We went camping this weekend. We do this this every year, and generally try to seek out a different campsite each time if possible. Only mentalists keep going back to the same place year after year, let's face it. And we found a belter this time. It's pulled off the neat trick of being sufficiently animated and not too uptight, whilst at the same time not resembling the last days of the Roman Empire in man-made fabrics. They also allowed fire pits, which is a joy. Ray Mears, the survival expert, says the secret to getting through alfresco hardships is to build a fire as soon as one is able, before finding shelter or anything. The fire gives one a source of heat, of light, somewhere to cook food and some protection of course, but it's the spiritual and psychological benefits it affords that make it so important. Nothing steels the sinew and resolve of the world-weary camper like watching a fire take hold. You feel hope surging through you veins as the flames leap higher.
We needed this primaeval fillip because the weather was decidedly schizophrenic over the weekend. We arrived at the site on Saturday in ninety degree heat, literally. The temperatures in the south east of England were breaking all sorts of records at the weekend. But as quickly as it arrived, the tropical weather revised its plans and pissed off. Just twenty-four hours later it was very chilly as soon as the sun went down. So after dinner on Sunday, we all sat around the burning hearth and exchanged ribald stories about our collective youth.
Disaster averted. Thanks, Ray.
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