20 Jan 23 – Camping
I’ve camped a lot over the years but there’s only one time I thought I was really going to die.
I wasn’t caught in an ice storm in the Himalayas or bitten by a Jararaca snake on the southern slopes of Mount Aconaguas, because I took precautions and never ever went to either of those places.
This near-fatal encounter took place at a family campsite in the Lake District.
It was with my friend Martin. Our wives foolishly let us take our kids for a night under the stars. They were probably going to a Take That tribute band and drinking prosecco and just wanted to get shot of us, so they agreed to anything.
After we got the tents up, we did what fathers are good at, we set about trying to injure our children. Firstly a black eye.
‘Catch this.’
It was an underarm lob.
‘Hands together, hands together, eye on the ball, eye on the ball…
‘Well done Sweetheart, get your swimming stuff kids we’re going to the river.’
Splash.
Me: Hey Martin, bet you can’t put your head under that waterfall.
Martin: Easy.
Martin: Ian, bet you can’t jump in from that rock over there.
Me: Couldn’t be simpler.
Me: Bet you can’t…
Man on the side of the river: ‘Are those your children swimming unattended in Spiky Rocks and Crocodile Gulch?’
It was a very strange name for a section of river in the Lake District but incredibly accurate.
Me and Martin looked at each other: That’s right, we did bring children?
‘Come on kids, let’s play on that Tarzan swing that looks nice and safe ‘
Anyway, I don’t know why I’m confessing to all this, because this wasn’t the dangerous part.
In the evening the campsite was quiet-ish. There were some good old boys drinking whisky and rye over by the levee, which was dry, hoping for some reason that this would be the day that they died. They had a guitar, but I can’t remember which song they were singing.
After the 60th repeat, I wished it really was the day the music died.
During our second helping of burnt sausages and blackened bean scrapings, I heard a distant rumble. And like all distant rumbles it got louder and louder and closer and closer. The rumble was the sound of 8 Ford Fiestas with customized dual exhaust and extra gunshot muffler rumble box technology, pulling into the campsite.
I noticed there was space for 8 tents, either way over on the other end of the field where we wouldn’t be able to hear them or right next to us.
I know what you’re thinking: knowing my luck they’ll park right next to us. Well, you know what, as I watched 8 gunshot mufflers handbrake turn next to our guy ropes, I thought to myself, you’re right. Teenager boys immediately flooded the area, cracked open the beers and started shouting swear words while punching each other’s faces.
I love a few beers while camping. Me and Martin had already had a few (while still remaining completely and utterly in full control of the children). And, after several hours, the children got to enhance their vocabulary with some premier league swear words.
In the next few sentences when you see @@@@ insert your favourite swear word.
So we went to bed. Children can sleep through anything but I lay awake listening to how a guy called Lowca was an absolute @@@@, no wait it wasn’t Lowca who was the absolute @@@@ it was Pica, no it wasn’t, it was Parton who was the @@@@. This continued for about two more hours until Lowca lost the plot.
‘Right, that’s @@@@ it,’ screamed Lowca.
I heard a car door slam and an engine start-up. Then a car took off down the track. Bearing in mind he’d been drinking for 5 hours.
‘Lowca’s gone mental?’
‘He nearly hit that tent’ Laughter.
‘He’s just missed the wall’
‘What’s he doing now?’
‘He’s turning round.’
‘He’s coming back.’
This was my expression at the time.
I couldn’t see what the hell was going on. All I heard was the sound of a customized dual exhaust and extra gunshot muffler rumble box technology coming back towards us, very fast, with a drunk, insanely angry, teenager at the wheel.
I booted Martin, grabbed my kids and we both dived out of the tent.
Lowca came hammering passed our tent, knocking out a few tent pegs, and skidded at the bottom end of the campsite.
Then the coolest man I will ever meet appeared out of the shadows.
He looked nothing like Clint, but I don’t care.
‘Pack your stuff and @@@@ off.’ That’s all he said. It was probably said in a serious Cumbrian accent but in my mind he plucked out a cheroot and said it slow and easy.
‘Who says Granddad?’
‘Yeah, are you going to make us, old man?’
‘You and who’s army, codger?’
Clint moved his right arm a fraction and I just caught the glimpse of a 20 gauge shotgun with teenager splatter technology and a subwoofer (he had a little dog with him). Then I heard 8 ford fiestas disappearing down the lane as 8 teenage drunk drivers headed onto the roads, nothing new there.
The farmer nodded in our direction and disappeared into the night.
I love that bloke.
Have a great weekend.
