It was brought on by a weekend morning moment of artistic inspiration.  The postman had weaved a Dulux colour chart leaflet in between my post before popping it through the door, my housemate Eric was watching the re-runs of Grand Designs on the TV, and I sat at the kitchen table eating my morning bowl of cornflakes staring through the door at the drab looking living room wall.  The cornflakes swirled around my cereal bowl, floating in the milk, creating a hypnotic state of bright yellow circling corn mush.  And as if a psychedelic 60s inspired switch had flicked on in my brain, my painting fest began.

There was no time for shuffling furniture into another room or to place dust sheets over important items.  The moment of creativity was now!  And as I warned my stubborn and verging on foolish housemate Eric, who refused to move from his spot in front of the TV, any stray splashes of paint would be down to my artistic creativity and as such, any freestyle paint patches that might end up on the sofa or on his face even, I would not be fully accountable for.

On one wall I painted a tranquil countryside scene, with a tent pitched in the middle of an oak tree lined field and with little fluffy clouds drifting in the sky.  On another wall, I opted for a plain colourwash of red.  The opposite wall I painted plain white and the far side I splashed with blue, filling the room with the colours of Team GB.  Add in the accidental red, white and blue trio splattered across the TV and we had a painted memento of the Olympic year ahead right in our own living room.

After a long day of painting I sat relaxing in the lounge in the early evening, admiring my brush work.  It wasn’t quite what you’d call real camping but it represented the dream and with snow on the ground outside, a painted indoor tent seemed like a good place to start. 

Then there was a surprise knock on the door.  I wondered who it would be.  And when I opened the door I deeply regretted it, for standing on the doorstep was every painter and decorators worst nightmare! 

There were only two situations that would spell disaster of this kind.  One would be for the landlady to turn up at the house uninvited, and the other would be for the landlady to turn up at the house uninvited!  And that’s precisely what happened. 

The landlady was doing the rounds for one of her spot check visits.  Unlucky day to paint it turned out.  She promptly invited herself into the house.  Eak!! I thought, as I tried to block off the entrance to the living room and redirect her into the garden.  But it was a cold, snowy evening and dark outside, so understandably, she wasn’t keen to see all the great work that had gone on in the garden vegetable patch over the summer months and she made her way tenaciously into the living room.

I waited in the kitchen by the back door for a quick getaway, just in case of any earth shattering bad mood when she was to see my painted tent on the wall…

My earthquake prediction was right on the mark and my now beetroot faced landlady, marched with all the power of point 7 on the Richter scale, back into the kitchen and completely flipped out like a pancake, and an angry pancake at that! 

I concluded that red might not be one of her favourite colours.  Or worse still, that red, white and blue might not be any of her favourite colours.  She snapped something unmentionable and ordered an immediate redecoration.

As an artist, I felt it slightly disappointing that my talents had been so unappreciated, but I wasn’t going to cut my own ear off over it.  63 Monkton Avenue was a great place to live, second only to my dream of taking up a permanent residence in a touring tent somewhere special.  So I rushed to paint over it and made a speedy ninja run back over to the paint shop to pick up some cover up paint.

Back at the house, moving the paint brush from side to side with the Olympic enthusiasm and athletic skill of Fatima Whitbread snorting a cockroach out from her nose, the repaint began.  A few hours later the living room walls returned to their original state, thanks to a can of uniform, one for all, magnolia.  Safe!

After a week of begging, ‘‘Please, no more raisins!’’ at the seemingly endless hoards of mince pies, mini stollen, slices of Christmas cake and helpings of Christmas pudding coming my way throughout the Christmas festivities – much to my delight (and relief!), raisin season had finally ended and a happy New Year had begun. And with just 2 days to go until the Camping At The Games priority booking opens, I simply could not wait to find out what campsites would be on offer during the Olympics. The excitement was almost too much to bear. In fact, to say I was excited was an understatement. I ninjatastically just couldn’t wait!

But until Thursday 5th January, all I could do was to wait. And sadly, there was only one thing for a waiting Camping Ninja to do to take my mind off it – eat more raisins!

Raisins in January was without a doubt, wrong, but I was sure it would be worth it, as then on Thursday, my 2012 Christmas would be sure to come early. Happy really early Christmas and Happy New Year! Here’s to a fantastic 2012 of camping, the Olympics and the following months less-raisined!

Forget Movember.  It was all about Father Christmas beard December this month.  After weeks of fine grooming and snow sparkle colouring of my newly fashioned Santa style beard, I removed my ninja neck scarf to reveal my big, white Father Christmas beard at the office Christmas party. 

Everyone fell off their chairs with laughter, literally, which made me think that probably it had been a bad move to wear red today as well!  It wasn’t quite the reaction I expected, but it was a popular choice with the kids outside the office when I set up my tented grotto in the local park.  There were plenty of tent pegs to give away and lots of camping stories to tell (with added seasonal Christmas twists of course), and plenty of festive cheer to go around. 

Merry Christmas everyone! 

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?...

The summer camping season was over and it was time to find a new camping friend, preferably one who didn’t mind the cold and was keen on winter camping.  So I made the decision to go in search of my winter camping princess online, in the dangerous world of internet dating.

I’d marketed myself as a camping ninja who loves camping, who is at home in the outdoors (but not a cave-ninja)… a prince in fact, a camping ninja prince!  Great at cooking a variety of dishes with space raiders and with the moves like Jagger.

Once my matchmaker profile was set up, the interest flooded in.  An unusual mix of 60 year olds pretending to be only half their years, and supposed celebrity lookalikes who simply, were not, all seemed to have a soft spot for a camping ninja.  Fortunately amid the madness, there was one hidden gem - a potential camping princess and eagerly, we arranged a date for Saturday night. 

What to wear?  I panicked.  I wanted to look dazzling, suave like James Bond even, so I went shopping online to buy a new ninja suit.  It didn’t take long before I found one that caught my eye.  It was a nice looking suit, but the description was a little ambiguous.  Smart yet casual, slim fit yet slouch, and classic yet modern.  Hmmm….  Surely it was either one or the other?!

Nevertheless, I clicked to add it to my basket.  Select size, it prompted.  I was half expecting options of small yet large, or medium yet extra-large, but amazingly there was only one size – one size fits all, although perhaps that was worse somehow.

Saturday evening arrived and I rocked up in my one size fits all, smart yet casual, classic yet… (you know the score) new suit.  Miraculously it was a perfect fit and was suitable to wear on any occasion and to any venue.  Maybe the best way to describe it was as a good egg of suits.

My date looked simply quite stunning.  Her sparkly dress was amazing.  So sparkly even, that when it caught the light it made twinkles in my eyes.  Mesmerized, I told her she looked ‘beautiful yet understated, informal yet business like, perfect yet… perfect yet… yet… no yet’.  There was no yet, she looked perfect and that was it, end of.  In hindsight perhaps it wasn’t the best chat up line but it seemed to do the trick.  We passed through the revolving doors and into the swanky restaurant where the waiter escorted us to our seats.    
  
We discussed all things camping and non-camping related as we ate.  Oddly enough, her main preoccupation was focussing on the great gerbil versus hamster debate.  Obviously this was a very interesting subject to anyone, but for me, camping was and will always be where it’s at.  However in spite of her slight camping aversion, the evening seemed to be going very well.

Our desserts arrived.  Then she pulled out a piece of paper from her bag - a list of questions that she would fire away at me.  If I passed these, then and only then, would I be allowed to invite her on another date.  It was very formal, like being on mastermind and the onslaught of questions began.  Number 1: had I ever gone away on a camping trip and forgotten to bring my girlfriend along?  ‘I can categorically state that the answer is no’, I replied.  Although strictly speaking, it was a complete lie.  For there had been 3… no, 4 times in the last year alone that I had left my girlfriend back at home by mistake.  I got the feeling that wasn’t the answer she would want to hear though, so I kept that one schtum.

Number 2: would I share my last space raider?  How did she know I liked space raiders?!  The answer to that one was definitely no!  ‘Of course’, I replied through gritted teeth though.  I remembered I had written about my love of space raiders on my matchmaker profile.  She liked them a lot too.  At first I thought it was a good thing that we had something so much in common, but then I realised that she was only interested in me for one thing – not to share camping together, but for my space raiders! 

I suspected that tonight would be the last time we would see each other.  I signalled to the waiter to get the bill, hailed a taxi for my date, and then walked back home by myself, stopping off at a late night shop along the way to pick up a packet of space raiders all of my own, before meandering along the high street, pausing at the windows of all the camping and outdoors shops.  Camping for one was way better than camping with a space raiders vampire, I decided!

Nothing could stop the Camping Ninja today, I thought to myself as I left the house in an exceptionally, exceptional good work day mood.   Although, as you can probably imagine, it was only a matter of time until the inevitable happened and a good day turned bad.

As a young ninja I was always taught that there were good monsters and bad monsters.  Some monsters were indeed very scary, and some, like the monster that lived whistling away inside the camping kettle, were not bad monsters at all and were simply a fear to be overcome.  As was the monster that would jump out of the caravan cupboard in an exploding fashion, viciously growling away trying to scare the living daylights out of me, who was in fact just one of my ninja cousins playing games.  But in all my days, until this very day today, I had never met a froth monster before.  That was until I arrived at the home of the froth monsters on my journey into work.

I was trying hard to keep my cool in the monster land and then I saw one hiding in the cup belonging to the lady standing next to me!

Although the monster had me on edge, I felt it part of my ninja duty to intervene and protect the lady from the frothy, beguiling monster.  So without hesitation, I flung the cup and the cowering froth monster onto the floor. 

‘’My coffee!’’ the lady shouted angrily at me.  Coffee?...  The shrouding monster dispersed into a puddle on the floor.  It looked like coffee.  Smelt like coffee.  And oh… it did seem that it was coffee. 

Whoops I thought, as I looked down at the frothy cappuccino lying all over the coffee shop floor, realising what I had actually just done.  The froth monster was not a real monster after all.  And to make matters worse, I had inadvertently managed to insult these friendly monsters in their own home – the universally renowned home of the froth monsters. 

I bought the lady another cup of coffee and scuttled away into the shop next door, not hanging around to wait and see if I’d be barred for life from the home of the froth monsters.  My exceptionally, exceptional good day had not got off to such a good start as I expected and it was only 8:29am.  Oh no.  I had a feeling it was going to be one of those monstrously frothy days.

Rugby world cup fever had taken hold at the train station this morning.  There was a full platform of people queuing up when the Haka began.  A New Zealand rugby team inspired booty shake on the platform edge to put fear into all the other commuters, before the mad rush through the train doors and competitive fighting to get a seat that would ensue. 

There is a fine line between imagination and reality, and at this early hour in the morning, I had to rub my eyes to check that this was what was really happening.  And yes it was.  Everyone around me was dancing and chanting the Haka.  It was much weirder than any kind of mirage and yet strangely, and almost unbelievably, it appeared to be the truth.

I wondered if so much aggression this early in the morning was really necessary, but from the angry facial expressions of the masses of people lining the platform, there was going to be some serious elbow jabbing going on once the train doors opened.  It seemed that this Monday morning, everyone was desperate to get a window seat. 

I didn’t join in with the rugby Haka madness, as for a start, I wasn’t really sure of the actual words and I had a totally different tune buzzing through my head, for when I woke up this morning, three little birds were sat on my doorstep.  So I had a good feeling that every little thing was going to be alright today. 

And it was.  You see it turns out that when you’re a ninja, even the people who do the Haka don’t want to mess with you, so there was a window seat all of my own waiting for me when I boarded the train.  Little did they know that I’m just a friendly Camping Ninja and not someone more fearsome.

Besides, there was too much busyness going on for my liking so I sat down in my seat serenely and gazed out of the window across the passing fields, day dreaming of my next camping trip… 

Halloween was not for another month yet, but freakily, I had just come across one of the biggest spiders I have ever seen, squatting in house just now.   

Its cheeky grin was doing nothing to reassure me of its innocence.  And in fact, they had all had cheeky grins on their faces.  There had been eight so far this September and an average of two per night in the last few days alone: scary September!

Not forgetting the saying ‘if you wish to live and thrive, let a spider run alive’, it was becoming apparent that there was only one thing for a lean, mean, killing machine (cough, cough) ninja to do: evacuate! 

It was way too scary to stay in the house.  There had been two spiders too many already tonight.  So it was time to pack up the tent and head outside for a night of camping out in the back garden. 

‘Right, you’re in charge of the house now’ I called out to the goldfish and cat, knowing all too well that left to their own devices, they would both happily eat any spiders that came their way (although technically speaking, in order to live and thrive, that wasn’t actually what I wanted to happen as it was bound to be unlucky).  I checked my tent bag for any eight-legged clingers on then clambered out into the garden with my camping gear, shutting the back door firmly behind me. 

Camping bugs were one thing; I could deal with those, but spiders in the house; uh-uh, no way!

I’d often been warned about the dangers of shopping during sale time, but I had a firm belief that it was the female of the species that tended to be affected, and Camping Ninjas less so.  Women queuing up for hours before the shops open, then pushing and shoving, and fighting each other just to get a bargain, only to reach the till with their trophy sale item for the lady standing in the queue behind them, to bite them on the arm to make them drop it so that they can swiftly move in for the sale item steal and instead, buy it for themselves.  A true story apparently, or so my friend Suzie says. 

So with the end of summer and the beginning of September, comes a dubious time of year; sale season.  But I wasn’t afraid.  The cut throat world of fashion was one thing, but I hoped that, like camping, camping shopping would be much more relaxed.  I would go in unprepared to bite, and equally, not prepared to be bitten either!  Camping Ninjas were sure to be much more sophisticated when it came to sale shopping.    

Besides, ‘sold out’ would be the worst words for my eyes to see.  Maybe I would squint on my way into the shop, bracing myself in case those words appeared, but I wouldn’t queue up for hours before opening time.  And there would be absolutely no need to use any of my special ninja combat powers (although more self-defence for friendly Camping Ninjas really) in any bargain battles with any other customers. 

In fact I just waltzed in, browsed for my chosen tent and other camping accessories, and checked out my basket at the till.  No, I wasn’t shopping peacefully online, but I could have been.  It was bargains, bargains, bargains all the way; what an exciting time of year!

You see, you can never have enough tents.  And a camping clear out at one of my favourite camping shops is an indulgent form of Camping Ninja heaven.  Although, it’s definitely worth a mention that, as every Camping Ninja knows; every tent is a special one and no old tent will ever become an unloved tent, no matter how many new tents we buy.

My friend Suzie had inadvertently managed to get the camping Frisbee stuck high up at the very top of one of the campsite trees.  We’d given everything a go trying to get it down – shaking branches, rattling the tree trunk, and even tried coaxing it into coming down with a few gentle words of encouragement – but it seemed that there was no way that the Frisbee was going to budge. 

