Camping

Max and I had a priceless chat in the car last night. We were killing time before his Chickenshed workshop. Mondays are a bit of a squeeze what with dance first. No time to go home, so we get to Chickenshed and stay in the car for twenty minutes or so and have a chat. Some of our conversations are wonderful. Last night I introduced the concept of camping. Max has never been camping in his life. We are a family who enjoy our creature comforts, never choosing to share a toilet with strangers and relish in the luxury of boiling a kettle with our own Assam tea bags at the ready whenever the mood takes us.
So I had a bit of explaining to do before we got on to exchanging opinions. My romantic notions took over momentarily as I remembered wonderful camping holidays as a child. My dad was in the R.A.F and whilst stationed at R.A.F Wildenrath in Germany, we cherished our four birth Sprite Musketeer caravan with accompanying awning, handmade by my dad, who happened to be Squadron Leader of the parachute packing department. He had an industrial sewing machine to hand and has always been highly creative. We spent every school holiday cruising along the autobahns stopping off wherever we pleased, passing through Italy, Luxemburg, Austria and France, guided by our free spirit and enthusiasm. The camping sites were very clean and pleasant spots, sometimes in a deep lush forest, sometimes by the side of a tranquil lake. Such fond memories, like riding on the back of my dad’s bike with an empty plastic two litre ice cream container which we filled with chips at the local shop, squealing with delight, clutching on to our treasure as he peddled as fast as he could back to the caravan for tea.
That was over thirty five years ago and I’d forgotten the disgusting chemical toilet and the tinned ravioli followed by tinned fruit salad. I just remember being so happy, snug as a bug with the two people I adored most in the world. My sister would sometimes be around if it was a big holiday and she was home from boarding school. That meant me having to go up in the bunk bed, (Amanda was older and therefore laid claim to the best bed) which has got to be one of the more uncomfortable experiences of my childhood. Nylon wrapped over a pole and brought up taught to form a bed. Entry in and out was always hazardous and highly irritating if once you’d got settled, you realised you needed the loo.
Such exotic times too, like when all four of us went to St Tropez and my sister, my mum and me all wore long swishy skirts beautifully made by my Mum and the height of fashion. We would cruise along the market stalls of an evening after a long day of sun on the beach. After having gorged all day on the honey coated nuts from the flirtatious beach sellers, we then finished off the evening with a crêpe Suzette, thinking we were ever so European.
With these mixed messages rattling around in my head I tried to give Max my best take on camping.
‘Well, Robbie’s Mum, Rebecca has a big tent that we could borrow. It’s got three very little rooms in it for us all to sleep. One for you, one for Charlie and one for me and Dad. We could drive somewhere very beautiful in the car and sleep under the stars in the tent. It would be great fun.’
‘Would we eat?’
‘We could take some food and buy some food once we got there, maybe go to cafes and stuff, maybe fish and chips (I knew that would be a clincher).’
‘We could take some pillows! But we’d need something for the ground, my bottom would get achy!’
‘Great thinking Max, yes a mattress, it would have to be quite thin though, as we need to fit everything into the car.’
I ran with it a bit and asked Max what he thought we’d need to go camping and if he could think of any problems that sprang to mind.
‘Going to the toilet?’
Yes, that’s one of my worries, especially in the night. Camp sites do have toilets, but we wouldn’t have one of our own, we’d have to share.’
The look Max threw at me was such a picture. The concept of not having your own family toilet was just too much for him to take onboard. I suggested the same would apply for washing, and that communal showers would be available. He seemed totally unfazed by this and I suspect he’d already decided that he just wouldn’t wash. I suggested that the only thing I would really miss was being able to boil a kettle and make a cup of tea, which I felt sure a camping shop would provide a solution to.
We chatted for some time about all the things we could do together as a family and although it would be very unusual and not what we were used to, if we could sort out the basic things that we would need for our stay, it could be fun.
Later when Paul went to pick Max up he jumped in the car, full of talk about camping, clearly it must have been on his mind for the duration of his workshop and he’d been giving it a great deal of thought.
‘I know Dad!’ Max enthused.
‘Let’s go camping in the garden!’