To camp or not to camp? That is the question.

Last year Peter bought a tent to go to Leeds Festival and at the time I made him promise to take me camping one day. I hadn't been camping since my days in the Girl Guides, so the last time was probably around 1980.   The opportunity came to join my sil and bil, who were already set up on camp in Cornwall.  The weather forecast wasn't so good but it began to look as if the weather men had got it wrong and on a day they had predicted rain, we had this...

So we made a very last minute decision to join them. (I have never packed for a holiday so quickly in all my life!) We made it down to Perranporth in three and a half hours on traffic free roads and arrived around 11pm on Monday. For the first night, we crashed in Ste and Dee's very spacious and well equipped tent; the tent of seasoned campers. I had the best night's sleep I had had in ages. Then we spent Tuesday on beautiful Crantock Beach, sitting high on a dune with this as our view. It was  just perfection.

Peter got a much needed time of relaxation away from work and got to fly a kite and build sandcastles for our little niece Erin. I had gone down to photograph Ste and Dee surfing and when I returned "Uncle Buck" had been very busy!

Poor Erin had come down with chicken pox, but at this stage, it wasn't too bad and they hadn't got to her pretty little face.

We rounded the day off with a bbq, cooked by the boys. I liked camping.

Then I spent a night in our own tent! It wasn't too bad, apart from the lashing rain which invaded the middle section of our little old tent. We were kept cosy and dry. On Wednesday, we visited St Ives, where Peter and I had spent our honeymoon in 1989. We found the most perfect vintage tea room, complete with sea views, G-Plan furniture and Abba LPs. 

 It was just what my sil and I were looking for, for a cream tea.

Then the weather really turned. We came back to find Ste and Dee's awning, aka kitchen, had blown away and were thankful to the nice neighbours, who had rescued everything. That night, Peter and I were kept awake by the noise of the lashing rain and howling winds. I lay in the pod, fully expecting either to be whisked away to the land of munchkins and flying monkeys or washed away in a deluge.

Once the wind died down and the rain stopped, the people in the next tent decided to having a blazing row. Then all that water had made us need a trip to the loo, which was a long walk in the dark. (I had got lost on my way back to the tent the first time I went). Once the wind had stopped, you could hear the man in the other tent next to us snoring. Once he stopped, Peter started. I was becoming not so fond of camping. 

As Erin became more poorly, they had an even worse night than us.

Verdict? I was so glad we went, it was lovely to get away and I had a lovely time with Ste, Dee and Erin. However as far as the camping lark goes, three nights was enough and I definitely couldn't have coped without Ste and Dee's bigger and well equipped tent.

Peter and I tootled home via Padstow, a place so popular, it took us half an hour to find a parking space. We had fish and chips on a bench overlooking the harbour. It was most pleasant. Not so pleasant was the drive home, which was a story of slow vehicles and traffic jams..but I did appreciate the space and the quietness of our own bed. I think I have got camping out of my system now.