So on the orders of the rest of the Frisbee team (‘Camping Ninja, you’ve got to go and climb the tree!’), I found myself tightly gripping onto the tree trunk and a couple of metres up above ground before I knew it. 

It was a long way up and after being overtaken by a squirrel, for the first time on ninja record, I found my ninja skills hugely inadequate in the climbing department.  There was a lot to be learnt from the skills of the bushy-tailed-monkey-nut-hoarding furry creature racing up the tree before me. 

I made a note in my secret diary of my new identified training need, but until then, it would be a little while longer until we could resume our game of Frisbee…!

Throughout all ninja history, there remains a belief based on an old ninja proverb, that an aged face full of wrinkles tells a thousand stories.  And there seemed to be much truth in it, for my Ninja Grand Papa, who had managed to brainwash me into bringing him with us on our camping trip, sure did have a thousand camping stories to tell! 

So as we sat around the campfire with my friends Eric, Suzie and Elwood, my Ninja Grand Papa offered to tell us all one of his famous stories.

I took my time looking at my Ninja Grand Papa’s face and choosing exactly which wrinkle to pick for the best story.  He had always lived a good life and there were many lines of deep set wrinkles to choose from.  An extensive library of ninja adventure.
   
I finally settled on wrinkle number 4119.  One of the crow’s feet.  Although on my Ninja Grand Papa, I liked to think of it more like the foot of an owl from the camping night sky.

Then he began…

'8×±= ¥p?¥ µ =µ×±=¥µ¥ ?¥ µa?a¥…'

Of course, after all the build up and anticipation, it turned out that his story was all in the ancient ninja language of Ninjaaa which none of us could really understand.  However we maintained our enthusiasm and listened attentively, as the old ninja before us passionately told his animated story.

Laugh in all the right places and he would be completely unaware that actually we didn’t have a clue what his Ninjaaa spoken story was about, I thought.  I just hoped that he wouldn’t cotton on to Suzie’s annoyingly fake laugh, as even to an old Ninja Grand Papa that would be recognisable as fraud.

‘Ha, ha, ha!!!’ she chortled.  Until all of a sudden my Ninja Grand Papa picked me up and swung me around, high in the air, before dangling me above the campfire. 

Had we been laughing at the wrong moment?  Was he angry?  Did we offend him?...  Or was this crazy action all part of the story he was telling?  Who knew, but I couldn’t wait for him to put me back down again!  I was getting dizzy up there and the flames from the campfire beneath me were hot!

Swinging around on what I could only imagine to be my Ninja Grand Papa’s simulation of a fairground ride, I looked up to the sky.  A storm had begun brewing and I could see some hefty dark clouds making their way to the front of the queue in the weather system. 

Then a lucky downpour.  Rain doused the campfire out and the story, with live actions ended.  My Ninja Grand Papa dropped me on the ground with a loud thud.  Phew! 

It’s always embarrassing when you have a way out there, borderline out of control relative, but when they do something like that in front of your friends, the resulting laughter is unrelenting!  Secret diary note to ninja self – remember not to mix elderly relatives with friends on a camping trip again!

Ever since I left school I’ve always had a little bit of a problem dealing with the fact that I no longer have an extended long summer holiday, free for all the camping holidays my big, Camping Ninja heart desires.  I’m all for seeing other people enjoy their time off, but I can’t help feeling cheated when I can’t be out there camping myself too.  20 days holiday a year is just not enough.  So, as it is a secret diary, I confess that I pulled a sickie today so that I could go camping. 

Of course there are many, many times through history when dishonesty has backfired, and it looks like this is another example to add to the list.  An entire morning of camping bliss soon became an afternoon plagued with misadventure, as Perpetua Bondenbaum-Smith (pronounced Smythe) and Clarissa Darcy from work pulled up and parked up at the tent across the field from me.  Disaster!  What were the chances of that happening?  Admittedly it served me right, but this incredibly bad luck made me tent bound for the rest of the day.

I watched them from the window of my tent, unable to leave and wondering if they would ever go away.  Like a fugitive on the run I hid, secluded in the shelter of my tent, as I couldn’t under any circumstances allow them to see me.

Hours passed by on my stakeout.  Surely enough was enough by now.  But was it safe to come out I wondered? 

It was definitely about time I left the tent and it was no use hiding forever.  I’m a brave ninja and despite actually being frightened of Perpetua and Clarissa seeing me there, I had a few ninja tricks up my sleeve for occasions like this. 

I would disguise myself in a carefully crafted foliage and camping accessories camouflage. 

I snuck out of the tent and plucked bits off the bushes and took leaves off the nearest tree.  A Rambo style leaf look with a sleeping bag liner wrapped over my head, and a wooden spoon tucked up the sleeve of each arm made the perfect disguise.  Surely no one would recognise me now, I thought.  I considered going a step further to make sure, but concluded that under no circumstances was there any need to wear socks with my Crocs!    

I threw a Frisbee in the opposite direction to create a distraction, and then slinked my way across the grass over towards the field exit. 

An especially brisk walk was making my obviously long wooden spoon arms swing about all over the place and I began to worry that my new style might make me look a tad suspicious.

I was almost there.  About 3 more long, stretched footsteps and I would have been in the next field.  Then catastrophe struck!

Two, all too familiar heads turned my way.  I stopped, frozen in my tracks, with my long wooden spoon arms quivering.

Oh no.  They had completely and utterly seen, and recognised me. 

‘Camping Ninja, is that you?’ came a loud booming voice.  It was the same loud booming voice that grates on me when I’m in the office at work and to make matters worse, the body that belonged to the loud booming voice was ambling across the field towards me, followed by the second scariest work colleague you’d least want to see if you’d pulled a sickie, Clarissa. 
    
I couldn’t quite believe it was really happening.  But the situation was too desperate even to be a nightmare.

‘Oh gosh, what on earth are you wearing?’ asked Perpetua.  ‘What the dickens is that attire you adorn camping ninja?’ blithered the other one.  I really had no idea of what she said actually meant, but I guessed that it was also a question about my outfit.

‘Fancy dress’ I replied, with a novelty cough for effect.  ‘I’m on my way to a fancy dress engagement’ I muttered and in the same breath, before either of them had a chance to mention anything about me not being at work, I was gone.  ‘Achoo, achoo, achoooooooo’ I pretended to sneeze, legging it across the field and into the woods behind them as fast as my ninja legs could carry me.  

I didn’t dare to stop running for three hours.  And the worst thing of all was that if only I’d used the brown paper bag from the mushrooms I’d bought earlier, to put over my head instead, I was sure they wouldn’t have recognised me at all.  Or perhaps if I had gone for the socks with Crocs option, then I’d be safe. 

I waved my long wooden spoon arms in the air and shuddered at the thought of how I would try to explain this one to my boss when I get back to work next week.  Although perhaps it was conceivable.  I had a terrible cold.  Non-stop coughing and sneezing meant that I couldn’t possibly have gone into work, so for the health and safety of others at work, I quarantined myself in a solitary tent at a campsite.  I dressed in an unusual outfit so no one would approach me…  The leaves around my head were a known herbal medicine for cold and flu symptoms and the wooden spoons were… hmmm… the wooden spoons were said to bring good health in ancient ninja black magic… and I was throwing a Frisbee… as a physical metaphor to try to banish myself of all the cold germs…     
 
… well any excuse would be worth a try at least I thought!

With just under one year to go until the Olympics, we stood as three friends, lined up in a row at the campsite, each with a tent in its bag on the ground by our feet.  We were doing it for Team GB and at 20:12 hours, we would take part in the exceptionally exciting Tent-lifting Olympics competition.

‘On your marks, get set, go!’ yelled Susie from the spectator’s camping chair.  And for one minute only, myself and my friends Eric and Elwood fiercely competed to see who could lift our tents in their bags up the most times until the momentous minute was up. 

At 20:13 the results were in.  501 times from me, 48 times from Elwood and 37 times from Eric.  The gold medal goes to the Camping Ninja! 

Now who wants a race to see who can put their tent up the quickest?  I’ve got the speed of a ninja don’t you know!

Spin, spin, through the revolving doors I went and I arrived at the reception desk.  I was a tiny bit early which was most unusual for a Camping Ninja going to a meeting about wallpaper. (Yes, that’s a meeting about wallpaper for those of you who yawned in disbelief at the uninteresting concept that involves!).  I took a seat and waited in the reception area, sifting through a pile of magazines laid out on the coffee table in front of me to see if there was anything interesting to read about camping, but with no luck.  They were all about wallpaper.

A friendly receptionist popped up from underneath the desk clasping a tea towel in her hand – not the usual form of corporate greeting but I brushed any judgement aside and figured that maybe she was drying up a recently washed-up cup from a compactly designed sink that was perhaps hidden in one of the drawers under her desk - the modern reception desk with all the commodities built in. 

In which case, it was going to be a hard choice to decide what I’d say if she offered me a drink while I was waiting.  Coffee, tea, hot chocolate?  Or for such an advanced all in one reception/kitchen set up, would she re-invent the corporate coffee and serve cappuccinos with amaretto flavour syrup, or space raider flavour squash? 

I waited patiently…

Still she didn’t ask.  What was she doing I wondered.  If she was going to take much longer then I’d probably miss the wallpaper meeting altogether (which perhaps would be a good thing).  Then just like a magician, she pulled a large Tupperware box from underneath the desk and placed it right in eye shot of where I was sitting.  I gave it a good look.  My ninja skills kicked in and I could see very clearly what it was.  Not a big Tupperware lunchbox, but a large plastic storage box.  She opened the lid and pulled out another tea towel!  Followed by a pan with a lid!!  OMG, OMG!  Ninja excitement overdrive alert!  It was a similar box to the one to be won on the Campingninja gadget show style competition! 

Now this is top secret everybody, but I think the answer to the competition might be c) - that a box like that, full to the brim with exciting camping goodies can commonly be used in an office reception!

I logged onto the ninjabile and went online to enter the competition.  Feeling a little smug, as I didn’t think many people would really suspect that camping boxes can be found in office receptions, I typed in my comment and sat back, dreaming of the moment if I’d be lucky enough to win the Campingninja prize.

It was no sooner dreamt than a disaster.  I heard the click of a stapler and swiftly turned to see where the noise was coming from.  I couldn’t believe it.  She’d pulled a stapler out of the box and now was taking out a hole punch, a notepad, an electric pencil sharpener, scissors and some marmalade sandwiches.  Now what kind of box was that?  It wasn’t a camping box after all.  It was a box of tricks!  And now I would never win the prize. 

Fighting back the tears (ahem, I mean, obviously there were no tears - ninjas don’t cry!), I wished every other Secret Diary reader the best of luck in the Campingninja essential camping gear box competition.  And a word of advice - never trust a receptionist who keeps you waiting and fails to produce a stoneware mug from their storage box to offer you a drink.  The moral of that story is abundantly clear.  Completely gutted about not being in with a chance of winning the slotted turner… spatula… fish slice though!

It was the opening night of an art show where my friend Susie had one of her pictures on display.  So I headed across town to the gallery to show my support and take a look at some of the art. 

It was a massive building, the gallery, with floor after floor, after floor of winding corridors and empty rooms.  Having peered through door after door into empty rooms of nothing, I was just about to admit that I was probably lost, when on approaching the next door, I heard voices coming from inside.  I looked through the window and saw a huddle of people standing together.  Ah, this must be it, I assumed, so I opened the door and went in.    

Wow, what a big mistake that was!  For little did I know when walked into the room that the other people in there were all artists about to start a still life painting class, and were eagerly waiting for the model to arrive to pose nude for them – who they all thought was me! 

A very scary situation and not something I would recommend getting into.  Without a moments delay, I strongly explained that it was most definitely not me and made a very speedy exit out of that room!  It was just as well I’m as fast as a ninja so I could get out of there quick.  Well I’m bound to be really as I am a ninja.  But if I wasn’t, I don’t know what would have happened.  Their paint brushes were poised and that was not the kind of evening I had in mind when Susie invited me over to the gallery by any means.

I turned around and headed in the opposite direction, following my nose away from the smell of oil paint and turpentine.  I ran down the stairs and didn’t stop until I reached the basement, where fortunately I bumped straight into my friend Susie.  She thrust a drink into my hand and took me on a whirlwind tour of the art show, introducing me to her wild friends, mad artists and promoters all networking together along the way.

We arrived at her painting.  It was the kind of picture that makes you tilt you head to one side when looking at it, subconsciously, and when I looked around at the other people by the picture, we were all hanging our heads lopsided. 

In a sort of bizarre daze, I stood there with my head on one side gazing at the picture.  By then of course, I was off Susie’s tour.  I could see the rest of her crowd in the distance over at the other side of the room but left on my own, made the choice to meander around the rest of the showroom at my own leisurely pace, hoping that I’d bump into my flat mate Eric who was also supposed to be here.
 
The air inside was stuffy and smelt like antiques.  I didn’t really know what antiques smelt like but I think that was it.  Or perhaps the air was stale like dried up acrylic paint.  There was the sound of clanking empty bottles from the bar and a buzz of conversation.  No music, just a loud background rumbling of artistic chatter.  

Amongst all the eccentricity, way out there outfits and outlandish hairstyles of the artists, I (thankfully still fully clothed) seemed to fit right in dressed as a ninja.  I was just being myself but one mad art guy commented as he passed me ‘Good outfit ninja’ and nodded.

It was a surreal evening.  In fact almost everything was in some way breaking the barriers of what you’d call experimental and verging on the warped and twisted, and it was the more normal, innocent looking art that were the ones to stand out from the crowd.

The wall space was full of various art forms but there were masses of void, empty spaces on the floor.  This place could do with a breath of fresh air and some livening up in here, I thought.  Everyone is an artist at least once, so maybe tonight it would be my turn.  I just so happened to have my pop up tent with me in my bag, so I pitched it on the concrete floor in between fluffy sculptures and wire mesh constructions.

But was it art?  I didn’t think so.  So I went into my tent for a little nap and to wait until the art show was over.

Forty winks later, I emerged from my canvas hideaway.  A sign had been placed at the doorway of my tent reading ‘First Prize Winner - Best Abstract Newcomer.  For the project entitled – Sleeping Ninja in Tent'.  Oh no.  I hoped my friend Susie, the real artist, wouldn’t be cross.

Well I wasn’t a sleeping ninja anymore.  The cameras clicking away and light from the flashes shining into the tent had woken me up.  I posed for a few shots from the paparazzi.  Oddly they all insisted on singing the Lady Gaga song Paparazzi as they snapped away.  The night was getting weirder and weirder by the minute!

Onlookers enquired ‘How much for your camping sculpture ninja?’  ‘It’s very uncomfortable camping on a concrete floor’ I told them.  ‘You’d need to get a good roll mat to go with it’ I said.  ‘But it’s not for sale’.  For it had already been sold to a ninja with a lot of love for camping when I bought it a couple of years ago and nothing could persuade me to part with my trusty tent.

