One particular hazard of this weekend’s camping trip was the kissing gate.  And if you count my Auntie Matilda as well, then that makes two hazards.  It wasn’t very often that the whole family got together for an entire weekend, and normally I would point blank refuse.  But this time there was camping involved and for that reason alone, I was happy to share the same camping ground with some of my weird and wonderful relatives for a pre-Christmas get together.

It was on the way back from our wintery walk along by the river, as the last glimpse of afternoon sunshine was radiating through the clouds before heading down to bed, when we came across the kissing gate. 

Supposedly it was customary to kiss the person on the other side of the gate, before passing through, but not for ninjas.  That would be ridiculous I thought, as I looked on at my Auntie Matilda waiting on the other side of the gate.
 
I was very tempted to quash that urban legend and jump straight over the fence to get over to the other side, but my Auntie Matilda was standing on the opposite side of the gate with her lips pursed and waiting for me to give her a kiss.  

There was no way I would do it.  Moreover, I just physically couldn’t do it.  In fact the very thought of it was making my eyes water.  So I waited patiently for her to move away…

And then I waited very impatiently for her to move out of the way...

I’d been waiting for a while.  Now night was closing in and it was beginning to get dark.  I was getting really hungry and from the way she was jigging around, it was becoming more and more obvious that my Auntie Matilda was getting quite desperate for the loo.  Yet still, neither of us would move.  You’ve probably heard the expression ‘as stubborn as a mule’, but perhaps one you haven’t heard is ‘as stubborn as a Camping Ninja’ or ‘as stubborn as Auntie Matilda’.  For we were two determined souls locked in a battle of wills. 

Finally the clock struck midnight and that was it.  I had resisted long enough but now the time had come to use my ninja powers and get myself out of this mess.  I hunted around by the riverside for an unsuspecting frog, picked him up and while my Auntie Matilda couldn’t see what was happening as it was dark, I put the unfortunate frog to her lips for the kiss she’d been waiting all those hours for. 

‘‘Sorry frog’’ I said to my new friend and slimy green saviour.  He didn’t turn into a prince as clearly my Auntie Matilda was not by any measure a princess, but it did mean that as she thought it had been me who gave her the kiss, that she would finally let me through the gate and back to the campsite. 

I didn’t dare to look back behind me but heard a squeal as my cousin Fifi met my Uncle Herbert at the same gate.  Then what I did see was my friend the frog, frog-legging it out of the way as quick as his jumpy legs could carry him!  And I didn't blame him.  Not for one second.

It was the long awaited stag weekend for one of my old friends named Johnny. We all gathered together in a minibus packed full of luggage and a surprise airline ticket was placed in each of our hands. Ooh, where would we be going I wondered? Then as if by magic, we were transported from a chilly November morning in the UK, to warmer climes and the hotel mecca and sunny beach resort of Benidorm in Spain.

We past hotel after hotel; weaving through streets laden with high rise buildings; passing endless hotel swimming pools; and traipsed along the long sandy beach. With my pop up tent placed keenly on the back of my ninja knapsack, I was on a mission to find a campsite to pop my tent up at.

We’d been walking around all day, all night even, and I was longing to see one of the brown camping and caravan signs with an arrow pointing in the direction of a quiet and peaceful campsite. Even with my ninja super sight I was finding it hard to see my way through the disco lights. Was hoping to find a campsite no more than a drunken dream I wondered? Perhaps a few too many drinks were causing me to see everything as one big blur, so I figured I’d need some local help to track the campsites down.

So I asked a friendly Spanish lady passing me on the street where I could find the nearest campsite around here, to which she very enthusiastically replied:

‘Viva la fiesta. Viva la noche. Viva los DJs.’

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! The people here are crazy, I thought to myself. So I called out to my friend Johnny who was walking along the street behind me, and I said to him:

‘Johnny, which way did she say for the campsite?...