A New Forest Camping (Mis-)Adventure!

A few weekends ago, Andy & I and a couple of chums (hello Beccy & Dan) went camping. Working in the industry ourselves, we take our holidays, where and when we can, out of season and earlier in the year had made a plan to go to Beaulieu. We agreed this would ideally involve camping nearby if the weather proved conducive, but we were happy to make a final decision nearer the time. Well, nearer the time brought a mild October, so we said we would camp and offered our friends the chance to stay in one of our beautiful Bell Tents. Very excited to be going camping ourselves, (rather than just providing all the kit for others) I began a thorough search on-line for an ideal campsite. We are quite fussy when it comes to campsites. We like small, quiet, independent campsites, preferably with a pub nearby. We are not so fussed about facilities, but we know what we don't like, namely 'holiday park' style mega sites. Anyway, we whittled it down to a couple of farm sites, then remembered Beccy & Dan might actually like decent showers and toilets and so the decision was made for us and I settled on a small site in Minstead near  Lyndhurst. I emailed the owners and waited for a reply. Two weeks passed, nothing! I telephoned the owner and a rather brusque lady huffed and puffed whilst I got to the point (I'm sorry, I was just being friendly, I thought people liked those who were chatty on the phone, but no, she wanted me to get to the point ASAP and couldn't wait to get off the phone)! Anyway, the upshot, they did not take bookings, just turn up, cash payments only and make sure we arrive before it gets dark. Easy-peasy, we could do that no problem! All sorted.

Except then we picked up a last minute tent booking for that weekend and that somehow had to be fitted in with Andy finishing work on the Friday, packing up the car and setting off! It was all ok though, he arranged to finished early and I was off work anyway, so could get all the stuff together on the day! The booking was only for one tent so we could still take the others for ourselves too, perfect! Beccy and Dan would drive down separately and arrive just like when we have a booking, to find the tents all ready set up for them, and we'd be there brewing tea and starting on dinner! All good!

Or so we thought! Friday arrived and I busied myself filling the car with all the kit for the booking, then making a separate pile of all the kit for our own trip. We had packed our clothes & personal stuff the night before so it was just tent stuff piled up in the garage ready to go in after the booking. Andy got out of work and arrived home no problem, so we set off for Newton Mill Campsite to set up for our booking. Well, the set up went swimmingly and we would have been home ready to load up right on schedule were it not for the annoying Bath rush hour which on Fridays seems to start at 3pm and last until 7pm, so it took forever to get home, and delayed our leaving time. We raced around like mad things, packing up the car and we were on the road by 5.15pm. The light would be fading around 7pm and we knew we would be cutting it fine, but the campsite was only one and a half Google hours from home so we should have been fine. Except for traffic! Oh dear me, we got delayed heading out on the A36, we got delayed around Salisbury, we got delayed on the M27 and finally, coming onto the A31 we hit stand still traffic. We only had about 2 miles to go but we were going nowhere and the light was fading fast! I rang the campsite and apologised that we were going to be arriving after dark, tried to explain that we would be fine, we had put tents up in the dark before, but she was not happy at all. Ah well, we had tried our best to be on time.

When we finally arrived, it was about 7.30pm and properly dark. We texted Beccy & Dan and said ring when they are nearby to let us know, then I rang the doorbell and a lady answered. Oh my goodness, she was so rude. She virtually ignored everything I was saying, didn't return any pleasantries, and about the only things she said were to tell us off for being late, tell us how much the fee was and then thrust a bin bag at us and tell us we had better clean up after ourselves and use it. After we had paid up she dropped a massive bombshell. 'Now then' she said, 'we have 60 kids in the field so you'll have to go on the right by the gate.' I could not believe it, she had plenty of opportunities to tell us she had 60 kids in, when I first emailed (which she ignored), when I rang to enquire about booking, when I rang to say we'd be late, and even when we first arrived. Why had she waited until we'd paid? Oh yeah, because she knew we'd have no choice once we'd arrived and paid and she wanted our money! The campsite only had 2 toilets and showers which we four were expected to share with 60 kids who would be roaming about, making noise and generally ruining our nice quiet camping trip! When I said earlier we were fussy, that includes sharing a very tiny field with a whole bunch of over excited teenagers, running about, chattering, shrieking and screaming. This is exactly what they were doing when we pulled into the field round the back. We got out of the car as a threesome of arms linked teens giggled their way by us. Andy leant on the roof of the car. 'I don't want to camp here' he said. 'Neither do I' I replied, then I marched off in the direction of the farm house to get our money back. The good thing about being a bit older is that you're not scared to do things like demand your money back instead of going through with something you've changed your mind about and know you won't enjoy!