My house mate Eric finally arrived, looking a little sheepish.  I wondered where he had been all this time and it turns out he too got a little lost on the way around the gallery, and actually ended up posing nude for the artists himself!  Next, a bunch of artists from the still life art class came into room and that was when we knew it was 100% time for us to get out of there!  One evening of this surreal art movement had been more than enough for us and we took a long trip to the pub on the way home to restore the convention back into our lives.

ARE YOU CONSIDERING CAMPING/CARAVANNING THIS SUMMER?

To celebrate this year’s Father’s Day not only was I taking my Ninja Papa away for a camping trip, but I had also promised to cook him a special Father’s Day lunch with some of my home grown specialities from the allotment.

I headed up to the allotment first thing in the morning to collect the special ingredients.  An exceptional growing season had resulted in the potatoes bursting out of their bag, full pots of flourishing strawberries, lots of tumbling tomatoes and happy herbs but worryingly no space raiders had even remotely begun to sprout just yet.

Perhaps it was time to face facts and accept that this could be the start of a great space raider famine.  Although I sincerely hoped not.  Luckily, they were still stocked in all good outlets.

Unfortunately it did mean that the home grown space raiders Father’s Day lunch I had promised would no longer be a possibility.  Not wanting to let my Ninja Papa down, or spoil our plans for lunch, I made a chef’s executive decision to improvise and pulled out a packet of space raiders from my ninja knapsack and planted them loosely under the top of the soil in the empty half of the potato bag.

I picked up the potato bag and lugged it into the back of the ninja wagon and drove over to my Ninja Papa’s house, picking him up on the way and we arrived at the campsite as planned, in perfect time for lunch.

My Ninja Papa set up the tent, while I got busy in the camping kitchen.  A feast of fresh ingredients from the allotment went into the special recipe, fresh basil, parsley, a few chillies and what were at least freshly dug out of the potato bag, space raiders.  Who knew if substituting fresh space raiders with ones from a packet would make much difference to the recipe?  They were both part of the corn and wheat snack family so I went ahead with it anyway.

A little while later the special lunch was ready to eat and we both tucked in.  It was surprisingly delicious.  Just like a good vintage wine there were ripe flavours of oak-aged garden herbs, pickled onion scented with the full flair and flavour of chillies, a blend of earthy notes and the crunchy texture of… well, mud covered crisps really!

In fact it tasted so fantastically fresh and delicious that my Ninja Papa would never have known that these particular space raiders were not home grown.  Apart from that just a few moments later, a gust of wind blew the space raiders packet right out of the rubbish bag and it landed straight in front of my Ninja Papa’s feet.  Oh no.  It was a complete giveaway but never mind.  Happy Father’s Day, Ninja Papa.

What makes a 'Green' Campsite?

Eco campsite, sustainability, green awards, bio-diversity? Where to start!

We have an amazing variety of campsites here in the UK from Back to Basics to an all singing, all dancing Holiday Parks but what makes a campsite ‘green’. The answer comes from the passion and ethos of the people who run them.

Statistics show that here in the UK 68% of us will make a green choice if it’s presented in front of us.

Here are our Top Green credentials you should look out for to find the Best Green Campsite for you. 

Recycling

Something many of us do automatically at home and yet not all businesses and campsites supply recycling points. It can be very frustrating to see all your recycling waste like glass go to landfill. Look out for campsites that do recycle. Many provide multiple points around the park.

Green Awards

There are 2 big awards to look out for in the camping industry. David Bellamy Award and the Green Business Tourism Scheme. Both of these offer Gold, Silver and Bronze awards. Both look at a whole range of criteria from renewal energy to the purchasing of goods. These 2 awards are not exclusive as they do require a membership of various organisations. There are also many local awards run by National Parks, Local business schemes or Regional Tourist Boards.

Local Produce

Can be one of the great highlights of camping. Trying fantastic regional goods supplied almost at source. Look for campsites that are proud to source and sell local produce. Some grow their own veg, some link up with local butchers and offer BBQ packs, some bake their own bread on site. Some support Local Farmers' market nearby and will be happy to pass on opening times to you.

Renewable energy

Solar and wind power are being used more and more by campsites owners. Some may use it for powering the site. Others use it to help heat swimming pools and provide showers. Using it to top up and therefore reduce their overall usual energy usage.

Back Packer rates

Forward thinking campsites offer back packer rates to those arriving on foot or by bike. Makes sense as well. Someone carrying their camping gear brings smaller tents, takes up less space, no vehicles = less damage to the land, more likely to buy local produce rather than shopping in Tesco. Look for campsites that actively encourage people arriving by Public Transport , on foot or by bike. These campsites offer discounted rates and don't punish you by charging you the same rates for large tents or in some cases caravans.

Wildlife programme

Many campsites develop wild flower areas and encourage natural habitats on their land. They then promote these Wildlife Programmes by providing walks, guides, signage boards and even in some case guided walks and nocturnal nature visits with a ranger. Great for kids and adults alike.

The David Bellamy Award is a big advocate of Bio-diversity and those campsites which are members of the scheme are encouraged to look at their parks and surroundings with fresh eyes and encourage the fostering of natural habitats.

Biodegradables used

Having a campsite in a stunning location, perhaps on farm land, in an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty or a National Park, can have a huge impact on the environment especially when hundreds of campers descend for the week or weekend. All taking showers, washing up and using toilets. Many campsites take their role as land owners very seriously and will source biodegradable cleaning and other products. To do your bit think carefully before you go away. What do you need, what can you bring. For an example Packing List try ours.

Public Transport Links

Day 2 of the Boot Beer Festival and already I was holding a cup of a local Cumbrian hangover cure in my hand.  Waiting for some of yesterday’s Dutch courage to magically morph into some genuine morning after courage, I gazed deep into the mush of ingredients, deliberating over what were perhaps entirely mythical benefits of actually drinking this wild concoction.

With 21 different beers already sampled and another 79 to go, and with only 2 more days to do it in, if there was to be any hope of completing my beer festival challenge, then a mighty strong hangover cure was most definitely what I needed.

Apparently the cure for having had too many pints of Northern Dragon’s Lair was an old remedy of Cumbrian bush tea, or so the locals had told me.  A weird mixture of ingredients combining raw eggs, nettles, mixed herbs, exactly 8 medium sized granules of coffee and 3 teabags, all mixed together and shaken up in a camping flask, resulted in a broth like drink which was almost the reverse of a cup of Eggnog. 

What was wrong with good old hair of the dog I didn’t know?  In fact, if a shaggy haired dog had passed by at that moment, I would have gladly nipped a piece of its fur off for some real hair of the dog, as surely that would taste so much better… although perhaps not from a Yorkshire Terrier though - too long and I wouldn’t want to choke on a little red bow!  Besides, this weekend’s camping trip was to be all about Cumbria and not Yorkshire.

As the tents and caravans around me were still spinning, I figured the ‘when in Rome’ theory should apply.  So when in Cumbria, I was to do as the Cumbrians would do…

Here goes.  Wish me luck… (Gulp).

Yuk!!!

Don’t try that at home Secret Diary readers!  Next time it’ll be hair of the dog all the way.

I was used to hearing the birds sing.  In fact the bird music, or twit hop is one of the most relaxing sounds to a Camping Ninja’s ears – the sweet sounds of those delicate tweets from nature when you’re camping.  But this time these bird-like noises were different. 

Not specific to early in the morning, or to the early evening when most birds start do their final chatting before going to sleep – these softly spoken bird tweets seemed to be only audible when I was either on my way in or on my way out of the campsite shower block.

But where were the noises coming from?  Was I picking up some kind of alien activity due to my super powerful ninja sense of hearing?  Or had I gone completely mad and started hearing voices in my head?  I hoped it wasn’t that, and I didn’t think it was as I didn’t yet believe that the doors and walls of the shower block had three heads and the voice of my Auntie Matilda, or think that they were out to get me.

I tried to pick out the words they were saying and translated it from Bird to English on the ninjabile.  Something about being hungry for worms and growing feathers.  Very strange.  I wondered what it was all about and despite racking my brains and thinking with all my ninja power, I still couldn’t figure out where the little noises were coming from.

Back at the tent I asked the others if they’d heard the funny noises too, but no one had.  I was sure I wasn’t just being paranoid.  Had I forgotten to take the ninjapod out of my ears?  No, and I didn’t remember ever downloading a track with lyrics about worms and feathers anyway.  Had my Twitter feed gone into a live broadcast directly into my ears? … I thought about the possibility of that one for a little while, until I remembered it was only 2011 and not 2015.  Technology via the ninjabile was not that advanced yet.  There had to be another explanation.

The next morning it all became clear.  A note had been taped to the cigarette bin that was attached to the outside of the shower block.  It read ‘Birds nesting. Please do not use’.

Ah.  That was where all the little twittering had come from.  A family of birds had ingeniously turned the cigarette box into a nesting box and made it their home.  It dawned on me that the reason the chicks only seemed to be tweeting at me, was probably because they thought I was their Ninja Papa going past (same kind of nose you see). 

Well who can blame them for wanting to stay at the campsite, as this campsite has been great.  So good in fact, that these non-ninja's have extended their stay and made a temporary home here.  Actually I am tempted to do the same myself too, but I’m built much more for tents than little boxes.  Big ninja head, small cigarette box, it wouldn’t work!

May camping = sunny days and dark nights.  Of course in between, there are delightfully warm evenings.  Perfect for barbecues, sitting out around a campfire, and…. shadow puppets. 

With her silhouette shining through, I could see my camping chum Susie reading a book by torchlight in her tent at the pitch next door to us.  I had every confidence in my ninja abilities and excellent stealth skills, and in fact my puppeteer talents too.  There was no way she would think that it was me.  I crept along the grass by the side of her tent, biting my bottom lip to stop myself from laughing, as that would almost certainly give my position away. 

First I made a shadow puppet butterfly.  Then a rabbit.  Followed by acting out the crane position from the Karate Kid movie, to make a ninja themed shadow. 

‘Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!’  Susie let out an enormous, ear-piercing shriek!

The next morning at breakfast Susie broke the news that she’d been frightened by her sightings of a large moth, a rabbit with unusually proportioned big ears and then a monster doing the Michael Jackson Thriller dance.  Whoops!

‘Camping Ninja will you SHUT UP please!!!!’ came the words from my angry boss’s mouth as she stomped heavy-footed out of her office and arrived at my desk.  But I couldn’t shut up.  After a trip to the garden centre at the weekend, I’d bought an abundance of plants for my desk to try to recreate the camping feeling during my less outdoorsy, fresh air inhibited office time.  I was now the proud owner of a 4 year old bonsai tree, a desktop tomato plant, a large family of busy lizzies and an alpine rock garden of miniature conifers. 

Surrounded by all the plants, I had lots of talking to do.  On the advice of the man from the garden centre, a constant flow of conversation was just what the plants needed to be fulfilled.  Everyone knows that, although sometimes bosses don’t seem to appreciate a plants needs in quite the same way.    

There was lots to be said to the plants, about camping, the weather, about plant food and space raiders, all sorts.  I even read them a book.

Of course when the person next to you is talking non-stop all day long to the plants on their desk, it can become a little distracting.  Apparently if you’ve seen the film many times before, listening in to a ninja reading the book of The Constant Gardener to a bunch of plants just isn’t quite as moving.  My good friends and desk neighbours didn’t mind too much though, instead they just worked from home in the afternoon, and that’s what friends are for.

Now, where was I?  Oh yes.  Keeping Up Appearances, Chapter 7 of The Definitive Guide to a Healthy and Happy Well Pruned Desk Garden by Hyacinth Bouquet, of all people…

Another day back at work, another day spent longing for the next bank holiday weekend, and another uninteresting office meeting.  Bring on the next camping trip please, I thought.

Then a bright idea popped into my mind.  A stroke of genius, for a game of boxes.  I spent the next few minutes carefully marking out the dots on my notepad.  Nodding occasionally with interest at what was being said in the meeting, but restraining from the annoying agreeing hum that other box players sometimes adopt when they’re pretending to listen.        

There was a choice between two colleagues to be the other player, one sitting on either side of me.  Like all good sportsmen, I chose the one I believed would give me the best competitive advantage to play against, and so selected the player to my left.  Plus, Gerrard from accounts also happened to be using a rather fetching looking green pen, which would avoid any confusion on the box counting front at the end of the game if we were to use the same colour.

I passed a note across to Gerrard inviting him to a friendly game of boxes.  He too looked especially bored of the meeting and so gratefully accepted, and the game of boxes began.

Even though the game was called boxes, I thought there would be no reason why we couldn’t use our initiative and think outside of the box, so I made my boxes, tents.

Being a bit of a stickler for the rules, Gerrard protested, scribbling his objections down on a piece of paper and passed it over to me.  It read ‘That is not a box’.  ‘No.  Tents.’ I whispered.  ‘A dome tent, and a pop up tent and a …’ the list of types of tent went on, all hand signed with a made up kind of sign language between us so no one would notice we were playing a game. 

But Gerrard had had enough of the bell tents and the tipis and accused me of cheating.  And I hadn’t even gotten round to drawing the caravan yet. 

There was a small altercation between us, worked out through erratic eyebrow movement and angry nose twitching, in the style of a silent movie.  Then ‘You cheat!’ came an outburst from Gerrard.  ‘Sssh’ I whispered crossly.  ‘We’re supposed to be in a meeting’.

Then like a pair of naughty school children, our fighting gave us away and our game of boxes and tents was exposed.  All heads in the meeting room turned and all eyes looked onto the piece of paper in front of us.  ‘That one is a fly tent’ I explained, pointing out one of the drawings to the bemused onlookers.

Anyway, in the end the final score was 14 boxes to 10 tents and a ninja, so I took it as a ninja win hands down, because tents are so much better for sleeping in than boxes.  A disgruntled Gerrard did of course disagree, but we swapped pens at the end all the same, as a gesture of good sportsmen and ninjaship.

Royal wedding eve.  The day that urban camping – bravely pitching a tent on an exceptionally busy concrete pavement in ever so slightly windy weather, without guy ropes pinning it down – became comfortable and royal weddingly cool.

After a less peaceful night’s sleep than you can probably count on on more regular, tranquil camping trips, there’s sure to be no doubt that the happy urban campers will wake up tomorrow morning, almost as excited as Miss Middleton herself, proudly stick their little pinky fingers out as they hold their memorabilia Prince and Princess mugs, and in a rather quintessentially British fashion, toast a camping flask of tea to the happy couple.   

To Wills and Kate.  Congratulations Your Royal Highness.  Thanks for bringing camping to the capital!

