Camping ...
“And at the end of the day, your feet should be dirty, your hair messy and your eyes sparkling.” — Shanti
Sue Blandford, Night Tent (Golden)
I love camping, and I write this as someone who has just spent two weeks in Brittany which included torrential rain, 50 mph winds, a leaking tent and a burst airbed. But I stand by my belief that there may be no greater and simpler joy than unzipping a tent, stepping outside onto dewy grass and making a cup of tea on a gas stove.
I’m not sure if anyone falls in love with camping as an adult, or if it has to be something you’re indoctrinated into as a child. For me it is synonymous with childhood, freedom, simplicity and nature. If you talk to a non-camper about how amazing camping is, they will look at you as if you’re slightly unhinged, and then recount a time that they went camping and how the ground was hard, the tent was stiflingly hot during the day and freezing cold at night, that all their clothes had a damp quality to them, and that they were 90% sure they would be murdered in the night by a campsite targeting psychopath*.
Sue Blandford, Home from Home
That said, there is almost no-one, lover or hater, who hasn’t tried camping at least once. Even if that once was a haze of glow-sticks, drug-induced spiritual awakenings and mornings drinking warm Fosters as your friends emerged bleary-eyed from their tents at Glastonbury. And that’s one of the best things about camping, everyone has some experience of it, it’s accessible to almost everyone, and you can do it anyway you like:-
The Bear Grylls style, hardcore minimalist camper, “Don’t mind me, I’m going to sleep under this tarp whilst using a small rocket ship to heat my dehydrated meal in under 60 seconds”.
The home from home camper, “Yes, I always bring a full dining service of crockery, a small armchair and rotary washing line with me”.
The over-prepared camper, “Do you need a torch? I’ve got a first aid kit! I can open that can with my pen knife… you’ve got a tin opener, cool, cool, but the pen knife can do it just as easily”.
The under-prepared camper, “Do you have a mallet?… Oh, and some pegs?…. Do you think I should have brought something to sleep on?… Oh no, I’ve forgotten my toothbrush”.
The van camper, “It’s great, really great… really really really great. Hashtag Vanlife”**.
I fall somewhere in-between the over-prepared and under-prepared camper. I will leave home with a car overflowing with things; utensils, herbs & spices, games for the kids, an unrealistically large stack of books, a knitting project, an impressive looking first aid kit, an oversized 1000 dot-to-dot book I’ve taken on every holiday over the last 4 years and still not completed, and my trusty pen knife. Then I will arrive and realise I have not got a mallet, sufficient pegs, pants or toothpaste - I like to think it adds to the adventure.
Sue Blandford, Night Tent (Jewel Tent)
I had worried a lot on the way to our last holiday that it would be a disaster. I was tired and ready for a break, and as I looked at the appalling weather forecast I was filled with dread that we would spend two weeks wet and miserable, eating pasta and wishing we were at home. After a slightly dramatic debut*** the holiday opened up, as camping trips do, into it’s own rhythm. We slept side-by-side, squeezed into the two-man berth, ate cereal with questionably warm milk outside the tent in the morning, in the afternoon the children would run around feral with the other campsite kids and in the evening we’d eat a simple meal, then walk along the cliffs and watch the sunset over the sea. It was exactly as I remembered camping holidays as a child, and it felt like such a gift to be able to share that with my own children.
* This was once me on a camping trip, but it was a wild boar sniffing around our fire and I was certain we were all about to gorged to death.
** There is a modicum of jealousy here, if you can’t tell, I’d love a van!
** I must admit we ended up seeking refuge in a motel for 3 nights as the hole in the tent, torrential rain and 50 mph winds were not making for a happy holiday - so I may be a fair weather camper, and I’m happy with that!
A poem… Camping by Ani DiFranco…
i love myself when i am camping because i can walk across a river on a log like i am strutting down a runway i love myself when i am camping because i can take a dull knife to a bag of suffering vegetables and with one flame make a meal that ain't half bad i love myself when i am camping because i can find a way where there is no trail because i'm not afraid of spiders or mud up to my knees or mice or bees and because there are no mirrors
A recipe… Halloumi Hash…
I love cooking outside, whether it’s a fire pit, a BBQ or a gas stove, food tastes better when it’s cooked and eaten outside, without a shadow of a doubt.