I knocked on the door. 'We can't stay here' I said, 'Can I have my money back please?' Without a word, off she shuffled, presumably to get it. When she came back, I was on the phone to Beccy 'Change of plan' I said and I'm afraid now it was my turn to be rude, as I took the money from the campsite owner, whilst on the phone, talking to Beccy, and this is something I would never normally do, but given the treatment we'd had earlier, I did't feel that bad about it either!

I thought we'd book a cheap B&B, we'd seen a well known budget chain just down the road, so thought we'd end up there, until Beccy said 'We could go stay at my parents, they said we could if something went wrong.' (although I think they were thinking more along the line of in case the weather turned bad rather than us getting our knickers in a twist after a late arrival, rude landlady and prospect of sharing a field with a whole bunch of noisy adolescents!)

So, we waited for Beccy & Dan to arrive then followed them to her Mum's house, just a few miles down the road, in Ringwood. Dinner that night was a pub meal, after a short walk to one of Beccy's old local haunts and her sister & hubby even came & met us for a drink. A very nice evening, and afterwards, we wandered back and kipped on the living room floor. They even treated us to bacon and eggs the next morning (ah, just like real camping)!

Seeing as the original plan was to go to Beaulieu, we set off after breakfast, deciding to drive towards Beaulieu and stop at the first campsite we came across, still intending to camp for one night. We got as far as Brockenhurst, having passed many campsites which were closed for the season. Oops, we started to get worried! We got to a junction, Beaulieu one way, Lyndhurst the other and made a snap decision that if there were going to be any more campsites, they would be more likely to be towards Lyndhurst, so that way we went. A couple of minutes down the road we saw a welcome sight: a sign for Long Meadow Campsite, and there were definitely caravans visible in the distance! It was open - Hooray!!

Long Meadow saves the day!

We were greeted by a very friendly couple. 'Do you think we could camp here, two pitches for one night, please? I asked. 'Ooh, I should think so' was the reply. We chatted and joked with the owners whilst they booked us in and they were really lovely. They gave us some tips for things to see at Beaulieu and let us get set up straight away, even though it was only 11am and they normally don't allow arrivals until 1pm. We had landed on our feet. We told them about our problems the night before and they asked who it was, when we told them, they were not surprised!!

Booze and Zombie Fluxx - the perfect Saturday night in?

The Bell Tents treat us to some glamping in the New Forest!

Needless to say, we pitched the tents as quick as you like, trundled off to Beaulieu and had a lovely time. When we returned, we cooked our dinner and spent a relaxing evening outside the tents until it turned too chilly then we moved inside our 5m Bell Tent where we chatted and played games with some drinkies until the small hours. This was the first time Andy & I had experienced camping in a Bell Tent where we actually got to enjoy being in the tent, hanging out with friends. It was so very spacious, and lovely to have somewhere to sit and relax instead of having to go to bed as soon as it gets too cold for sitting outside!

Our New Forest Misadventure had come out on top and we ended up having a wonderful time. It was a shame we could not have camped for two nights, but we thoroughly enjoyed it nonetheless, oh, and a big thank you to Beccy's folks for rescuing us from certain disaster!

By the way, I'm not going to name names or point fingers but if you are curious, there are plenty of reviews on Trip Adviser which will leave you in no doubt as to who the unbelievably rude lady was and what campsite she is the owner of.