Twas the morning before Easter and there was not but a sound.  Taking a morning walk before our camping breakfast, I meandered into the nearest town.  The smell of freshly baked croissants wafted into the air as I passed restaurants with all their windows open, letting in the warm early-summer-of-April air.  My stomach started rumbling as I tried to fight the desire to go inside and dine on a slap up Easter breakfast.  Then it became a growl, so I had no choice but to go in for food.

Glancing over the sumptuous menu, being Cadbury’s Creme Egg season I thought it only right to go for the seasonal special of Eggs du Jour.  Ummmm.  Chocolate eggs for breakfast, the best thing on an Easter weekend.  I placed my order and waited eagerly in anticipation of the chocolate delight that was about to be upon me.

Soon enough, the waiter reappeared with a chicken!  He placed it down next to my table and without explanation, went back inside.  It goes without saying that it had very quickly become an awkward situation.  Was the chicken going to lay me some chocolate eggs?  I gulped.  And gulped again and again at the thought of it for there was real doubt in my mind whether I would physically be able to eat warm, freshly laid chocolate eggs.  At that moment I couldn’t think of anything worse.  Frantically skimming my eyes back over the menu, I looked desperately, for some kind of clarification of the nature of Eggs du Jour.  All it said was ‘fresh’.  Ahhhhhhh!  That scared me even more!

The chicken simply sat there looking at me, probably laughing in her chicken head at the ninja afraid of warm chocolate chicken eggs.  Or was that just me being more paranoid than a hacked into android phone?  Who knew, but the chicken sure was taking its time with my breakfast order.

Be brave ninja, be brave, I thought, and I plucked up the courage to ask the chicken about the eggs that I really didn’t want to have to eat anymore.

‘I don’t mean to rush you chicken.  Please, take your time.  Just one thing to ask you – it is chocolate eggs on the way isn’t it, for Easter?’.  The chicken seemed to do some forward head waggling by way of an answer, but what did it mean?  I didn’t speak chicken! 

‘OK.  Just do your best, chicken.  Just do your best’ I told it.  But what was I doing talking to a chicken?  It was completely crazy!  If only I’d stayed at the campsite everything would have been OK.  I was sure of it.

With no movement from the chicken it felt as if I was going to be in for the long haul, waiting for the eggs.  In the end, we’d become so acquainted I decided to take the chicken back to the campsite to meet the others.  I paid an exceptionally pricey breakfast bill and left an enormous tip for the on loan for a day chicken that I carried in my arms.

Walking back through the town on my way back to the campsite, I couldn’t help but notice, well, it was blindingly obvious really, that not one, not two, but fifteen other hungry looking people, were also carrying chickens like mine in their arms.

Was that what Eggs du Jour meant?  A chicken on loan for the day?  It was unbelievably baffling.  I temporarily named the chicken Featherby Ninja and would return her to the restaurant at the end of the day.

A very Happy (but slightly strange) Easter to all chocolate egg and chicken lovers out there!

As a fanatical camper I’m always on the lookout for new ninja fast ways to catch up on recent developments and innovations of the camping industry and tents in particular.  Having breezed past an advert for Google’s new voice search for mobile app, from the window of the train on my way home, I was keen to give it a try in my quest to find the latest tents on the market.

Say it to get it.  So I whispered into the ninjabile.  ‘New tents’… Nothing came up.

I tried again, this time slightly louder and at much risk of the resulting evil glares from the rest of the people in my quiet zone train carriage.  ‘New tents’… Still there was nothing.
 
So I went back to whispering but this time, with a much more articulated whisper.  ‘Nnnnew tentts’… Nothing again.

‘Neyou taents’ I whispered precisely one more time.  And bingo!  There I had it.  A search result for … mutants.  Mutants?!  Flabbergasted, I looked at the ninjabile in contempt.
 
Oh well.  I always was a fan of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  In fact some say they taught me everything I know as a ninja.  Turtle power!

With all the different tents you can see at campsites, there really is something for everyone.  From trailer tents and camper vans, to caravans, little pop up tents and 8 man palaces, big tents, small tents, and of course ninja tents too, there are many different styles of camping homes to choose from.  Now that's diversity.  And I don't mean as in the dance troupe (they're cool and everything but I'm much more of a Peridot fan myself).  

If it's true what they say about dogs looking like their owners, I wonder if the same applies to tents?  (That's tents that look like their owners, not tents that look like dogs!)...  Looking around our campsite, it does seem to be the case.

Proud owner of a tent that looks like you or not, as every camper knows, no matter how much you love your own tent, there's always another one at the campsite that catches your eye and admiration too.     

In amongst a field of tents encompassing decades of style – 70s cool and simplicity, tents with a little bit of an 80s flavour, and tents from the early 90s that can't help but remind you of a pair of Bermuda shorts – this one here would be my favourite today (as per ninja cam photo). 

To the tent of the day - a retro gem of a tent, and the tent to steal a ninja's heart away.

An amazing Cadburys Easter Egg Trail Kit

brilliant for everyone.... who said kids have the monopoly on chocolate?

How do you win it?

Just make any booking with Campingninja by 18th April

and you will be entered into the prize-draw to win automatically

You'll get the Egg Trail Kit delivered before Easter!

Click here to find an amazing campsite, make a booking and be well on your way to a truly egg-cellent prize.

(please excuse the egg puns - they are just too easy and we couldn't resist!)

I say potato, you say potartoe. I say tomato, you say tomaytoe. They say RV, we say big campervan or motorhome. They had an alien, and I'm a ninja. Nonetheless, am loving the RV in the film 'Paul'!

It's just the ticket for these milder nights before the sunshine comes fully out of hibernation. We developed a bit of a taste for the RV after watching the film so Eric, Susie, Ellwood and I set off the next day to investigate. If you're not quite ready to buy one of these beasts and are worried that they may take more looking after than a hungry Tibetan Mastiff puppy, as we were, the simple solution is that you can hire an RV for your camping trip.

But before you're let loose at the hands of the wheel of one of these enormous beasts, they like you to do a test drive. A practise run around a few cones in the RV hire centre car park. Easy peasy.

But who was going to drive? A competitive game of rock, paper, scissors was the deciding factor. Our friend Susie won with a pair of scissors against 3 of us with paper. I shook my head in disbelief at the result. I should have known she'd opt for the scissors with Susie being a hairdresser.

We all piled into the RV and Susie, who tends to drive much like an alien anyway took to the wheel. We all braced ourselves, wishing we'd all chosen to be rocks.

Brmmmmm. The RV roared. I held on tight.

Straight over the top of the cones she went, crushing them beneath the mammoth wheels of the RV. All three of us in the back held our heads in our hands.

It wasn't long before we handed the keys back to the hire centre. On second thoughts, we thought we'd be better off sticking to the tents and regular camping for our next trip. And then we made a pact that the three of us would never again be paper in a game of rock, paper, scissors involving a crazy driving hairdresser!

A bleary eyed Sunday morning, I was on auto pilot, in a zone, walking along not noticing a thing, almost as if I had my eyes shut. Then suddenly something in front of me made me open my eyes. It was Kate Middleton!!!

My imagination started running away with me and I began to wonder what I'd do if she invited me to the royal wedding...

Obviously I'd have to turn it down as I'm bound to be away at Camp Royale that weekend. Then she started to turn round. Oh no! How do you say no to a royal princess? Yikes! I wanted to hide.

And then she turned to face me..............

Ah. Turned out it wasn't Kate Middleton after all, but Shrek's third cousin once removed. A double from the back but simply a case of mistaken identity face on. Phew! No need to make excuses to the future Queen of England now. What a lucky escape!

It wasn't all lovely jubbly on the jub-il-ee line this morning. Delays and morning rush hour hold ups sparked a game of CWW (Commuter Chinese Whispers). We've all been there before, when one mad whisper completely distorts the words that come from the horses mouth, but we play along nevertheless, not realising until after the event what has really happened, the whisper effect leading us on different journeys than we otherwise planned to take.

It all started with an announcement:
'Ladies and gentlemen, due to overcrowding on the platform we are holding customers in the travelator area.'

Now with loud music and headphones on, to some this became:
'Ladies and gentlemen, due to a body on the platform we are holding customers in the travelator area.'
A body on the platform?!! From one misunderstood whisper to another, the word spread. Panic!!!

And to others a garbled message of:
'Ladies and gentlemen, due to overcrowding on the platform, a free pina colada is available for customers held up in the travelator area.'

Flawed information passed from one passenger to another. Misinformed, we dispersed. For the people who heard body, a frenzy of panic and chaos emerged and they ran, ran, ran away. Other people, like me, heard about the pina colada. A free pina colada? Excellent, I thought!

Maybe our different paths were down to the music we were listening to, how loud, how tired we were to be up at ridiculous o'clock in the morning, how inept our ears had become at being able to interpret real information, or dependent on how much, or little, we actually wanted to go to work today and how much in fact that we wanted it to be something else, or perhaps even whether we had been watching CSI or the Tom Cruise Cocktail film last night. Neither of which I had, but it seemed our fates were all in the hands of the whisperers.

Standing in the queue waiting at the ticket office to claim my free pina colada, I thought I must have been the only one on this particular version of the story, as the people in the ticket office didn't know what I was talking about. No one else had even been to collect a free pina colada and the man behind the ticket desk looked very confused. Nevermind.

By this time I was already late for work. I didn't mind, as being a camping ninja, if I really wanted to make up lost time I could bolt it like Usain at the extremely fast speed of ninja and make it in to work on time. But with my mouth watering for a pina colada and it being a Friday, I launched a plan for a fantastic Friday night pina colada party under the big tent in the back garden. A few phone calls to friends and a short trip to the mini mart to pick up the cocktail ingredients pursued, and then into work, to look forward to the evening ahead.

A ninja party tonight at 63 Monkton Avenue. All camping friends invited too. You bring the pina and I'll mix up the colada!

The first weekend in March. I stood on the back door step and looked out onto a patch of daffodils growing in the back garden. They weren't just daffodils, they were the symbol of so much more. Standing next to the cat, both admiring the pretty yellow flowers, we sniffed the air. Ummmmm. Spring was here. And that means only one thing for a Camping Ninja – that the Spring / Summer 2011 camping season is about to begin and I just cannot wait! 

Back at work I'd seen the latest edition of Heat magazine (an embarrassing ninja guilty pleasure) on the desk in my bosses office. I had to have it! It was the focus of my eyes all day long.

That night I went home and practised running around then tent in the garden without tripping on any of the guy ropes, as if they were laser beams out of the film Mission Impossible. Practise was what was needed if I was to make this mission, Mission Heat, possible.

I hatched a master plan overnight and the next morning at work I was ready. Ready and waiting until the boss popped off to the kitchen for her morning triple shot espresso. Mission Heat, go, go, go!!! The dramas of Katie Price and Peter Andre were soon to be at my fingertips.

In a flash and a few swift ninja moves later...

Result = mission possible. Just the juicy celebrity gossip I need to read on the train on the way to the Outdoor Leisure Show this weekend. Perfect!

For our final day of fun before we headed back home from our camping and caravanning trip, we'd booked a ride out to sea on a boat. We'd been given a check list by the boat company of all the things we needed to take on board - deck shoes, gloves, a camera and sea legs, to mention a few. I had nearly all of my kit ready but the one thing I was missing was a pair of sea legs.

To begin with, I didn't have the faintest idea what sea legs actually were, and secondly, after spending a long time searching the internet trying to find some to order online before we came away, I hadn't had any luck and was still sea leg less. I was a wee bit worried about it and in fact I didn't sleep at all because of it last night. So when I got up in the morning the first thing I did was to ask my Ninja Papa if he had any sea legs. 'Of course I have sea legs', he told me, going off on one about how he got them from my Ninja Grand Papa when he was a junior ninja, but I didn't have time to listen to the details. I needed to find out about the sea legs from the ancient ninja himself and pronto, as our boat was set to sail in less than 2 hours!

There was no time for 'Good morning' or 'Hello Ninja Grand Papa, how are you?', which rudely goes against all ninja etiquette if I'm honest, but all I could think about was the sea legs. So I launched straight into it, burst into the caravan, woke my Ninja Grand Papa with an almost ferocious poke on his forehead and demanded to know where I could get some sea legs from.

He laughed hysterically at my predicament for a good 15 minutes and then after telling me to calm down, explained that sea legs just grow on you. And apparently sea legs were that simple. Well I wasn't worried any more. Happy days were here and we clambered up on board the sailing boat for our nautical adventure.

… Choppy.

… Choppy.

… Choppy waters.

… Rough sea.

I started to feel a little bit queezy and looked down at my legs to see if any miraculous changes had occurred. Had I grown any sea legs yet? No. They were still ninja legs.

The almost inevitable was about to happen. And before I threw up, I vowed never to go sailing on rough seas again without making sure I'd got my sea legs on first! And that was something I meant so sincerely, from the very bottom of my heart.

… BLEUK!

Up bright and early this morning and for no apparent reason I was feeling especially happy go lucky. I didn't know why. It was almost as if there was a feeling of love in the air. Full of energy, I jogged enthusiastically across to the campsite shop to get some more supplies for our breakfast.

Just like in the movies, and less romantically, like some supermarket adverts too, it was by the champagne and dairy products fridge where I met a beautiful fellow shopper. Our hands brushed together as we both reached into the fridge for a pint of milk and as we gazed newly into each others eyes, hers twinkled with stars. Wow, I thought! It was love at first sight.

So smitten and impulsively in love, I followed her around the little shop. I suppose it was borderline stalking but I completely couldn't help it. Really I should have been able to do it a little less obviously or in secret as a ninja, but it seemed that being so lovestruck, I just couldn't coordinate my skills. After leaning out to see her while trying unsuccessfully to hide behind a stack of breakfast cereals, I clumsily knocked straight into her. Oh no! I hoped she wouldn't think I was a complete idiot, but it was all OK - she laughed. Being Valentines Day, it seemed the perfect opportunity to ask her out, so I invited her to a candle lit dinner for two, tonight. She accepted. Wait … she accepted? Yes!!!! ''I'll pick you up from outside your tent at 8pm'', I told her.

I spent the day preparing, polishing my ninja boots, smartening myself up and practising my ninja moves. I didn't even know her name but I was sure it would be something pretty. Perhaps even a traditional ninja name like Ninjarina, Ninjaretta or Ninjamy. My Ninja Grand Papa, who apparently was a bit of a fox in his day, shared his top dating tips with me - stay well clear of the pickled onion flavour space raiders for hours before I meet her, make sure I always open the tent door for her, and most importantly of all, never disclose ninja secret number 4,092. OK I thought, but I was sure no one had ever told me what ninja secret number 4,092 was. So I forgot about that piece of advice and made a mental note of the other two.

