By: Blonde Two
As you should know (if you have been paying attention) Mr B2 and I spent last week visiting my family and our children in their far-flung corners of the UK. Seeing them and exploring their surroundings was great, but maybe the biggest adventure was the variety of our sleeping arrangements:
Sleeping Quarters One: The dormitory – The dormitory happens when you have a load of sisters, one brother-in-law and one teddy bear who are having such a great evening together that they all want to go to bed in the same room and continue the chatter. Inevitably (unless your mum does actually own a dormitory) someone has to sleep on the floor.
Sleeping Quarters Two: The truck – Mr B2 and I have slept in our truck many times. I am going to tell you that it is a Toyota HiLux Surf (he is going to tell you that I am wrong). Whatever it is, when the back seats are folded down and all the luggage is piled in the front seats, it has enough space for two sleeping mats. We are posh these days and block the windows with radiator reflector foil or sometimes with ice!
Sleeping Quarters Three: The actual bed in an actual house. A bit middle-of-the-road I know, but it was very nice of Six-Foot to vacate his bed for us. We had a lovely view of the Rochdale Canal and a nearly en-suite! It is still a most excellent surprise to find that our children have their own homes.
Sleeping Quarters Four: The trees. Well nearly the trees, we are not quite Tarzan standard yet, but our hammocks definitely left us with that kind of ‘back to the jungle’ feeling (despite the snow).
Sleeping Quarters Five: The static caravan. Another son giving up another bed. This van was everything you can imagine the sleeping quarters of a young outdoor instructor might be! Never presume that a tin box will keep the heat in more than a tent – it doesn’t but I spent a comfy night wrapped in Big Orange and a duvet.
Which brings me to my point. Tonight, the Two Blondes should be wild camping on Dartmoor. We are in the middle of our very own Silver DofE Expedition after all. I take full responsibility (as I did the booking) however for the fact that we will instead be cosily bedded down under a roof, with actual beds and maybe a fluffy towel or two …
Don’t be disappointed with us … I counted up the nights, between us by the end of April, we will already have wild camped (no loos, no heat, not much sleep) for fifteen nights.
Thought that might be a nice canal for canoeing – until I realised the lock was number 18 !!!!! – – – Starfire.
There’s nowt wrong with a few creature comforts – fluffy towels, a heating system, a real bed – – – Broughy.
I suppose a Nosey Parker would ask what percentage of your time abed in curious places did you actually spend asleep. For it’s not always discomfort that represents the enemy but rather unfamiliarity – the short doze followed by jerking awake and asking that mildly terrifying question: Where am I?
Just out of school in my mid-teens I took a hitch-hiking holiday with two pals towards London. The aim was to sleep in Youth Hostels but you must know about the best-laid plans and these plans weren’t particularly well-laid. We found ourselves somewhere in rural Leicestershire and a long way way from any friendly green triangle. A burly farmer admitted he had accommodation, relieved us each of half-a-crown and led us to the back of the farm where he gestured to a chicken-shed with all its attendant disadvantages. Prominent among which is that chickens don’t need an awful lot of head-room. None of us slept much and all were keen to slip away early, since it was high summer and dawn came soon after midnight or thereabouts.
One thing that kept me awake was the thought of chicken-poo. True the shed had been thoroughly cleaned inside but when it comes to chicken-poo who can be absolutely sure? Not I.
I suppose chicken-sheds haven’t played an important part in your well-organised lives. And you’ve probably only hitch-hiked accidentally rather than by intention. Hitch-hiking being halfway (or more) towards cheating. Ah well, as they say in the US, it’s differences of opinion that lead to horse races.
You are right of course about the unfamiliarity (and the lack of chicken sheds). I have had better nights in tents than in hotels etc. I think night three is the point at which your body starts to settle down and accept your location. The chicken shed must have been truly stinky!