I would just like to say, that I got married in a Four Star Resort in the Caribbean! I stayed in the best hotels in London and San Francisco! I wouldn’t want youto think I was some hippy tree hugger whose raison ‘d’être was to be outdoors, miles from a shower cubicle.
Good, so now we’re straight.
When I lost my job, I suggested camping. Yes I suggested it. I even went tent shopping and comparing height, size and how many people it could sleep. I even persuaded Robert to buy the tent.
We chose a campsite in Wicklow. We got our huge tent erected, we cooked some burgers, had a few beers – and then came bedtime. The air bed needs some description – it’s a double and is approximately two feet (60cm, I think) deep. I had decided after the last air-bed olympics (story for another blog) that I would sleep on the floor. So Charlie volunteered for what he thought was the cosy option.
My husband rolled into the middle of the airbed and my son was catapulted into orbit and landed on top of at least 4 feet of airbed, at a kind of pinnacle. I grabbed his hand, and pulled him towards me. At this lost of resistance, Robert fell into a self-imposed crater in the middle of the airbed. This time however, his head was on the ground at the edge of the tent, just about to flip outwards, with his feet now at a 45 degree angle, high up in the air! My husband has a heart condition and I knew sleeping at such a large incline was disaster. So I tried to grab hm and pull him up. No joy. I tried to push him – no joy. Tears of laughter were running down my face at each increasingly ridiculous pose my husband ended up in.
I thought my son would wet himself.
Just then, a torch was shone into our tent “Can you keep the noise down please, its 11.30”.
We got to sleep after midnight, to be awoken by crows on the tree above us at 4am and the rooster at 5am – but we managed to go back to sleep until 8am, when we let the air bed down and dear old Robert rolled out to safety 🙂