Wet wet wet

If I had to summarise our first family camping trip in one word… I would say it was… ‘wet’. Yes… ‘wet’ covers it quite nicely. Our first family camping trip was ‘wet’. Very, very, very ‘wet’.

We’d all seen the forecast, each of us admitting later that we’d thought better of it. But as a group we ploughed on, an unfortunate combination of deep denial and wild optimism. 

The clouds looked angry as we crossed the river. I’m not sure what we did to offend them but as we pulled in to the camp-site they really let us have it.

The rain came hard, the rain came sideways. ‘Torrential’ doesn’t do it justice. The tents went up (only to be taken down, emptied of rain water and put back up again) while the children entertained themselves jumping up and down in muddy puddles.

It wasn’t the camping experience I’d imagined. But we vowed to make the best of it. It was still a break from home, time with friends and an adventure for the little ones. 

We spent the evening huddling under a waterproof gazebo, six adults, four children and a sense of impending doom. We dined on sausages and baked beans, washed down with cold beer. We made jokes and laughed and the rain kept coming.

At 10pm we called it a night. It was a night. And a long one at that.

Our tents leaked, our bedding was damp. There is only so long you can make the best of before you have to admit that actually it’s a bit shit.

So when morning came we gave in, packed our things and left our brave friends behind. The girls slept all the way home in our damp car stirring now and then as I coughed and sneezed. The rain kept coming. 

Later, when the girls were asleep in their beds, we drank wine on our dry sofa and felt pangs of survivor guilt for our friends back in the wet field with the big puddles and the kangaroo crap. But oh, was it good to be dry.