When writers go camping, they’ve got one advantage over other campers, they can write about it when they get home – which proves once again that writing is the best therapy. Please go like on Tom’s blog 🙂
“I can’t sit still and see another man slaving and working. I want to get up and superintend, and walk round with my hands in my pockets, and tell him what to do. It is my energetic nature. I can’t help it.”
Jerome K. Jerome – Three men in a Boat.
I’ve been camping with two under 6-year old boys for a few days and I’m shattered, like I’ve been sleeping in the bass bin at a Leftfield gig. It’s a unique type of tiredness that suggests you missed an entire night’s sleep and have been covered in a layer of sweaty glue and smell of a bonfire.
Any self respecting idler should listen attentively for suggestions of camping, and be ready with excuses at the drop of a bent-tent-peg that’s impossible to hammer into even the softest ground yet remains in the equipment bag. Nothing has ever looked better…
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I love camping.
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Camping is NEVER a good idea. First and foremost – bears can kill and eat you. There’s no internet. The bathroom situation is less than sanitary. Did I mention bears can eat you? Ticks. Ticks creep into the worst places and burrow there. Sleeping bags. No thanks. I need something fluffy when I sleep. And, invariably, when you go camping, there seems to be an obligation to do something outdoorsy, like hiking. If you go hiking, bears will kill and eat you. Did I mention bears?
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