The Purr Factor

Any cat owners out there will know all about The Purr Factor.

I'm uber cute and you know it, I will rule your lives with an iron paw!

This refers to several things such as...

• The volume you have to have your telly at which is louder than normal because you have a purring cat on your lap.
• The amount of lost sleep every weekday morning pre-alarm because an over excited purring cat has predicted that you are going to be getting up and feeding it soon.
• The amount of lost sleep every weekend because your purring cat does not understand that weekend mornings are different.
• The amount of weight you loose because you are such a sucker for a purring cat and always save it a bit of food from your plate every time you eat.
• The number of cups of tea you miss out on, that you wish you were drinking whilst sat on the sofa, but cannot make because it is impossible to disturb the sleeping cat that is purring contentedly on your lap.
• The number of mice, shrews, voles, birds or rabbits (both living and dead) you have rescued, removed or chased around our house, alerted by the excruciatingly sweet but equally chilling chirrup emitted by your feline friend with each successful hunt. 
• The lost hours of intended reading as a purring moggy sits squarely upon whatever paper article you were just perusing the millisecond you put it down, begins purring and will not budge.
•  The amount of abandoned or unfinished projects, (be they jigsaw puzzles, games of scrabble or sorting out your Christmas wreath) because your cat has decided that whatever you are trying to do is right where she wants to be right now, settling down for a nice nap with a lovely loud purr.

Yes, all cat owners will be very, very familiar with the above. 

Cat owners, please feel free to add to the list using the comment button!!

What is worse than finding a squashed spider on your foot...?

...Finding half a squashed spider on your foot.

This is exactly what happened to me the other day! I'd got up and was in between wearing pyjamas and being fully dressed (our house is always unfathomably chilly so socks, slippers & sloppy jumpers when you get out of bed is an absolute must) and I was just about to get dressed, which meant it was about 9am.

I was removing my morning socks and changing into the ones I'd chosen to match my attire that day when I noticed something weird atop my foot. Closer inspection revealed it to be half of a squashed spider. You can imagine the noise I made. I am terrified of spiders, they really creep me out, I even have a spider dance which I do when startled by one of the eight legged brigade. A stamping of feet, accompanied by a waving of arms and flicking of fingers. I think it is tribal based, having its origins in warding off evil spirits in a 'get the potential for actual spiders off me physically and all thoughts of ethereal arachnids out of my head as quickly as possible' sort of way. After I'd uttered sufficient exclamations and expressions, representing an equal mix of disgust, terror and confusion and performed my spider dance, I was ready to remove the unfortunate half beastie. It wasn't too crunchy which meant it must have been freshly dead.

I'd showered before bed, so the spider either had to have been in bed with me, or it crawled into my socks during the night. (The socks generally spend their time when not being worn lounging around on the floor - a pair will do me a few days, as I usually only wear them for an hour or so!) I had to find out where the other half of the spider was, I couldn't bear the though of it lurking around in some dark corner waiting to be discovered and leap out and give me another unpleasant surprise. Not that half a dead spider is capable of leaping - I'm going for drama here at the expense of realism!  I heaved the covers off the bed to inspect the sheet, no half dead spiders, good. I was relieved but also disappointed. I couldn't remember which sock had been on which foot so I had to inspect the insides of both. This proved very difficult as the socks I favour for my morning socks are inevitably rather fluffy on the inside, meaning I had to carefully part woolly sock fibres which were cream, flecked with brown and black and annoyingly this is the exact same colour as half a dead spider. I was thorough, but still could not find the other half. I realised at this point I was destined never to find it and I had to face the fact that I would forever live my days wondering how half a dead spider came to be mashed against my foot and where on earth the other half could possibly have got to. I felt sorry for the spider, that he had been merrily ambling along, minding his own business (albeit on my foot which he had no right to be mountaineering at that moment) when with an almighty splat, something came along and pummelled him into non-existence. I had a moment's silence, whispered a silent 'sorry' under my breath and went about the business of getting dressed.