Take care and all the best,
Ian
(If you want to leave a comment below, that would be great)
Brilliant Ian, the funniest yet. I can relate to all of it apart from Clint.
Cheers,
Gary
Thanks Gary, glad you enjoyed it. Don’t mess with Clint the Cumbrian farmer. Have a good weekend 🙂
Love your posts. Always make me smile.
Thanks Penny, glad you like them 🙂
There’s lots of reasons why camping is not top of my list of things to do, this list has now got longer ????!
Haha Hilary, I bet. Teenager drunk drivers are a serious camping hazard, you’d sleep easier behind 4 brick walls I would imagine 🙂
You just confirmed all of my concerns about sleeping under canvas. Once you’re in you can hear everything and see nothing !! I’m sticking to our camper van .
I think that could be a wise choice 🙂
? we had a similar experience camping at Santa Pod…s’pose it was only to be expected there ?
I bet everyone was whizzing about at Santa Pod, hopefully not as drunk as Lowca 🙂
Absolute genius. About 25 years ago some mates and I went to see AC/DC at the Milton Keynes Bowl and made the insanely stupid decision to camp. Which turned out to be even more insanely stupid because the campsite appeared to be in Eindhoven, it took so long to get there. And when we did arrive at the campsite some four or so days later we spent the next five hours listening to the teenage @@@@s in the tent next to us playing Girlschool’s ‘Hit and Run’ on a loop at a volume Motorhead would have struggled to match while they got progressively wasted on Carlsberg and cannabis and struggled to hear each other’s profound thoughts over the ear-splintering din of Kelly, Enid, Denise and Kim.
Haha Mark, that sounds very familiar. It’s amazing how profound you can be on carlsberg and cannabis. I saw AC/DC at Milton Keynes Bowl about that same time, we didn’t camp though so it wasn’t us being profound and I was unfortunately still miles too old to be a teenager even then 🙂 Have a great weekend.
Had a similar situation at a group BBQ in Castleton ! It was a group of hairy bikers ( well four of em to be precise) who came to our rescue after a dozen or so “youffs “ decided to invite themselves to our camp !!
We had a great evening in the local pub with our Angels !!
Nice to have some Angels looking after you, wonder if they were friends with Clint the farmer 🙂
And where is Norman in all this???
This was many years ago, pre-Norman, is that Anglo-Saxon:)
Irritating little @@@ers.
Thanks for the lunchtime laughs, as ever!
They definitely were. Glad you enjoyed it 🙂
I hate camping. I camped in the Lake District, we stupidly decided to go to the pub before putting up the tent, we hadnt booked a campsite so stumbled around in the pitch black before deciding a bit of flat ground would do very nicely. Woke up to the sound of loud rumbling and what sounded like an avalanche. Poked head out of tent and discovered we were on the edge of a quarry. Very large trucks with equally large drivers all around, much pointing and laughing. Huge embarrassment, scuttled away abandoning the tent. Never again.
That’s funny Lynn, going to the pub first is always a great option… adds a bit of excitement especially when close to a dangerous quarry 🙂 Glad you didn’t fall in.
Great tale, as always!! The Clint sketch definitely needs to be on a t shirt!!!
Thanks Tim, glad you enjoyed it. I have Clint on a t-shirt, I robbed it for this post
https://skwiggles.co.uk/shop/products/all-skwiggles/clint-eastwood/
You a genius, camped too up Lakes with our motorbikes, some other bikers came causing trouble and the farmer the size and look of a yeti appeared and made them all @@@@ off, so funny.
Must’ve been Clint the farmer, maybe he hires himself out. Glad you survived the camping 🙂
Can (sort of) appreciate that you fancied a bit of an adventure by deciding to go camping, after all, you live out in the middle of nowhere (as us sophisticated City types call anywhere that has fields and isn’t actually a park) but why the lakes, and why for that matter at this time of year? It’s freezing even in the middle of the densely populated Cities, so it must have been beyond belief “out in the open”, and under canvas (well, nylon these days) at that! Even the most insane survival expert would jib that, and swimming in open water on top of that, if the cold never saw you off, then all the various “Discharges” from United Utilities surely would, although I suppose with Sellafield being nearby, it would be like having a hot spring 😀
Haha Baz, this took place several years ago in the summer, so don’t worry I wasn’t doing a Win Hoff:)
I’m thinking the first group were from a certain Rugby Club with the word ‘Lune’ in the name. It’s their song. I have been known to be standing on a table at the end of the night signing that song, but it was a very long time ago…
Haha Lisa, are you sure it was a very long time? 🙂