8 o'clock came around. I picked up my date and presented her with a freshly hand picked red rose that I'd acquired from the campsite gardens (sorry about that campsite owners!). We walked hand in hand, back over to my tent where I'd prepared an al fresco romantic camping dinner for two – sausages, mashed potato and baked beans. Ummm.

I was dying to ask her if she liked space raiders too, but first I guess I needed to find out her name. So I asked her and she replied. ''Carol???!!!!!!!'' I spat out my drink. ''Your name is Carol?'' I asked again for important clarification. I couldn't help but feel and look as if I'd seen ghost, as the haunting memories of the yoga rehearsing Carol van Klubbe filled my mind. And that was it. It was a terrible coincidence and such bad luck but I no longer loved her. She reminded of something far too ghastly to ever be my girlfriend. ''I'm sorry C, C, C, Carol (I struggled to even get the word out), but I don't love you'' I told her. ''And I hate yoga!'' I added, for the record.

I couldn't have gobbled my food down quick enough. ''There is no dessert'' I told her, hiding the strawberries awkwardly behind the empty baked beans tin. I ran across to the caravan, knocking on the door until my Ninja Grand Papa opened it, and then I begged him to get her away and walk Carol (yuk) back home to her tent for me.

He was delighted to do so. In fact it made his day. She wasn't so over the moon about it though, and there's bound to be that post bad date awkwardness if we bump into each other around the campsite afterwards, but there was absolutely no way it would've worked out with a name like that. Even if we ended up getting married and she changed her name to Ninja, the memory would always be far too traumatic.…

Oooh, I hope my Ninja Grand Papa doesn't ask her to marry him though!

Bring, bring. Bring, bring. My ninjabile rang. It was a call from my Ninja Papa. Worried that I might be feeling a bit glum after the Carol van Klubbe disaster the other day, he'd perhaps ironically, clubbed together with my Ninja Grand Papa and bought a ninja family caravan and was inviting me away on a caravanning trip with him and my Ninja Grand Papa too. Funkiest of all was that I got to choose the campsite! It was the best news I'd had all day. So I got booking online at campingninja.com and selected a campsite.

The caravan was perfect for winter. We packed in our belongings, ambitiously including the sun umbrella and took a little piece of our home away with us, like a snail. It was a home from home. But not a sweet home from home once the evening came. Partly because despite being 83, my Ninja Grand Papa still insists on sleeping on the top bunk - one of the charms of old age, refusing to accept that he's much more than a grown up these days and reverting to acting like a child.

It was so painful watching him slowly climb up the ladder, with one step every seven minutes and then getting stuck for a long time half way up, and it was impossible to sleep with the distraction of him hovering mid way, dangling in the air.

Finally he made it up to the top. I closed my eyes ready to sleep. Then my Ninja Papa started snoring! That was it. I'd had enough of it all. I picked up my ninjabile and went online to book another pitch at the campsite. One all to myself.

A few ninja seconds later, my pop up tent was pitched and I was about to snuggle down to sleep. A next door neighbour to my silenced by the walls of the caravan, snoring Ninja Papa. Result! The perfect solution for a happy family.

And then to the land of nod, dreaming of, in the random way that dreams are, of peanuts, a tent floating on top of a swimming pool and a guitar dancing around a camp fire. Bizarre. Zzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Instead of constantly buying lottery tickets, hoping to live the dream of leaving work and spending my entire life camping, I thought why not try something with better odds, like switching jobs to something more along those lines? So there I was, arriving at a rather impressive looking door for my interview. Not at all how I'd imagined it to look, I wondered what kind of people worked in an office like this?

Well, there was only one way to find out. So in I went, feeling a mix of nervousness, excitement, trepidation and oddly, hunger too, which made me wonder why I hadn't prepared better and at least eaten something that morning. That's the thing with interviews you see. You're never really sure just quite how long they are going to go on for. An hour, a day or even a week. I'd bought my pop up tent along with me just in case.

I arrived at the same time as an overly punctual early bird candidate, who was being interviewed in the slot after me. He introduced himself to the receptionist as ''Mr Trond, James Trond''. Purely because his name slightly resembled James Bond, he seemed to think he was 007, moving about in a spy like manner as well. There was no need for me to start behaving all spy like, I mean I'm a ninja. But to keep a competitive edge, I too introduced myself in the style of the famed Mr Bond. ''The name's Ninja. The Camping Ninja'' I told the receptionist. The receptionist rolled her eyes at me, clearly unimpressed by my espionage efforts. Oh no, I thought. It had all gone horribly wrong and that was only the beginning...

After a few moments waiting in regret, I was asked to take my ninja boots off and then escorted down tunnels of winding corridors and into a candle and incense filled interview room. ''How enchanting to meet you'' a voice piped up, as a floaty clothed lady greeted me. ''Enchanting'' I replied, unsure of quite what was meant by enchanting anyway.

It's advice universally acknowledged that when you're being interviewed it's a good idea to copy the actions of the interviewer, because that way they think you're like them and seeing themselves in you, in turn, can sometimes work favourably and lead to a job offer. So that's exactly what I did. I copied her every move and answered every question with a prefix of ''enchanting''.

She wore slippers and spoke with her eyes shut. Why was she shutting her eyes? I didn't understand it. I'd been to some mad interviews before but this was the creepiest by far. Then she started sitting in a very unconventional yoga position, and in a few ninja kicks of my legs, I was too. Yikes! It wasn't very comfortable at all! Not sure that I was managing to pull the yoga-ness off and worried that I might come across as an arrogant copy cat, I did the yoga hum for added authenticity. ''Ommmmm''.

The rest of the story is not to be continued as the lady was quite disillusioned by my knowledge of camping and caravanning and regrettably, no further contact was made by the company after the interview.

If only I'd known before I went for the interview that what I'd heard to be the Caravan Club, was actually Carol van Klubbe, of the Carol van Klubbe Yoga and Meditation Centre!

Number of hours spent in the office = 32

Number of hours spent daydreaming about camping = 24

Number of hours spent browsing campsites on Campingninja.com = 8

Number of close shaves, hiding computer screen from the boss = 7

Number of incidents when the boss saw me looking at campsite pictures online = 3

Number of new tents on the market meticulously analysed in true ninja style, for rain proof abilities, ease and speed of putting up, comfort and practicability properties = 9

Number of maps bought = 2

Number of new camping plates and mug sets bought in the online sales = 1

Number of packets of space raiders eaten = 5 (despite New Years resolution to try and cut down, in an attempt to try and stop myself from looking like a pickled onion by the end of 2011)

Number of ridiculously unbelievable excuses made up while trying to explain to the boss the reason why the Campingninja Outdoors Show Competition entry form appears on my computer screen every time they walk past = 4

Number of complete lies told to the boss when trying to hide how much I really want to go to the Outdoors Show, including a feeble attempt denying that I even like camping = ashamedly 4

Number of friends invited on camping trips = 3

Number of annoying work colleagues successfully and inoffensively uninvited from camping trips = 1

Number of lunch breaks spent frequenting the outdoors shops in the vicinity = 4

Number of holiday request forms filled out = 2

Number of caravans interior designed in my head during meetings = 2

Number of Campingninja t-shirts ordered online, just because = 1 (a new colour of my favourite 'map, hike, camp like a ninja' design)

Percentage increase of growth of inbox = a scary 400%

Number of emails ignored = all

Number of phone calls not answered = 14

Number of new camping gadgets invented in my head while on the phone to not very interesting people = 7

Productivity at work = 0%

Productivity of essential ninja camping planning = 100%

Productivity promise to myself for next week at work to make up for it = 200%

End of week analysis = a good week 

A night out under the stars, although we were not under canvas last night. It was time to party and celebrate with the stars, so it said on our tickets. But there were no famous people to be found. I wondered if they'd seen me coming and cried 'I'm a celebrity get me out of here' to escape. Or, perhaps even been so blown away by my Camping Ninja self that they had fainted. I looked down to check if anyone had actually fainted at my feet. Nope. There was nobody there.

And then I saw the stars twinkling away up in the sky. Ah, that's what they meant by stars. Real ones. And the party began.

As the clock struck midnight and we said goodbye to 2010 and hello to 2011, and while we made new years resolutions that deep down we know we have no intention of keeping (like cutting down on the amount of packets of space raiders I eat and being a more convincing ninja), I wished upon a star and made a new years wish for the year ahead.

Now they do say that you're not supposed to tell anyone what you wish for, to keep them secret or else your wish may not come true, but just between me and you, I wished for a good years camping... well, it is a secret diary after all!

To 2011, the year of the tent and a very Happy New Year.

Munching my way through a takeaway with a seasonal flavour tonight, as I never in my wildest dreams would have expected that I'd find a Brussel Sprout in my takeaway rice! A surprise with every bite.

Let the festivities begin.

The office Christmas party. A phenomenon renowned for its cringe worthy foot in the mouth moments and embarrassing dancing. So I try to end the night on a good note by transforming my hangover retreat of a drab hotel room, into a would be campsite. And here's how it's done...

Drunkenly pull the duvet off the bed and lay it down flat on the hotel room floor = groundsheet.

Shuffle the coffee table over to one edge of the duvet. Then place the desk chair towards the other edge = tent poles (which also double up as handy to put things on spaces – perfect for storing that bottle of water from the mini bar on, as it always helps to keep hydrated after a few too many glasses of wine!).

Next, remove the sheet from the bed and throw it loosely over the top of the table and chair structure = tent.

Use other random hotel room ornaments to pin down the edges of your tent i.e. the bizarrely decorated vase from the window sill, the spare coffee mug and the room service menu holder = tent pegs.

Pillow in and the 'tent' is all ready to cosy down in. Less hair of the dog needed to aid recovery tomorrow morning now, if I can trick my mind into thinking I'm away camping and sleeping in a tent.

An important tip to note is to remember to hang the 'do not disturb' sign on the outside of the hotel room door. Otherwise, be prepared for an early morning wake up call from the room attendant who'll probably come in to clean the room and find you sleeping in a tent on the floor and will possibly think you're a freak!

Blanket style tent also makes an excellent tent game to play with buzzing full of energy, little ninja cousins over the Christmas holidays too. As well as any other ninja relatives you're not too sure what to do with, including grandparents. Suggested variations of hotel room duvet and random vase = a great, great Auntie's blanket and the annual Christmas tin of biscuits that the man from across the road is bound to bring round some time over the festive season, because he always does. So this Christmas, I figure, why not make a blanket style tent to keep everyone entertained?

It wasn't a partridge in a pear tree, but a blackbird in the cherry tree. The four calling birds were freezing in the snow and looked more like four cooling birds. So on the 11^th day of Christmas, my Camping Ninja gift to the visiting garden birds was to put up one of my pop up tents in the garden, leaving the door open for them to go in and keep warm if they wanted to.

Everybody likes camping, even the birds it seems, as when I went back outside later there were bird footprints to be found in the snow at the entrance to the tent. Peering inside, it looked like the birds were having a Christmas party. Lots of tweeting going on and even some on Facebook too, and instead of seven swans a swimming (much too cold for that), there were seven pigeons singing Jingle Bell Rock. What a hoot!

It is a bit of a ninja tradition that 26 days before Christmas, I always write a letter to Father Christmas with my Christmas wish list on it (26 days to allow for postage time to the North Pole).

Dear Father Christmas

Thank you for the presents you dropped down the chimney for me last year. The walnuts and satsumas were simply great. Very useful indeed. You never know when you might need a satsuma or a walnut or two, or the combination of both even! You'll see from my wish list this year that I'd really like a new tent and a new 2011 diary to write my secret diary in next year. I've stuck some pictures in so you can see what I mean. I'd be so happy with any of the fifteen pictured tents, or any diary with a padlock – because it is very secret! Thank you.

Love from

The Camping Ninja

Signed, sealed without a kiss and on the way to be delivered. I just so happened to see Father Christmas in person (well, in ninja really) on my way to the post box so I hand delivered my letter.

Well Father Christmas thought something was really funny, but what, I don't know. Was it because I'm a ninja? Was he laughing at something on my list? Did he think I was too old to be writing letters to Father Christmas still? He just kept on laughing and laughing, until he laughed his eye out! Ooooh! One of his eyes fell out onto the floor and was promptly trodden on by a passing Christmas Elf. Oh dear, I thought. ''Father Christmas, are you OK?'' I asked him. But the strange thing was, the funny thing that's not very funny at all, is that even half eyeless, he carried on laughing and laughing.

And that's when my little Christmas world shattered. He was laughing because he couldn't feel a thing, because he wasn't really real. Because just like many people have often told me, Father Christmas doesn't really exist.

Well, that was it for my letter. So on my way home I popped into the shops and bought myself a new 2011 diary and wrote a reminder in for the January sales, to treat myself to a new tent.

I can't quite imagine how I'm going to keep this shocking revelation from the rest of my ninja family, especially my little ninja cousins. Shame. I'm going to have to drink the brandy and eat the mince pie and reindeer's carrot myself!

Red sky in the morning = Shepherds warning (to Shepherds).

Red tinted sky this morning = Camping Ninja's frost warning (to all campers and ninjas).

So if you're out camping tonight, my ninja advice is to wrap up very, very warm. That's 2 scarves, not just one!

A regular weekend party with friends, extended friends of friends and even some foes. Fortunately now we're all grown up the days of drunkenly playing Spin the Bottle are over, with every empty wine bottle staying upright on the table, just the way they should be. On the flip side of this weekends party however, were the after dinner mints.

An innocent box of Matchmakers brought to the table let loose the darker side of chocolate when some bright spark had an idea for a new game – the Matchmaker Game. A re-working of Spin the Bottle for adults, invented by the party host Claire-Marie, who since the day when she tried to set up Eric and Susie as a couple on a disastrous date, has quite wrongly fancied herself as a bit of a matchmaker.

My mind filled with dread as I began looking at the other party goers around the room, until the lights were switched out and we all dibbed into the box of Matchmakers. Two rogue sticks had been placed into the box and according to Claire-Marie, doubtful as it may be, the two who picked them out would by fate be a perfect match. Doubtful indeed I thought.

Hoping I'd picked a safe one, the lights came back on and we all examined each others pickings. Oh no, I'd picked out the bread stick! How did I manage that? It was such unfortunate bad luck. Looking at the one who'd picked out the carrot stick I knew instantly that it definitely was not a match made in heaven. 

''Oooooh, matchmaker, matchmaker'' Claire-Marie squealed, clapping her hands excitedly. What was she making all the fuss about? I didn't get it. Our bread stick and carrot stick were promptly replaced with a single chocolate Matchmaker and like the spaghetti scene in Lady and the Tramp we were instructed to share the chocolate stick, starting at either end, to meet in the middle and kiss. I was doomed! It was more like the Camping Ninja and a tramp.

