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| Room with a view - camping in the Cordillera Blanca, Peru. |
Last week I lent my Terra Nova tent to our friends the Frenches. One of my most prized possessions (sad, I know), I bought it for my first camping trip with Anita. I was conscious of the amount of strife I’d endured with an ex-girlfriend in a too-small tent (she got sick of my old two-man model – apparently getting changed lying down and having to take turns sitting up in the limited head room isn’t for everyone. I now realise I could have saved a lot of trouble by simply changing girlfriends, rather than tents). The new model sleeps three and – crucially – allows the occupants to all sit up at the same time. Built to withstand the harshest conditions of Himalayan expeditions, I think the Frenches plan to use it in Dorset (at least they will be in safe hands). Hugh wisely opted for a trial run in his back garden. On Monday afternoon he called me: “Erm, David, could you explain the significance of the red pole – it appears to be a different length to the blue poles”. Ten minutes later he was back on the phone: “Right, all the poles are in, but it’s a bit flat. Any tips on making it more… three dimensional?” After another ten minutes I received a text – the tent was up. Mission accomplished, the Frenches were ready to rock and roll. What’s not to love about camping?
Not long before I knacked my leg Anita and I had discussed the possibility of a camping trip with our friends John and Charlie and their sprog Sophie. Sadly that particular plan – along with a few others – had to be put on ice. Even for me I don’t think crawling in and out of a small tent and sleeping on a thin foam pad with a full length leg cast qualifies as fun – even type 3 fun. For a short while though I was extremely excited about taking Lara on her first camping trip. I think more than the prospect of a sleepless night in the confines of a tent with a small baby, I was really excited about the symbolism of the trip. There is a great tradition of camping in the Phillips family, passed down from my parents, and one I certainly aim to continue with my offspring. My mum once showed me a picture of myself, aged less than one year old, sitting on my potty in the middle of a field in the Lake District, so I know I started early. And I think it is fair to say that most of my favourite childhood memories involve camping – whether it was Whitsun in the Lake District, weekends with the Scouts, or the annual Phillips family summer pilgrimage to “Camping Le Ville L’Eglise” in France.
Just a small selection of my favourite childhood camping memories: The warmth of the cook tent on a cold morning; The sound and smell of the gas stove; Pulling on a warm fleece after a freezing morning swim in Coniston Lake; The excitement of passing the magic mushroom heading north on the M6; Celebrating my sister’s birthday, every year, in a tent in the Lake District; Mass camping trips with Great Sankey High School; My dad cooking 160 fried eggs and taking bets on how many yolks would break; Building dams in the stream at Hoathwaite Farm; Incurring my mum’s anger after soaking all my clothes within an hour of arrival; Lying inside a Vango Force 10 tent marvelling at how the orange fabric makes everything glow; Snuggling into a soft down sleeping bag; Listening to the comforting hiss of a gas lamp; Spam sandwiches before day hikes; The annual slog to the summit of Coniston Old Man (I still love it); Marvelling at my dad’s ability to eat tomato soup, shepherd’s pie, and strawberry angel delight one after the other from the same bowl (as a child it seemed beyond my comprehension – I have since done much, much worse); Tent inspection on Scout camp; The slimy toad and his band of wannabe French soldiers in Evian (Liz knows who I mean); Sun; Rain; Wet clothes; Sheep poo; Wellington Boots; Hiking Boots; Flip flops; Jelly Shoes; Going to sleep when it gets dark and waking up with the first light; Kendal Mint Cake; The unmistakeable smell of lying on the ground in a damp field.
After my first camping trip with Anita (to Coniston – the weather was, unusually, glorious) she proudly announced she’d never camped before. I was boggled – I had just assumed she was a seasoned camper. I suddenly felt a sense of guilt that I’d made her poo in the woods because I was too tight to pay for a campsite with a toilet block. But against all odds she was undeterred and I am pleased to say that Anita has fully embraced the Phillips camping tradition. I hope its genetic - I might have to live my camping life vicariously through the Frenches for now, but it won’t be long before I am back up to full camping capacity and at that point little Lara isn’t going to know what’s hit her.
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