Tuesday 4th August 2009I am not a fan of camping. I like breathing in the air and being around nature. I like the wafting smell of powdered soup. But I also like to return to a warm, snug bed and for basic errands like making a hot drink and travelling to facilities not to be too laboured and hazardoud an activity.
We arrived at the Bakewell Camping and Caravanning Club site in wet and blustery conditions and left a complaining Ed strapped into his car seat as we set about putting the tent up. The weather helped to concentrate our minds to the task in hand. I tried not to glance too much at the tent next to us that was palpitating in and out with the wind.
We surprised ourselves by getting it up in a decent amount of time, something that the couple in the next tent even complimented us on. Jan waved off my suggestion that we should have a contingency plan if our tent was to blow down in the night. In the conditions, we drove to the town centre – to our shame, it’s a walkable distance. We walked along the river and found a coffee shop and, naturally, had the Bakewell Tart, a lemon version of which I found delightful with the first bites and sickly with the last.
Back at the tent, we had a drink at the on site bar, came back to the tent and made up Ed’s milk. We put him to bed whereby he would resurface constantly to have a scamper around the insides of our tent until 10:30. The wind up lantern, it transpired, didn’t generate much light – some batteries are needed there. Outside, I side-stepped muddy trails with the torch.
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