The face at the other end zoomed in nearer to mine, hurriedly chomping their way down the chocolate safety zone, while I took the smallest bites possible in an ineffective attempt to avoid the catastrophe that was about to happen. Was it too late to cry out ''help!!!''? Concentrating on trying to resist that urge I forgot what was happening and before I knew it the last bite of chocolate Matchmaker wisped away and the lips from the other end pressed onto mine. Eeeuw! The worst peck of my life. The only relief was that thankfully they were the mint chocolate flavour Matchmakers, because I'd seen the other mouth demolish multiple pieces of garlic bread earlier in the evening.

I backed away as fast as a ninja could over to my side of the table and immediately wiped away any residue of the yucky mouth off of mine with a napkin, like a child, but felt much better for having done so. There wouldn't be any wedding bells resulting from that box of Matchmakers that's for sure! 

Making my way back home from work this evening, walking along by the river. The light from the yellow street lamps reflects onto the dark water at night, glistening gold against the black river. It kind of reminds me of the Sam Sparro song, Black and Gold.

There's nothing like some electro beats to get you moving and spice up an ordinary walk home so I dig out my ninjapod (Ipod for ninjas) and listen to that funky song. So the words say, that 'the fish swam out of the ocean and grew legs and they started walking'…

Contemplating that thought, it would be weird if that happened. Rivers run to oceans and I have to confess, it is a little bit scary walking along here now, not knowing what kind of amphibious human-fish like creature with legs I might meet in the twilight tonight.

With my pulse racing and the dirty electro playing, I'm glad Friday 13^th and Halloween have already been. In all this electrifying eeriness I really hope I don't pass the lady with the fish face down the alley! Hmmmm. A good idea to start walking quicker and move the ninjapod on to the next track I think!

Sitting by the ninjabile waiting for Strictly Come Dancing to call, practising my shocked voice and surprised face in the mirror – not that they could see that on a phone call but just in case they can sense it...

Hello, Camping Ninja here....... Who, me?............. You saw the video of us dancing on Campingninja and you'd like me to be on the next series of Strictly?.... Oh no, I couldn't possibly...... Oh, alright then, if you insist..... OK, I'll do it..................... Really? You were completely amazed by my hand dancing skills and you loved the way my hips moved?..... You think I have a natural rhythm and totally funky moves?........ Would I dance for the vibe? Well yes, of course........... Yes, yes, I can do the moonwalk and the running man...

If only. Come on ninjabile, ring.

I guess it is a bit soon for them to call tonight. It has only been a week. Ann Widdicombe waited a lot longer than that to get her call. Maybe next week they'll ring. I wait in hope.

Remember, remember the 5th of November.  An eventful date in more ways than one.  Here's what happened this year...

I was happily making my way out of the building last night and leaving work for the weekend, when all of a sudden the lift jolted and came to a halt.  We were well and truly stuck.

Oh no, not on a Friday, I thought!!!  Luckily I'd been shopping earlier so I had supplies to last me through, hopefully!  Although I did wonder if I might be trapped in for a few months like the Chilean miners.  Then I'd be very hungry.  I even did some exercises like they did to keep fit and after a couple of circuits around the lift I was one utterly dizzy ninja, but not quite a rascal yet.

It was going to be a long wait.  Using the light of the ninjabile as a torch I was at least able to see, so I got to work on eating my way through the supplies.  Munch, munch, munch.  Nom, nom, nom. 

6 packets of space raiders later there was light.  The doors opened again and we were free!  Fireworks boomed in the background, lighting up the night sky to celebrate our exit. 

Never going in a lift again I thought!  Unless it's on a Monday morning.  Now there's an idea...   

There was no getting away from that fact that it was Halloween.  Shopping in the supermarket this morning it was awash with people slinking up and down the aisles with overloaded trolleys, filled with treat size bars of chocolate, witches noses, the odd devil's fork poking out the end and large pumpkins stacked on the top, overbalancing at every U-bend corner between the aisles.  Which reminded me that I needed to get something for the trick or treaters too.

There's always a risk that a bunch of ghouls might turn up on the doorstep with nut allergies or dairy intolerance, or they could simply be completely unsatisfied to receive yet another treat size Snickers bar or Milky Way, that they'd also been given from the house next door, and the house next door to that one, which as all too many people know, can often result in having multiple eggs thrown at your windows by ungrateful spooky beings.  So I wanted to be different from the neighbours and get something exciting as treats this year. 

Browsing the bakery counter I noticed a seasonal twist on the Viennese Fingers – a painted green almond stuck to the end made to look like a fingernail – brilliantly scary!  So I ordered 13 Viennese Fingers.  'Witches Fingers' the lady behind the counter whispered intently at me.  I stood corrected.  'OK, I'll take 13 of the Witches Fingers then please' I replied.  As she boxed them all up I revelled in delight at my Halloween purchase.  They were so much better than the treats I'd bought last year - much more wicked than the boxes of fun size Smarties in 2009.

I was home alone when darkness fell across Monkton Avenue and the first knock at the door of  the eerie evening began.  I opened the door to a group of kids from our street, all dressed up in their Halloween get up.  I was expecting them to call out 'trick or treat' but greeted by a ninja on the other side of the door, they all completely freaked out and ran away scared.  'Wait, treat!' I called out.  'I've got Witches Fingers' I carried on, saying probably the worst thing to be said when people are already afraid of you.  'I mean I've got Viennese Fingers for you.  I'm a ninja not anything scary.  I'm a friendly Camping Ninja'.  But it was too late.  They were long gone.  The screams from the terrified children could be heard all down the road.

Saddened by this I went back inside feeling glum.  Was I really that frightening?  I wasn't even trying to be scary but I just was.  A tear welled up in my eye as I sat in the lounge watching TV, munching on the Witches Fingers and feeling ostracised like Elephant Man.               

Not long later there was another knock at the door.  I opened it reluctantly, completely unprepared for the frightful sight before me!  Two scary monsters stood on my doorstep, glaring at me menacingly, waiting impatiently for a treat and threatening me with a trick, which from looking across at all the other front doors down our road, was going to be the dreaded box of eggs pelted at me. 

They weren't afraid of me at all and as one of the monsters slid it's hand into the box of eggs, I cried out 'Treat!!!' and just in time too as the egg clutching hand retreated from the box.  I hurried inside to get the treats.  Disaster.  I'd comfort eaten all the Witches Fingers and was now out of treats.  I ran into the kitchen in a panic, looking frantically through the cupboards for something monster worthy to give them. 

Foraging away I tossed out boxes of cornflakes, raisins, packets of pasta, bags of carrots and apples and tins of baked beans.  They weren't going to keep the eggs at bay!  There was only one option - the Space Raiders.

I returned to the front door with my favourite crisps and handed them over.  As I did so, I made a Halloween noise of a mix of a scary laugh and a wolf's growl.  It wasn't one little bit scary.  The monsters merely raised their eyebrows at me, throwing an egg at me as I rushed to close the front door.

In hindsight, it probably wasn't the wisest thing to do, but I was happy to have egg all over the front door because it confirmed that, in actual fact, I wasn't in the slightest bit scary and that's what I needed to know.  Happy Halloween everyone!          
   

It was Forest Gump who categorised a whole part of his life as 'running' and today, the 'running' phase of my life began, early this morning.  As a bit of a regular jogger already, well, due to my almost daily run to the station in time to catch my train in the mornings, this new running phase was an expansion.  

It's often a tough run so early in the mornings and in such an unanticipated, short and sharp, super fast sprint all of a sudden when I realise that if I don't run I'll miss the train, I then find myself sitting on the train momentarily exhausted, next to another person who sensibly got on earlier and is sound asleep, while I'm gasping for breath.  It's a noticeably stark contrast and with my ninja reputation to uphold, I decided it was time to bite the bullet and get a personal trainer.

So I called up yesterday to book and they asked me their standard set of enrolment questions – how often do I go to the gym? etc and the one I got stuck on, how many times can I cycle round a small supermarket car park in 20 minutes? - bizarre.  So I explained that I'm a Camping Ninja with advanced level ninja skills and they said 'Ah, we have just the person.  We'll send you someone special who has more of a match to your skills than our regular trainers'.  What great service I thought, massively impressed.

5:52am this morning, we met in the park.  An ex marine named Hank with a very unique quality about him that I couldn't quite pin point, was waiting for me, limbering up.

By 6am my new personal trainer was running like a bullet and I could not keep up.  The word 'regret' sprang to mind!

With my feet pounding the ground beneath me all I could see out of my half asleep, tired weary eyes was the road ahead of me and that always a good few steps out of reach, away in the distance, were the supersonic legs of Hank. 

In my early morning comatose state, through blinking eyes, I thought I was seeing double.  The je ne sais quoi air of Hank was playing on my mind, but I couldn't quite work out what was so different about him.  How was it possible for a man to be able to run so impossibly fast? 

Then I figured out why – because he has 4 legs!!  I'd been skills matched with a half octopus and there was no chance of ever keeping up now! 

So we switched on the TV and began to catch up on the week's TV we'd all missed, starting with yesterday's episode of 71 Degrees North.  Celebrities camping in the snow.  I watched in awe, thinking how much I personally couldn't wait to go camping in the snow this year and wondered when it would fall.  Could it be as early as December again this year or would I have to wait until January or February? 

Even my friend Susie who has one of the stars of the show, Susie Amy named after her wasn't so keen on the idea of canvassing it in the cold at the weekend.  Or was it the other way round, that our friend Susie was named after the celebrity Susie?  Which one came first?  Was it the chicken or the egg?  Or was it simply that they both shared the same name?  So confusing. 

By this point it was too late.  They were well into the chicken and the egg debate and there was no going back.  A 50 minute chicken or the egg discussion was to follow.  That was when I started to consider that it might be better to go camping on my own.  I didn't fancy having to hear all this again if I was going to be cooking scrambled eggs for breakfast.  I'd have to stick to cereal otherwise it would be too much of a risk, and no chicken for dinner either.      

Better off on my own this time was the conclusion I'd come to, but I couldn't help feeling that little bit sad, watching their happy faces passionately altercating the historical dilemma of a chicken and an egg.

As the programme ended the debating stopped, much to my relief.  Having seen how much fun a bunch of celebrities were having camping in the cold, suddenly everyone changed their minds and wanted to come away camping with me at the weekend.  Yippee!!  For the company of good friends, I could easily live with the prospect of listening to another clucking egg discussion.  It was the happiest Wednesday evening of my life!

Autumn - my favourite season of the year.  Happily I've managed to squeeze in one night away camping this weekend.   

After a cosy nights sleep all snug as a bug in my cocoon shaped sleeping bag I emerge from the tent into the cool, crisp October air and warm morning sunshine.  An utterly refreshing combination and a great start to the day, enough to wake any sleepy ninja up.
 
A colourful morning of red, green and gold fallen leaves, the colours of the international flag of autumn.  And one of the best noises of the season when you step on them too - more crunch than my breakfast bowl of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes. 

Ah, Sunday morning perfection!
 

It's always amazed me about the bizarre way that people shut their eyes when they're trying to concentrate, like at the pub quiz tonight.  So I closed my eyes for a moment too and tried to think of the answer.  At first I still couldn't get one and then it came to me.  I'd got it.  So like Bridget Jones did in the quiz in one of her films, I stood up from our table and announced to the world, 'I believe the correct answer is camping'.

Everyone sat in a stunned silence.
  
Had I got the answer right?...

Tutting and laughter came from the next table as someone muttered under their breath that 'the question was asking for a country not a leisure activity'.  They all chuckled. 

Oh.

I sunk low into my chair and hid behind what I wished had been a much larger bottle of beer!


 

Someone asked me if I was going to go and watch Campingninja's Geoff running in the Edam Half Marathon tomorrow, or so that's what I heard.  'Of course' I said, 'I wouldn't miss it for the world'.  So off I went this morning to catch a plane to Edam in the Netherlands, home of Dutch Edam cheese.

It wasn't until after I'd arrived that I began to wonder if I'd come to the right place.  After much difficulty, trying to ask a confused Dutch woman, in English, if this was where the Edam Half Marathon was being held tomorrow and having been consequently escorted to a tasting session at the local cheese market, ashamedly I did as Brits abroad often do and persevered with my question again, only this time, in a much louder voice.  After all, isn't that what we all learnt in languages at school?    

Quite bizarrely, talking with a mouth full of cheese I managed to consummate a very convincing native Dutch accent and make myself understood.  'Ja, you mean the Eden Half Marathon.  It is in England tomorrow' the helpful cheese expert explained.  And then it dawned on me what an idiot I'd been.  The Edam Half Marathon was really the Eden Project Half Marathon.  Yikes! 

Still full up from all the cheese I'd been tasting I ran as fast as I could, which was hugely slower than normal with a belly full of Edam, back to the station for the train to the airport and the next flight home to the UK.

Running around like a headless chicken, I arrived at the airport to find that the first plane leaving for home is not until late tomorrow morning.  The flight time from Amsterdam to London is approximately 1.5 hours, Concorde has already retired and I need to get myself to Cornwall.  

Oh dear.  Looks like I'm going to miss the marathon, but good luck Geoff!  I'll be over here in the Netherlands cheering you on from afar. 

I came back home from work this evening to a note pushed through the letterbox, left by a courier. It read: 'We have left your parcel for you to collect from a safe place: At side in bush'. At side in bush?? It was like some kind of cryptic clue in another language. What did they mean? Which bush and at which side?

So I went outside to look for the parcel in the bushes. It was like being in a jungle, all leafy and bush like. Then I got the fright of my life when a bonsai panther (the cat) appeared out of nowhere and jumped out of the bushes at me! Scary times. All that for a delivery of tea bags and it's not even Halloween yet.

Tube strike number 2 of the season today so I leave the smart shoes at home, don a pair of trainers and join the comfy shoe brigade in London's mass walk into work day. 

It's something a little bit different and a break from the usual work routine, taking the mundane out of this Monday. For something that doesn't happen very often, the experience oozes a great sense of camaraderie in the midst of the chaos of the capitals underground network grinding to a halt. 

Every square foot of pavement is packed with pounding feet as suits wearing trainers march together on epic journeys to offices, on a rare occasion when this kind of business attire is actually acceptable, even if you work in Canary Wharf.  

With all shoes walking together, there's a buzz and electricity like that of the London Marathon.  Although disappointingly there are no medals today, or sports drinks or people cheering you on when you finally cross the finish line and arrive at work.

It was one of my worst nightmares.  An immense forest of trees, with tree, after tree, after tree and no tent in sight.  Where had my tent gone?!  There were so many trees I just couldn't find my tent amongst them all.  It was impossible.

Then I woke up.  Phew!  What a relief!  It had all been merely a bad dream.  Obviously being back at home is playing havoc with my subconscious.  There's only really one true place for a Camping Ninja to be and that is camping.  Really hope to get back there soon.