I’m not going to patronise you with recipes for S’mores, Banana Splits or how to toast marshmallows. A simple fry-up is easy to rustle up on a camping trip but can leave you with a lot of washing up. Pasta pesto is the easiest of the easiest, and if I’m honest what we eat the most of when camping, but probably doesn’t quite constitute a recipe So here’s a compromise, a really easy, hardly any ingredients, one frying pan, tasty meal to try next time you’re camping from BBC Good Food.
Serve with a cup of tea, of course!
Ingredients
2 tbsp vegetable oil
3 medium potatoes (about 700g), cut into 1cm chunks
small bunch of spring onions, chopped, white and green parts separated
½ tsp paprika
250g block of halloumi, cut into 2cm chunks
4 eggs
chilli sauce
Method
STEP 1
Heat half the oil in a large frying pan and cook the potato over a low-medium heat for 10-15 mins, stirring often until softened in the middle and crisp on the outside (it will take some time for the potato to cook through). Add the white parts of the spring onion and the paprika. Cook for another minute, stirring.
STEP 2
Push the potatoes to one side of the pan, then add the rest of the oil to the other side and fry the chunks of halloumi until slightly golden. Mix the potatoes in with the halloumi and some seasoning.
STEP 3
Divide the hash between plates and keep warm. Crack the eggs into the pan and fry until cooked to your liking. Top the hash with the eggs, then drizzle with chilli sauce and scatter over the green parts of the spring onions.
A short story…
I remember sitting on the sandy beach in our matching cagoules. Hoods up and drawstrings pulled tight against the wind, the damp sand slowly soaking through the flimsy plastic until our leggings clung to our thighs. The sky was laden and the air heavy. We sat and watched as our Dad dived in and out of the water. The tide was high and the waves were massive, people had come to the beach just to watch them crash against the boardwalk - a collective shrill of excitement each time one breached the beach and smashed onto the concrete path, obliterating the man-made delineation between earth and sea.
We watched him like a hawk, breath held every time his red head descended beneath the waves. Of course, we knew our Dad was indestructible, but still, we held our breath until we saw him emerge each time. When he finally walked out of the water towards us, exhausted and exhilarated, he seemed inordinately proud to have not drowned.
As we made our way back to the campsite, Dad explained that a storm over the Atlantic was bringing a heavy storm to the island, so for dinner we would exceptionally be allowed to eat dinner in the tent. A hitherto forbidden activity, and not only that, but it would be a Pot Noodle! A Pot Noodle! The sheer joy for two crunchy kids to be allowed to have a Pot Noodle in the tent! We were beyond giddy. In the shop we persuaded Dad to buy a Dandy and a Beano, obligatory sweets on the front cover, guaranteed sugar hit before bed.
We tucked into our Pot Noodles and read our comics, as the storm began to pick up pace, smashing against the tent as we shrieked with delight and terror. That night we pee behind the tent and brushed our teeth quickly as the wind and rain lashed down on us. We fell asleep almost immediately as Dad told us a tale of the evil Uncle David’s attempts to kidnap the two princesses, and the brave Knight Sir Wuff the Brave’s daring rescue efforts.
Years later, I told Dad that was the greatest holiday of my childhood. He laughed and told me it was the most stressful holiday he’d ever been on. As we slept soundly, the storm raged on, and he spent all night lying awake, terrified the tent was about to fall on us or fly away. In the morning we awoke, bright eyed and bushy tailed, eager to explore the wreckage of fallen trees and flotsam on the beach. Signs of the storm that had ravaged the island all around and ours for the discovering, as Dad trailed behind desperate for a coffee.
Love you Dad x
A song… Keep Your Head Up…
This song always reminds me of a few magical summers spent camping and at festivals with friends… and I really want to try and make this epic waterslide one day.