Camping with a swing

Ah. Hi. This is awkward. How've you been? I've been pretty good. Well. I guess we've got some catching up to do.

Nowadays, I work as a manager in a chocolate shop. I leave for England in 4 weeks. I return in 5 months. I am rapidly losing faith in my ability to decide on a career path. I am also losing the ability to keep my room clean and spend my money on things that aren't alcohol.

My friends want to take me camping as a farewell gesture. Hm. Don't get me wrong, I adore them, they are mad and lovely and hilarious and I shall miss them like many many limbs (a kind of octopussy love), but they are in denial of the fact that I take to camping like I take to flying, or chemistry. Also, the details of this trip are sketchy. Or at least sketchy to me, who fails to see the reason.

Where are we camping? Land. Just... land. Fields. There is nothing in the fields. I repeat: THE FIELDS ARE EMPTY OF THINGS. When are we camping? Oh, July. Mid winter. Inland. Taking all of this into consideration, I tried to tactfully ask the question: how will we wash ourselves? There's a creek, apparently.

I'M SORRY WHAT.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT BATHES IN CREEKS. DEER. OK. SMALL MAMMALS. THE OCCASIONAL MARSUPIAL. AND DYING THINGS. DEAD AND DYING ANIMALS LIE IN CREEKS IN WINTER, BECAUSE EVEN THEY KNOW THAT FUN IS NOT MADE OF FREEZING ONE'S BOLLOCKS OFF IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, AND IF IT WAS, EVERYONE WOULD BE DOING IT.

All I can say is that there are reasons why humans have evolved to living in houses with central heating and rice cookers. We are pussies, it's true. We are soft, pink things with lots of easily-damaged parts who like to eat things that taste good and lie in places that are warm and soft. Really, we haven't progressed from infancy, and this deeply, deeply does not bother me because I am GOOD at living a sheltered life. My family has trained me well. When/if we camp, we bring dips. And oil pastels. We erect a tent the size of Bolivia and we hang lanterns. It's festive, and almost makes you forget that you are without rice cooker and colour-coordinated sock drawer.

What we don't do is lie on thin mats (bedrolls my big toe, that is sandpaper), on ground in cold, damp places, get up at obscure hours of the day when the sun is not actually in the sky to do things like fish and canoe. I would rather remove my ears with a baseball bat.

At least this camping trip will be accompanied by lots of alcohol to help with a) warmth and b) oncoming misery. And apparently there will be campfires, which is a little concerning as a disproportionate amount of my friends are verging on pyromaniacs. Will update the clearly panicked readers of this blog when plans develop, or when I propose hiring a darling little campervan with heating systems and a mini fridge.