Today is the first day back at work after my camping holiday and what a drag it is.  It has been a while so what's changed since I've been away?  The introduction of the Boris bike, thanks to which I've already nearly been run over by cyclists on 3 occasions this morning.  For they are the bikes that seem to attract people who haven't been on a bike for the last 20 years and despite the saying 'it's like riding a bike – you never forget', these people clearly have forgotten, as they wobble around steering from left to right, cycling into the path of as many pedestrians as possible.  Unless that's their aim? Thank goodness for the cycling bells, for those who's aim it isn't, that's all I can say.  That ringing has saved my life at least once already today.
 
Everyone in the office, except my boss is excited to see me back and eager to hear tales of my camping adventures.  So I start with Freda the duck, our surfing trip and then move onto the adventure over the cows and a very detailed explanation of the reason we were unable to leave the campsite to come back to work.  ''There were 17 of them in total.  A rare breed herd of cows blocking the exit road out of the campsite.  One was big, with massive brown eyes and the longest eyelashes of all the cows and this one stood at the front.  Then there was the smaller, brown and white spotted cow who stood behind it mooing.  A little bit like this – moo, moo.  Next to that one, is where the third cow would stand and this one made a different sound.  A deep bellowing moo, kind of like moooooo, moooooo, mooooo, moooooo...'' I begin to explain.

My angry boss threatens no more holiday for the rest of the year and says that I can forget about my time booked off in a few weeks, but luckily there's the employment loophole at our office that protects me from this cruel abomination – that my next holiday is already booked.  Just one of the many benefits of booking your campsite online with Campingninja.com as it just so happens that I have a conveniently printed out copy of my booking confirmation in the top drawer of my desk, which when presented to my, who I'm now thinking I should be referring to as evil boss, ensures that any time off for holidays that are already booked will be granted.

This is when it all starts to get a bit nasty and my boss steps up her anger level.  In fact she's so, so angry.  I remember a tip from the 'how to deal with an unruly and irritating boss' training course I went on once before, run by Ted from accounts and held at the back of the car park.  We all paid a black market entrance fee of post its and Mars bars and left them in undisclosed carrier bags around the office for him to pick up when no one was looking.  His recommendation would be to throw the situation back at them.  So on this advice, I take great pleasure in reminding my boss of the time she was stuck in a traffic jam on the way into work and didn't make it in to the office until the afternoon, just like I had been unable to get back work.  My comments go down like a lead balloon with a hippopotamus tied to the end!  Is it the weekend yet?  Time to hire a Boris bike and make a quick getaway out of here I think!

''No, I can't come out to the pub tonight.  I'm washing my hair'' I told everyone. 

''What are you talking about?  No one ever sees your hair!'' they all said, making reference to my daily ninja bandanna wearing.

The truth is, it was a Saturday night and I was staying in as I needed to have to have some serious words with the cat.  Tonight seemed like a rare opportunity when a) the cat was actually awake and b) it had been 7 whole hours since it had last hissed at me.  Most of all, it needed to be told and tonight was going to be the night.

So I approached the cat, armed with some sardine and trout flavoured dry biscuits in case things got nasty and began the negotiations. 

''First of all Cat, please, whatever you do, do not hiss at me''.  I tossed one of the biscuits towards it by way of a peace offering.  Then remembered that if it was going to hiss, the biscuit I'd just given it would make it's breath even more fishy than usual.  Not a wise move on my part.

''And number 2, the tent that had been out of it's bag and lying in the corner of the lounge before  we went away, is one of my favourite tents for camping.  When you use it as a bed during the day when I'm out at work and you think I won't notice, I do. 

Because tents are waterproof and when you claw it when you're doing your little cat thing, as I know you have been, it makes lots of little holes in it.  So the next time I go camping and it rains, the tent leaks!  Which is what happened while I was away.

So no more sleeping on the tent, OK?''

All things understood, I went off into the kitchen to make a drink.  I heard the cat flap go and looked out of the kitchen window to find that the was cat scaling the edge of the tent I had put up in the garden earlier to dry, climbing with claws!

I shook my head.  Why, oh why did renting the house come with a cat instead of a dog?  Dogs are  apparently man's best friend.  What are cats supposed to be?  Little devils?  Probably why the tenants before moved out. 

After a long time away camping I arrived home, back at the front door for what I pretend is and in my perspective is the way I like to think of it as, a washing turnaround before my next camping trip. As I turned the key in the lock and the door flung open, I dropped my heavy bag down onto the floor with a plop! There's a lot of washing to be done when you're a ninja, believe it or not.

Some people think that because I wear the same ninja head and neck scarves everyday that they literally are the same ones, but they couldn't be more wrong.

In my ninja wardrobe (that I took camping with me and is now ready to be washed) there are precisely:

13 bandanna's (lucky for some)

11 ninja neck scarves

1 ninja knapsack

14 ninja shirts

2 ninja jackets

7 Campingninja t-shirts

4 hoodies

16 ninja trousers and 15 pairs of shorts

37 ninja socks, making 18 pairs and 1 spare (1 was lost in action camping in the New Forest)

3 pairs of ninja boots

1 pair of flip flops

1 pair of trainers

1 lonely Croc

And perhaps contrary to public opinion, being a ninja, some really top secret, highly classified information is that unlike other fighting commandos, ninjas – especially camping ninjas and this one in particular – don't go commando. I own 34 pairs of boxers, but ssh! Keep it a secret. Don't let all the ladies know or it'll ruin my ninja charm!

And now, minus 1 lost Croc, all machine washable items from the list above are waiting to go in the wash. A busy day ahead.

Woke up this morning to the noise of what sounded like an aeroplane taking off above the tent. Got up and came out of my tent to investigate and found Eric packing his tent away and blow drying it with a hairdryer! Yep, that's a hairdryer for all those in disbelief. Crazy guy!!

I didn't know him personally, but as the legend goes, it was Gandhi who once said 'there is more to life than simply increasing its speed'.

As we mourn the last night of our long and extremely extended summer camping trip, sitting on the hilltop at the end of the campsite that has come to feel so much like home, watching the sun as it begins to set and truly appreciating the peacefulness and slow pace of life here, we celebrate the good times, laughing together remembering the moments that will bring us so many lasting memories for years to come.

I guess this is what Gandhi was talking about. Four friends sitting together on a hilltop, simply appreciating life for what it is.

A good time camping with great friends. It's a shame that this one has come to an end. We raise our glasses of a rather strong but delicious, locally made elderflower champagne, make a toast and take a drink to the next ones.

Sometimes no matter how hard you try you just cannot escape the facts. Much to my disgust I will soon be back at work. So to prepare myself and in an attempt to minimise the almost inevitable culture shock I will no doubt experience when I'm back on the underground, commuting to and from work instead of being here - my preferred choice of being above ground in the open air and daylight and preferably camping - I've got Eric on board to help me prepare by zipping and unzipping the tent door and saying ''mind the doors, mind the doors, mind the closing doors'' while I run in and out of the tent trying not to get an arm, leg, head or shoe caught in the closing doorway, which does so often happen on the busy tubes during rush hour.

The rest I can cope with. Standing on one leg like a flamingo inside the train because there's only space available for one more foot to be on the ground is fine for me. I'm a ninja. In fact it's not all that different to the flamingo ninja move I've spent years perfecting my balance for. All the same though, why spend time imitating a feathery, pink bird on a train if you don't have to? The camping lifestyle definitely gets my vote.

Now before I loose concentration and potentially an arm too I must get back to my dodge the closing door antics. I'd better let Eric know too, that that there'll be no need to for us to go through a practice of me having my face squashed up in someone's sweaty armpit. That can't be good for friend and house mate relations!

The bubble is about to burst. Albeit on my magic bubble wand but metaphorically too as my world has just come crashing back to reality with a bump! After having listened to numerous voice mail messages left on my ninjabile from my boss at work over the last couple of weeks, the bump is realising that unfortunately the time has come for us to finish being on holiday and to go home.

Ranging from the first concerned, motherly ''Camping Ninja are you ok? Where are you? You did not come back to work today, we are worried about you'' message, to the angry ''Camping Ninja. Where the **** are you?'' message, to the complete opposite end of the spectrum, or in this case it must be the universe - the ferociously and very scarily angry ''**** *** Camping Ninja!! You better **** ***** ****** ***** ******* back here right now or I'll ****** ***** **** **** *****!!!!!'' message.

Ouch! It hurt my ear just listening to them. Quick, delete, delete, delete and switch off before she has the chance to ring back and mention the dreaded words, P45! Eeek! Imagine the angriest person you know and then double it, and double it again and that is what my boss is.

In actual fact the cows have been long gone for a good few weeks now and the exit road re-opened so we could have got back home and back to work quite some time ago really. We have been away for a while. Much longer than we first anticipated but it has been so good and time has really flown by. Isn't that always the way when you're having fun?

It's just so easy to forget what day of the week it is when you're on holiday and having a great time. Sundays seem no different to Mondays or Fridays and all days rolls into one, equal to a weekend in a regular working week.

So dismally we gathered around the camping kettle and took in the bad news, that most unfortunately and ever so sadly, we would in fact have to go back home to go back to work very soon.

They say money doesn't grow on trees but apparently snails do!

See exhibit A (right).

Snapshot of the day – the snail tree.

I made a hand picked juicy blackberry cheesecake this afternoon. A tad complicated and not the easiest thing to make when you're camping either. I was having one of those crazy creative moments in our camping kitchen and had the brainwave of a blackberry cheesecake. Something quite unique and a little bit different to the strawberry and blackcurrant ones we sometimes buy from the shops. Although the hush-hush element no camping chef likes to admit, is that it did involve going to the local shop and buying a ready made cheesecake and then I hand picked the blackberries to go on top myself. Ultimately a 100% hand picked cheesecake. Hand picked from the shelf in the supermarket and hand picked berries from the prickly blackberry bush too. Anyway, it looked looked delicious and we all tucked in.

The puzzling thing was though, that some mouthfuls were amazingly delicious and the next mouthfuls were completely disgusting. Some bites were lovely and then the bites that followed were quite repulsive.

''Bleuk!'' we all said.

All eyes glared across at me, with inquisitive faces and thoughts racing across their minds. They didn't need to say anything. I could almost tell what they were thinking and in any case, I was sure I was thinking the same thing.

''Maybe the blackberries are off'' someone said.

''They can't be. I picked them fresh this morning with my own ninja hands'' I replied, proudly opening a Tupperware box and showcasing the remainder of the blackberries I'd picked earlier.

There was a gasp of ''oooh'' as Eric looked into the Tupperware box, impressed.

''The bigger ones look nice'' remarked Elwood.

''That, is not a blackberry!'' Susie exclaimed, pointing at one of the smaller, flatter fruits.

Well there's no need to be size-ist I thought, ushering the poor, runted blackberries away.

''I do not know what it is but that (as she pointed disgustedly) is not a blackberry!'' she repeated, as if we hadn't heard her the first time.

It was a steep learning curve on the blackberry front for me. You see there are blackberries and there are fake blackberries. They may look like the same thing but they taste completely different and taste is the all important difference between a nice juicy blackberry and a concoction so vile that it made us all gag with every mouthful. One berry makes great cheesecakes and the other one is really only meant to be eaten by desperately hungry pigeons. And yet they grow happily alongside each other on lookalike bushes of beauty and the beast waiting for some unsuspecting hands to pick them off and pop them on top of a cheesecake.

The whole thing was such an unfortunate episode that due to the severity of the blackberry blunder, I had to make a pact to stick to only cooking scrambled eggs for the rest of the week, with a promise to be more cautious with my ingredients in the camping kitchen in future. Oh well, chicken magic for the rest of the week it is then!

''So let's get this straight. You want me to put the hat on my head and climb up and sit on top of the horse? … For me to climb on up and sit right there on top of the horse? Wearing that hat? … Sitting on the horse?''. The situation wasn't looking so good for me as I stood on the ground with my neck fully stretched, looking up at the tallest, biggest horse I had ever seen.

''You're not scared of a horse are you Camping Ninja?'' Elwood laughed.

''Uh uh'', I shook my head, with my jaw clamped together and tightly compressed gritted teeth, unable to admit that really I was petrified, as being afraid of a horse really goes against most ninja rules.

''Come on Camping Ninja what are you waiting for? Get on the horse!'' Eric told me.

''OK just give me a minute, I just want to get my head around it for a second'' I replied trying to bide my time.

''Giddy up Camping Ninja get on'' called Suzie.

''You know actually I was looking for something more in the petite range. Do you have anything a little less tall?'' I asked. ''I don't think that one is going to fit me''.

And in a plume of dust and the smell of what I, without meaning any disrespect to the four legged lady, would call 'Eau de Horse', came the tinny sound of four hooves stopping in the yard as out of the stable labelled Rapunzel, indeed stepped a horse named Rapunzel. What a name!

Trying to be friendly I greeted her with a ''neigh''. Not sure if she totally appreciated my efforts to be down with the equestrian lingo as she exhaled a shower of hot horse breath out of her nose at me! Nobody had told me I would need an umbrella for horse riding!

''So you want me to get up on top of the horse called Rapunzel? You want me to ride Rapunzel?!'' I double checked. ''Oh''.

The sun shone down on her windswept mane. If it's true that eyes are the window to the soul then from that moment on my nerves and fear abandoned me and I knew that I could trust Rapunzel. Looking into her deep, dark eyes, she wasn't hiding any secrets. There were no monsters lurking inside Rapunzel. She was simply herself. A short legged, stumpy horse with very long and endearingly messy hair. Beautiful in her own way. I can only describe her as a race horse with the height and grace of a Shetland Pony.

So on I climbed and Eric, Suzie and Elwood went trotting off on their own horses.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, 15 minutes had passed and I was still sitting on top of Rapunzel who was yet to move. ''Clipety clop Rapunzel, clipety clop'', I said making some horsey clicking noises and then whoosh!! Off she went and Rapunzel really did go!!! ''Yee hah Rapunzel!''. The wild horse dragged me away.

Feeling a little like Zorro we rode off in chase of the others. Galloping along I thought, until a person walking with a dog on a lead overtook us. With my feet not far off the ground I wondered if it would actually be quicker for me to walk back to the campsite.

Of course when I did get off, walking wasn't that straightforward any more. My legs killed! And I smelt of horse. But I did have a new friend with a very funky name and a nice cup of tea waiting for me when I got back to the tent.

If you book a campsite with the Campingninja fresh local produce search function like we did, chances are you'll spend many afternoons immersed amongst fresh vegetables, hovering up and down the isles between the freshly squeezed apple juice and the home made pecan pies, amazed at the mouthwatering delights to be found in the farm shop, which for us is conveniently located just down the road from the campsite. To be more specific that's about a 2 minute walk away at a moderate ninja speed, or the distance of 15 cucumbers, 4 marrows and 36 runner beans away, give or take a cherry tomato.

