The joys of camping

Wainwright in nautical mood

In my diary for the week just past it says: 'Possible week in Lakes'. This was the tentative plan, but not how things worked out.

The week began well enough. My friends Ian and Angela kindly invited Wainwright, my dog and I to join them on a canal boat they had hired last Sunday. It was a relaxing experience and there is something very satisfying about mooring on a canal near Skipton and enjoying a splendid picnic lunch, whilst feeding titbits to a fleet of hungry cygnets.

No sooner had we moored the boat at the end of our trip though, than it began to rain. A phone call to Keswick Tourist Information confirmed the weather reports I had read that morning and it was tipping it down in the Lakes.

But since my car was laden with camping gear and food for the week a spirit of adventure took over and I pointed the car towards Grassington and hoped to find a campsite. And sure enough, somewhere on that road, I'm still not sure where exactly, I found a farm that offered camping and pitched my tent just before the rains came in earnest.

Now, camping is what I call a fine-line experience. There's a very fine line between it being brilliant and bloody horrible. The weather plays a large part in this and I suspect that age does too.

I first camped in the Lakes as a 15 year old Army cadet. The cadets would divide into groups of 5 or 6 and, carrying everything on our backs, set off to find a convenient spot to camp for the week. During this time we would have a series of tasks to complete and could gain extra points if we discovered the camps of other cadets. It all seemed so simple.

I was reminded of these halcyon days when a group of teenage girls arrived in the midge infested field I was camping in. In the time it took me to boil a kettle, make a mug of coffee and pretend I was having fun, they had pitched their tents in a circle and were laughing and giggling as they prepared a five course meal.

I imagine they were on some kind of award scheme. Next morning, I was eating my weetabix when two adults appeared to check on the girls - twenty something, male and female. God knows where they sprouted from. I suspect they were teachers who had found cosy accommodation elsewhere where they could indulge in illicit bonking.

I rummaged in my tent for a spoon, or the sugar or something else that was hopelessly lost and when I re-emerged the girls had put away their tents, packed up and were marching purposefully towards a corner of the field, while the teachers headed off in the opposite direction to discuss the forthcoming OFSTED inspection and have more sex. I may have misread their body language, but that's how it appeared to me.

The question is - at what point between the ages of 15 and 50 does camping become so bloody complex? It took me well over an hour to take down my tent and pack away everything. And when I'd done that there was barely room in the car for the dog. There was the tent, the windbreak, the canvas chairs, a sleeping mat, a sleeping bag, sleeping bag inners (silk and fleece), torches, a box of food, a cool-box, a box of pans and plates, clothes and three stoves (a petrol one and two calor gas ones, in case the petrol one didn't work, which it didn't).

The older I've got, the more unwilling I have become to sacrifice what I consider to be basic comforts. The more comfort that is removed, the more like Victor Meldrew I become.

And another thing, why is camping so expensive nowadays? I used to be happy sleeping on a simple foam mat. But suddenly this feels very uncomfortable and this is because I know that I could do better. Part of me craves a self-inflating mat for greater comfort. That'll be another 30 quid, sir. And what sort of mat would you like? Male or female? Yes, that's right. Sleeping mats are now shaped for both male and female comfort! Presumably they have special pockets for you to arrange your precious bits and bobs into?

I never did make it to the Lakes. After two days it stopped raining and the sun shone so I packed up and buggered off home to my warm, cosy, asexual bed.

Live long and prosper.