Tuesday, 4 June 2013

The night I decided to sleep in the garden

Last night, in the name of testing, I thought it would be a good idea to sleep in the garden and check out my new tent. First point to mention, is that sleeping in the garden is scary business and upon reflection, I don't know how I'm going to manage, if I'm scared in my mum's garden.

It all started, when I nearly fell over after looking up at the sky; it was so clear that it shocked me. So beautiful, inspiring, humbling. I recognised some new constellations using Google Sky Maps - point and gaze facility. Couldn't be simpler. Cassiopeia and Ursa Major helped me to find Polaris, which may prove useful when my phones have died. Polaris points north, how convenient. Vega was so bright I couldn't stop staring at him, but I really miss Orion. Other than the snow, he's the only reason to tolerate the winter. After following a satellite across the sky, I began pitching the tent. In the dark.

Picture me, stumbling around in the dark, head torch on, trying pitch a tent. Well thank goodness the tent is awesome. And scary. Yet, that bad boy looked like a tent within 4.6 seconds. With my previous tent, it took 4.6 seconds to figure out where to put the first pole. I'll admit it, tents confuse me.

Tent assembled (and numerous slugs avoided), I began the inflation of the mattress. Note to self; inflate (self-inflating) mattress outside the tent. You cannot blow air into something that is twisted - it will just laugh at you. Next point to remember. Never take a sleeping-bag out of the bag; simply use it as an over-priced pillow. It took longer to put it back in the bag, than it did to collapse the tent and make a cup of tea. I don't know whether I should commend Quechua's design skills, or be embarrassed at my failings. Speaking of pillows. Holy cheese, what a nightmare. Third point, never buy a camping pillow from Poundland. I know, what was I thinking? I was thinking I could save a few boof. That little bastard deflated before I got to the back door. I bought my normal pillow downstairs instead. Did you know that house pillows and camping mattresses hate each other? Couldn't agree on anything. On the mattress, off the mattress. On the mattress, off the mattress. I kept sliding around like a wet fish all night.

And that's how I felt, albeit more like a giant sardine, shoved into a sleeping bag. I want to know which lunatic invented the mummy sleeping bag. My money is on the same nutter that invented tights. How the hell are you supposed to get into the bag? I though we had an understanding after our time together in Decathlon. Apparently not. It took an age to get in, even longer to get comfortable and a freaking lifetime to fall asleep. I was fighting the sleeping bag so much, that it gave me a headache. A literal headache. Not a hypothetical pretend headache. A real eye-hurting-head-pounding headache. From a sleeping bag. Justifiable cause for refund? No. In the end I settled for it being twisted, who needs the hood at the back anyway. I like mine on the side. Gangsta style.

I don't handle the cold too well, so I was pleasantly surprised to wake up feeling hot. I started to like the sleeping bag, thought perhaps we could become friends after all. Oh, but he wasn't finished with me yet, because upon waking, another nightmare was about to begin. How to get out of the bastard. I'm not even going to bother writing about it. It was too traumatic. The only plus side I can see, is that if someone wanted to assault me, they'd have to cut me out and I'd be so happy to have my arms back, I'd probably hug them.

No comments:

Post a Comment