Incidentally, I saved the squished spider remains and I did momentarily consider taking a photograph to display alongside my blog but it turns out that half a dead spider isn't so photogenic. Who'd have thought it?

Starting a new piece of writing is the hardest thing to do

I'm a Blog newbie. There, I've said it. I know what it is and I must admit I've been intrigued for a long time, but never bitten the bullet and actually gotten round to writing one. Until now!

Why have I never written a blog before? Well the answer is both simple and complicated. I write, I've written for years, I have a degree in English Literature & Creative Studies in English for goodness sake, but after graduating and 'becoming an adult' life just took over. Very simple, but as I said also complicated.

I used to write all the time, I'd stop on a bench on my way home from college, thoughts bursting out of my head, couldn't wait to get home, scared I'd  forget something. I would always have a notepad & pencil on me. I slept with pen & paper next to the bed, in case I awoke in the middle of the night with an amazing idea. Not wanting to put the light on and ward off any chance of returning to sleep, I'd scrawl the idea illegibly on a scrap of paper, usually unable to make any sense of it in the morning, but if I didn't, I'd lie awake all night trying to memorise the idea, it was easier to give in to it and allow my mind a moment of peace & hope to let sleep return.

I was overly critical of everything I wrote, I thought I was too young, too naive. I thought my writing needed a chance to mature, so kept just churning out ideas, half thoughts, beginnings with no middles, middles with no endings. I thought when I was older, I'd be a full time writer, make use of all the scraps of writing, finish all those half begun ideas. Finally, I fantasised that afterwards, when I was famous and a long time dead, my collected juvenalia, all those fragments and doodlings would be published posthumously, smiled upon, revered even. I was naive.

In reality, after graduation and once the insecurity of adolescence passes, you get the job, the partner, the house and your life becomes so very normal. Everything you fight against as a youngster just happens around you, happens to you and eventually, it swallows you up. You lose sight of who you actually are, who you used to be, and yet you still yearn for a thin sliver of that person to return. Despite all the insecurities, all the flaws which seem so petty now, such gaping stupidity, you know that given the choice you would much rather be that person than the one you are now. Just perhaps with a bit more confidence, a bit more self esteem.

And so, happy with life, we give up on our ambition of becoming an author, of travelling the world and writing about it, of creating vast worlds and swathes of characters in epic works of fiction, or simple, beautiful poems that touch others with their empathy & feeling. We settle down, we turn a blind eye to the dream left unfulfilled and we get on with daily life. The younger us would not believe we would choose hurrying to the supermarket & home to cook the dinner over hours spent under a tree on a sunny day, scribbling furiously, ignoring the rumble in the tummy, not caring what time you get home, or if there even is any dinner to be had when you get there.

When we are young we recognise we are not yet experienced enough to write, when we get older we simply don't have the time to write, and here is the complicated bit. I used to love writing, dream about being a writer, and yet recently I have found myself with plenty of time and yet have done all I can to avoid starting writing. I've cleaned the kitchen, checked my emails, folded the washing, made some jam, checked my emails again, all that just to avoid starting to write.

I have actually sat in front of the computer and not been able to write a thing. Why is that? Why is there nothing so daunting as a blank sheet of paper, or the slow blink of a fresh cursor at the start of an empty word document? Why am I so scared of those beginnings? I don't know, I don't have the answers but what I am trying to do here is start something. Just make a start. Some days, I might rant & rave about modern life, some days I might tell a lovely story of something beautiful that happened to me that day, or that week and other days I might upload a piece of fiction, a poem or a travelog. I don't know what I will write, or how often  but I feel that having taken this blank page and put some words upon it I have opened the gate, and now there is much to be said.

I am a creative person, I cannot deny it. My mind is active, I cannot rein it in or hold it back. I want to feel and learn and inspire and I am determined to do so. I will claim back an old piece of that younger me and make myself proud. I will stop finding devious ways to avoid writing, I will write and I will create. I am Crafty Nicky and the world around me is a crafty place and I want to make my craft in it, about it and for it!