Funny camping holiday memories.

Dave7

Legendary Member
Location
Cheshire
Just looking at various caravan/B&B/hotel options in Cornwall and one of the reviews reminded me of a camping holiday we had many years ago.
In the adjacent tent there was a young couple who had no idea of how sound travels.......particularly at night:rolleyes:.
From their 'loud' conversations we learned that he was a married man who had told his wife he was away on business.
The words "at it" & "like rabbits" spring to mind..........I think the whole site was entertained for the week.

We had some great camping holidays and some real stinkers due to weather.
 

Slioch

Guru
Location
York
On a similar theme, I remember an afternoon on the National Trust site in Langdale many years ago. The Lake District weather was a bit wet to say the least, so I came down off the hills early with the plan to spend the afternoon festering in the tent.

In line of site from my tent was the tent of a young couple, who were also intent on their own version of "festering". To be fair they were very quiet about it, but unfortunately their tent was a tiny "A" frame one - i.e. not enough room to contain a cat let alone swing one! What they were up to was given away by the walls of the tent being pushed outwards by her knees (presumably), and the top if the tent going up and down in time with his arse!

There were several other festering hillwalkers witnessing this as well from their tents, and we just exchanged knowing smiles over our mugs of tea.

Happy days! Reminds me of various camping trips of my own with Mrs S when we were younger. ^_^
 

Globalti

Legendary Member
Numerous family camping holidays, mostly in France or Scotland where many were cut short when the midges became too much for us.

Camping outside Granada in Spain and I was awoken in the night by people shouting and running. Got up to investigate and discovered that a gang of thieves had drugged the campsite owner's dog and gone round with razors slitting open tents and removing everybody's valuables from between their heads. They had cut a rubber on my tent outer but I had been disturbed and they must have heard me moving around. In the adjacent tent were my Mum & Dad who, when I told them the story, said: "They wouldn't have got anything from us!" "Oh no?" I replied, shining my torch at the end of their tent to reveal a huge T shaped slit where the thieves had tried to get my Dad's briefcase containing all our cash, passports and travellers' cheques out from between my parents' heads. Luckily they had failed. They robbed three other camp sites around Granada that night.

Once on a very early Polaris event, about 1992 or 1993, one of the events where you have to carry all your kit and camp above 1000 feet. There was a big storm forecast so my brother and I took care to pitch our tiny Saunders Jetpacker in the lee of a low drystone wall. Sure enough during the night it blew a hoolie and we lay in bed avoiding the wet flapping tent and listening to muffled shouts as people's tents blew away. Unfortunately my brother was beginning to suffer the effects of the high carb diet and farting like a horse, really greasy lingering stinkers, so in the end we agreed he needed to get up and go to the bog. This involved some convolutions while he got his outdoor gear on as it was lashing down with rain. While he was away I lay listening to the mayhem and when he got back he told me that quite a few riders had taken refuge in the organisers' marquee, which, amazingly, hadn't blown away: "It's like a Mexican earthquake disaster out there!" he told me gleefully. Next morning we found that around a third of the tents had been wrecked.

On another Polaris in the Dales it rained a lot and the overnight camp was in a ridiculously steep sloping field. The water supply was a stream running down one end of the field and at one point in the very long afternoon I stuck my head out of the tent and saw one unfortunate cyclist, clad from head to toe in waterproofs and heading for the stream with two water bottles, lose his footing and take off on a long, fast, uncontrolled slide on his back down the streaming wet field, muddy water flying everywhere and miraculously not piling into anybody's tent until he crashed into the drystone wall at the bottom of the field. Poor bloke.
 
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