So, HJ loves camping. She will find any excuse to grab her gear and go to live in a field for a few days. HJ is a member of Scout Network, which, over here in England is a group for young people aged 18-25, male, female or otherwise who still want to continue scouting, without having to become a young leader unless they really want to. It’s basically Scouts for adults. HJ also, as you all know, is a reenactor, which she has only started recently. She will have a modern sleeping bag, and a modern pillow/blanket, but other than that, she lives as if she is from the year 1815, as a camp follower/sutler. As I’m modern (teddy bears like myself didn’t appear until Roosevelt) I don’t get to see HJ at work. But she has shown me photos of life on camp that she took for this blog, so I do get the general gist of what it’s all about.
But the subject of this week’s blog post is about the joys of actually camping. I’m a creature who likes my creature comforts. I like being in a nice warm house, with tea that boils right away when I want it to, with television and radio, not to mention the internet. I like the Xbox, and I like going to the wine cupboard with the other toys for a drink, especially with Hatch and Derpy. So when I see HJ bring out the camp bag and the sleeping bag, my heart sinks. It means a long journey, usually stuffed in a bag for ever and a day, and then, on arrival, being dumped into a tent whilst HJ runs off to either make herself useful or to find something to eat. And then I have to sit in a cold tent for ages, bored out of my wits. Usually HJ will turn off her Kindle and mobile phone to save battery power for the journey home, and I can’t stand her reading material. Gah! Then, night will draw in, and HJ will return to the tent, yawning as she fumbles with the wind up torch to light the inside of the tent. Then she will change into her pyjamas, and toss me aside whilst she wriggles for ages to get into her sleeping bag.
I hate sleeping bags. Seriously, you get squished, and you either fall out of the sleeping bag because you were not put in properly, or you end up slipping all the way to the foot of the sleeping bag, thus being trodden on and being practically suffocated. Then it all happens again the next night, right up until you finally pack up and go home.