago from the comfortable vantage point of the inside of the Fiat Punto.  Occasionally he would break off to raid the carefully-packed food basket for biscuits, or to unpack one of the more interesting-looking suitcases and spread its contents over the dashboard.  A happy camper indeed.

Mind you, even once we had the darned contraption more or less erect, the outlook was far from convincing.  While other, more expertly assembled, tents seemed to brace themselves sturdily against the incoming gale, ours swayed  drunkenly from side to side, as if undecided between staying pegged to the land and taking its chances overhead among the rainclouds and seagulls.  At each gust, the walls buffeted alarmingly outwards, threatening to split the canvass.  A casual observer (perhaps taking in the action from the inside of a passing Fiat Punto) might have been forgiven for concluding that our sleeping quarters were the venue for a no-holds barred wrestling bout between a pair of heavyweight midgets.

Still, we got the tent up and fit for purpose in the end- which is more than could be said for the camping stove, which malfunctioned at the first time of asking, leaking freezing cold calor gas in liquid form all over my hands, and sending me hopping half-naked and screaming  across the undergrowth.  This impromptu tea-dance served to break the ice with the neighbours, one of whom was kind enough to lend us his sturdy one-ring hob to boil a cup of tea.  After gulping that down, we decided that any attempt at more ambitious culinary endeavour was surely tempting fate, and hot-footed it in the Fiat Punto to the nearest chip shop.

That first-night chip shop dinner ushered in the holiday's halcyon days.  There were walks to secluded coves.  There was pasta, cooked on our own brand new one-ring hob and flavoured with a delicious combination of pesto, sand-dune and pebbles.  Best of all, there were the pitchdark evenings, with Frankie fast asleep under the massive three-man duvet, Irish  state radio whispering sweet nothings from a tinny FM set propped up against a pile of jumpers, and me and Charlotte clinking beer bottles while the rain battered in vain against the sides of our canvass fortress. 

The bliss, of course, was too good to last.  On the third morning, while clambering to a standing position on emergence from the front flap, I felt a sharp, almost unbearable stab of pain right along the base of the spine.  For the rest of the holiday I could hardly walk.  The forty yard journey to the shower block (featuring rugged terrain and a three-tent enclave housing approximately three dozen perma-stoned scousers) became the outer limit of my daily trajectory.  Links to the outside world (or to Anglesey, which isn't quite the same thing) were maintained by the heroic Charlotte, who, in addition to keeping Frankie entertained with a bucket and spade, undertook regular visits to the village, returning laden with broadsheet newspapers, air-filled mattresses and Ibuprofen.

You'll be thinking, no doubt, that we packed our belongings into the Fiat Punto forthwith and made an early return to Manchester.  Hell no- these holidaymakers are made of sterner stuff (and also neither of us fancied the job of explaining to our beach-besotted four-year-old that the holiday had to be curtailed due to the small matter of daddy having been more or less snapped in half).  So we stayed to the bitter end- well, very nearly, returning on Thursday afternoon instead of the anticipated Friday morning.

On our return we called into Didsbury Tescos for a pint of milk, then to the emergency outpatients department of Manchester Royal Infirmary for a diagnosis.  It seems I've done nothing that a couple more weeks' supply of broadsheet newspapers and Ibuprofen won't put right- hell, in a  couple of weeks I might even be able to walk straight up, instead of lurching to the right like a drunken gunslinger falling off a horse.

Back at work (I took Monday off, but was forced by the darned Catholic Work Ethic to hobble back in on Tuesday) I've started looking already for the next available week's leave.  Anglesey again?  Maybe.   Camping?  No- not again for a while, and possibly not in this life.  That cosy looking B and B on the seafront might cost a trifle more than fifteen quid a night, but it is starting to look like a tempting alternative to extreme holidaymaking by-the-sea.

Comments

[Z]

Some people just have to learn from experience, don't they? And showering is overrated anyway. Only dirty people need to wash, after all.

[Iain]

"Catholic Work Ethic" - excellent! :-)

[Belliveau]

Hope you're better soon! I haven't stopped laughing yet at the thought of trying to put a tent up in a gale ten wind! Funny!

[Abby]

Eeeeeee, I admmire your tenacity and I must say that I have always made a rule of cutting camping trips short by one day and checking into a posh hotel with fluffy towels for the last night, even without an impressive back injury. Your outdoorsman efforts are nothing short of heroic!

[jonathan]

I was struggling for a title for this post (which is why it ended up with something a little on the cumbersome side) but it seems that we have just found one, albeit several days to late. 'The Outddoorsman'- it has a certain ring to it, don't you think? Almost enough to tempt me away from the fluffy towels and back towards the bendy poles and the seagulls. I said almost.

And Belliveau- welcome to the commebt box, make yourself at home, there's a couple of beers in the fridge., I'd walk across and get one out for you only (not sure if I have mentioned this) but I've got this bad back. By the way you could do with updating that blog of yours... one post every four years makes my recent fortnightly output look positively prolific...

[Paul]

Do I win something for being closest in the tent erection time handicap hurdle sweepstake?

Hope the back clears up, and trust that you had a good time in any event.

[Izzy]

Sorry to be pedantic but it's the Protestants who have the work ethic. Catholics have 'The Guilt'. To suffer from both of these is a dangerous combination and can result in bad backs and other annoying injuries. Best not to have any such hang-ups and give in to self-indulgent hedonism from the start.

[looby]

Oh Lord. Glad I wasn't there.

Good luck with your back old chap.

[jonathan]

Useful advice wor mam and spoken like a true convent school rebel. You can be assured we will be clicking the 'self-indulgent hedonism' box next time we book a holiday (by which I mean we won't be sleeping in a field). Paul- yes I can confirm that as winner of our late summer competition you have won first prize: a week's camping holiday in Anglesey. Looby, as runner-up (or to put it another way the only other person who entered) you win second prize- a two weeks camping holiday in Anglesey. Ba-boom...

[John]

Hi Jon,
I refer you to EE!our John goes to Scotland Part 2 for a similar tail of camping horror. Just come back from a camping Holiday in the Auvergne region of France where the rain battered us for most of the 2 weeks. Nic managed to brake her arm in week 1 leaving me, a confirmed non driver, to drive the 1000 miles home via Paris and the M25. Having said that camping is strangely addictive and we are already planning for next year. You are welcome to join us if you think the Punto and your back is up to it.

[jonathan]

Eeourjohn, your repeated intrepid excursions into the windswept and perilous world of bendy poles show us up as the effete dilettantes that we truly are. As for your kind offer for us to come along with you next time, well the back is getting better but the Fiat Punto... well the Fiat Punto has just started a new life in Todmorden, leaving a car-shaped gap outside of our front gate. This turn of events, you will appreciate, merits a post in itself, which will be with you in the next few days. Watch this space...

(oh and by the way sorry to hear about Nic's arm, hope she gets better soon...)