But a word of warning - beware of some species fresh off the farm, like the Butternut Swan! Sitting quietly, nestled in a basket with all the butternut squash and acting all innocent as if butter wouldn't melt in its mouth.

I really tried hard to pick one squash out, but the Butternut Swan, so fiercely protective of its young kept trying to peck me with its beak!

Oh well, looks like I'll have to do barbecue roasted sweet potato instead and hope that nobody notices the difference in the much anticipated barbecue roasted butternut squash recipe. They are kind of the same once they're cooked, well, both orange. Hopefully nobody will notice. Will they be able to taste the difference? I'll just have to keep my fingers crossed and wait and see....

We've been playing hide and seek this afternoon and I thought I'd be able to use my ninja skills to my advantage. I'd been reading all about this 'uzura-gakure' famous ninja earth technique in my ninja book (How to be a Better Ninja) which is, according to chapter 2, 'the art of curling up into a ball and remaining motionless in order to appear like a stone'. I thought, well I'm too big get away with looking like a stone so aimed for a more convincing rock.

Morphed into my brilliant disguise, I could hear the count down from 100 begin. '99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94'...... My heart was racing (and my ankles aching from squatting into a pretty unorthodox rock position). '6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, coming ready or not' they called.

Oh no, not ready, not ready! I wasn't ready at all by this time, as I had one foot poking out the side of my rock persona from stretching while I was waiting. Quick, tuck it back in before the others see I told myself. OK. Now wait... and wait I thought, hoping that it wouldn't be too obvious that it was me.

But I wasn't waiting very long because I was the first one to be found. Disastrous. We play hide and seek amongst the pine trees and tents and I go and choose an exposed, bare patch of grass to hide on, as a rock! So I stood out like a sore thumb. Note to self not to try the uzura-gakure trick again!

We all had our p p p p p p p p poker faces on tonight for a game of Camping Poker. After our game of Camping Twister the other week, I hope you're not thinking that we're game addicts, like we've launched ourselves into this camping casino or something, because that's not the case. Far from it in fact, as there's not a croupier or roulette table in sight. Although Suzie has been dressed like she works in a casino today. I thought it was weird at the time but I didn't want to say anything about it in case she was doing some kind of casino role play or something, but I think it was just an odd choice of fashion – waistcoat and a bow tie for camping – not exactly Millets best seller!

Huddled together in one of our tents the clandestine meeting began under the dimmed, low light of a flickering old torch hanging from the centre pole in the roof. To be honest, I could barely see!
 
Tensions were running high but with all bets placed, there could only be one winner. Yes!! I cried out, as I jumped up for joy – hitting my head on the roof of the tent and knocking the flickering torch sideways, creating an almost strobe lighting effect as I swept my winnings of the last Rolo into my ninja knapsack. Ummmm – I'll save that one for a rainy day I thought.....

1:32am – I don't hear any pitter pattering on the roof but just going to have a little peek outside to see if it's raining.....

Nope, not that rainy day just yet.

4:13am – Searching in the dark to try and get the Rolo out of my ninja knapsack. It's no good, I can't resist it anymore. Am going to have to eat it right now!

It's always good to have breakfast cooked by a friend, especially the morning after a hard nights camping merriment, but when there's egg shell in your fried egg butty, a line has been crossed and no matter how good a friend, the chef really needs be told (sorry Eric) – or do they?

It's one of those moments when time seems to stand still. All of us sitting here eating breakfast and like a frozen film clip, as if somebody has hit the pause button, I sit here motionless with a mouthful of fried egg and shell, deliberating what to do about it.

Sometimes it's just better not to say anything at all and I'm wondering whether this is one of those situations now. Should I just eat it and pretend the egg shell's not there, to be polite and not hurt anyone's feelings? 

If it wouldn't be so obvious I'd simply remove the egg shell from my mouth, but with Eric watching my every move, waiting for the seal of approval on his first go at cooking a camping breakfast it would be way too obvious. And I don't think even taking it out and pretending it's a loose tooth or disguising it with some kind of impromptu coughing fit would work on this occasion.

…. A glance at my watch tells me that in fact, time hasn't been standing still at all. Maybe for me, but in reality 11 whole minutes have passed and everyone else has finished eating their breakfast and are probably wondering why the ninja sitting in the corner has only taken one bite and has been sitting in silence, with cheeks puffed out like a hamster and a mouthful of food for so long.

If I was the chef, by now I'd almost definitely be thinking, oops, did I get some egg shell in there when I made the breakfast? And would've said something or taken the plate away and put the food in the bin to rescue the poor egg shelled eater. But not Eric. His beady eyes are still watching me, patiently waiting, hopeful that I'm going to pass a verdict and announce that his breakfast is delicious. But it's not!

And now it's been 12 minutes! So it looks like I'll have to be brave and eat it regardless of the fact that I'm sure egg shell must really be inedible....

Gulp!

The unsaid truth, just between you and me - it was damn crunchy! No further comment.

We were just eating our breakfast this morning when bizarrely, as I've never had it happen to me before – I always thought it was a female trait and I'm still not sure why it happened - I had the undying urge for some 'me' time.

So I went off on my own for a walk in the woods and knowing what my sense of direction is like, I used a tried and tested method from long ago, that I vaguely remembered from my wee ninjahood to make sure I'd be able to find my way back again without getting lost.

I'd loaded up my ninja knapsack with bread that I'd borrowed from Eric at breakfast. Well, it wasn't strictly borrowing as I wasn't planning on giving it back afterwards (although he probably would have still eaten it if he'd been given the chance), but I don't like to say that I took it without asking as that could be confused with stealing. And we all know that people who steal bread can get their hands chopped off which isn't very helpful for putting up tents! So the way I see it, and I'm sure Eric would think of it in this way too, is that as he wasn't looking at the time, I kindly helped him clear the bread from his plate. It was all very innocent you see and much needed for my navigation skills as I used it to drop a breadcrumb with every step I took, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs behind me like those old adventurers Hansel and Gretel. Genius!

A long walk later and having had all the space I needed to clear my head, I started feeling a little bit peckish so I figured it must be nearing lunch time and so time to head back to camp. I turned around and off I went, hurriedly walking along at a speedy pace, fuelled by my hunger and wondering what exciting things we'd be having for lunch (hoping that it wasn't going to be sandwiches), as I followed the path of breadcrumbs.

I couldn't have been walking for longer than 5 minutes when the trail of breadcrumbs came to a grinding halt. As I looked down at the end of the trail at my feet, I heard a loud quack as something scurried into the bushes and hid very noticeably behind a tree, with its large bottom sticking out from either side. A duck had been eating all my breadcrumbs and there was not a crumb left in sight.

Phew! I had been thinking of using a packet of my favourite space raiders to lay the trail but I was so glad I didn't. All I could think about when I saw that the bread had been eaten was thank goodness the crisps were safe! Then I remembered that without the bread I wasn't entirely sure which way to get back home. Was it down the path on the left or up the hill on the right?

I guessed these things might only work out as happy endings in fairy tales and so not to run the risk of bumping into a witch at a gingerbread house, I ran back at super fast ninja speed, in the direction of the smoke and the smell of barbecues, hoping to find my way back to the campsite before being eaten by a witch!

We went out to a party last night that was being held in a big dance tent, which was only a short walk away from the campsite, on the way there, and a much longer walk on the way back after a few pints of the local brew.

It just so happens that the song the DJ was playing as we arrived was the Die Antwoord - 'Enter the Ninja' song! Now is that just a coincidence or is that what you call making an entrance in true ninja style?! It made my night anyway and the DJ even did a re-rewind and played it twice in a row – music to my ears. Spread the ninja love DJ!

Lyrically the song's not really me and who knows what they are saying? I haven't got a clue. It's a completely different dialect to the ninja that I speak and he is much more of a fierce ninja than I am, but I like it! And yes, I did do the dance. You know, the butterfly arms and the ninja moves – I think I managed to pull it off as well!

I don't know all the words and I kind of like to make up my own, and the song is about a Samurai and I'm a Camping Ninja so I change the words to Camping Ninja and make it more like me. It's a bit of a mouthful to squeeze in the extra word, so you have to say the 'Camping Ninja' part very, very fast at ninja speed!

So I sing like la la la la la la la, enter the Camping Ninja. Sing it with me if you know this one...

I am a Camping Ninja
Blah blah blah blah blah blah a Camping Ninja
When I was a boy I wanted to be a ninja
Now I am a man, now I am a Camping Ninja
Fight like a ninja (actually, I've never tried!)
Camp like a ninja
Look like a ninja
I am a Camping Ninja
La, la, laa, laa laa laa la la la la la la la ooh wee - Oh no, wrong song! I've got myself in the mix. I must still be drunk from last night. Where's the DJ with the song to save my life?

If you want to dance along yourself too, you can check it out here...

It does have the love it or hate it Marmite effect, but it's the ninja song of the moment and they don't come around very often, so being a ninja, I've got to love it. And in my eyes, nothing will ever be as bad as the Carrot Tempura the other night!

P.S. Yes all the butterflies at the campsite, I will protect you.

We were playing one of my favourite camping games earlier when I got myself into a right tangle. I know I'm a ninja and everything but I don't think I was built for left leg and right arm blue with left arm stretched all out to green and right leg trying to balance on yellow.

Am I talking a load of gobbledegook? Nooooooo, I'm talking about a game of Camping Twister of course!

They say that it's the day after the day after that hurts the most, so I reckon in 2 days time that's when I'm really going to feel the pain!

So if you think you're as tough as a ninja, or even tougher than a ninja (not really possible but we can pretend) and fancy having a go yourself, then here's how...

Collect up all your camping plates, even go and do the washing up if you need to, because this game is good fun. Lay the plates out on the grass, either neatly in colour coordinated rows or tossed onto the ground randomly, depending on your personality. I like a combination of both personally – the reassurance of a nice orderly line of blue, with a single yellow thrown in for that ever exciting element of surprise. If you have a lot of players, or you suffer from we-only-own-2-plates syndrome, then you can use your camping bowls too. The minimum number of players is 2 and for best results use 3 or more. The maximum number of players all depends on how many plates and bowls you can muster up but the possibilities are endless.

Allocate one player as the caller. They need to be blindfolded or with their eyes shut or facing the other way, or if you're me, then I just pull my ninja head scarf down over my eyes. I can't see like that, really I can't. I know sometimes in the past people have thought that I've been cheating, but when they asked me how many fingers they were holding up and I said 11, they knew that there was no way I could see out. 

Once you've ascertained that the caller can't see any of the plates, and have performed any anti-cheat checks that you need to, get the caller to randomly call out a colour, direction and a limb. C, D, L. Simple. Then comes the tricky part, as the players get themselves into turmoil twisting about trying to put their hands and feet onto the colours that the caller shouts out. It's not easy, well, unless you happen to be an olympic gymnast that is!

The winner is the last one standing, if you can call it standing that is. So, let's say that the winner is the last one to remain in an upright tangle, as opposed to having fallen down between the plates and bowls in a twisted heap.

And there you have it, Camping Twister. A bit like the regular game of Twister but with an added twist.

You can play it at home too, but it's always a better game when you're camping – more space to move about and unlike when you're playing it in your garden back home, you don't find yourself having to explain yourself to your next door neighbour who is peering over the fence, when you end up saying ''yes, I am aware that my hand is stuck in a small plastic bowl'' to Maude from number 65 – camping is so much more relaxed than that and so perfect for this game.

That by the way is one of the pitfalls of playing with a mix of plates and bowls. I probably should have mentioned that earlier but hey, we all learn from our mistakes. I don't try and put my size 11 feet into my breakfast bowl any more. Well apologies to anyone who has got their hand stuck in one of the bowls before I mentioned this anyway! Oh, and while I'm on the subject of safety – plates (and small bowls with hands stuck in them) came become exceedingly slippery in wet weather – both on the plate surfaces themselves and the plates against wet grass. So it's a good idea to be prepared to get muddy!

And that's it. Camping Twister in a nutshell. Enjoy!

According to the man in the beach shop, it's amazing what you can find in the ocean off the coast of Devon. So I bought myself a snorkel and it came free with a Grockle snorkeller's check list for the south west coast. A complete bargain!

The water's a little bit cold and choppy today but let's see what I can find on my snorkeller's check list...

Seaweed – check

Hermit crab – check

Some kind of spiky rock (Ouch!) – yes, check!

Sand – check

Sand again – already checked

And more sand – check

Some feet – hmmm, not on the list to check … wait a minute, they're my feet!

Sand again – check again

Shells - check

Octopus??!! - time for me to get out quick I think!!!

I hired a little rowing boat on the river by the campsite today and ended up rowing myself around in circles! It's definitely not as easy as it looks and I don't think I was doing myself any favours trying to use the same technique that I use for the rowing machine at the gym! I got a bit flustered and in the spin of things I accidentally dropped an oar into the water, which incidentally began to rapidly float away from me, ushered away by the current.

The relaxing afternoon on the river that I had imagined wasn't quite going to plan. And the strangest thing of all was that when I leant over the side of the boat to try and catch the missing oar, I peered into the water and there was another ninja right there, like me, looking back up at me!! It was like twins! Very weird.

Following on from yesterdays flip flop incident, we decided to launch a full investigation into what really went on, with a game of Camping Cluedo to finally get to the bottom of it all.

It was one of those very tense situations when everybody suspected each other and yet I remained calm, confident in my own innocence. That was, until Suzie opened her mouth and spoke the dreaded words; ''I suggest that the flip flop incident was carried out in the billiard tent by Colonel Mustard aka the Camping Ninja, with the tent peg''.

The words echoed through the campsite, on and on, reaching far, until they suddenly hit me and
I realised what she had just said!

Huh? Someone actually thought it could have been me? The audacity!! Her words pierced my very Camping Ninja existence like a knife. Just because I happened to be wearing (Colonel) mustard colour socks I was suddenly a suspect. How could she make such an assumption? 
I thought we were friends but I guess it's every man or ninja for himself in this game.

Right that's it. My turn and I'll say it with a French accent like Poirot because it sounds much better.
''I suggest that le flip flop incident was carried out in the kitchen tent by Madam Peacock aka Suzie with the camping gas''.

And then right at that moment it happened again in front of our very own eyes. A real live peacock strutted up to the tent and went to the toilet on the flip flops!

Well, there wasn't really much to be said after that. That was the end of our Cluedo game and fortunately with all our names cleared too, the end of all our suspicions. It had been the peacock all along. Not a bad attempt on the detective skills front though - the clue was all in the peacock, and the gas if you like, although thankfully on the gas theme, it only left a 'number 1'! 

When I got up this morning I noticed something wet and very suspect on one of my flip flops left outside the tent last night. Eeuuw!

It hadn't rained in the night so I wondered what it was. Could it be that somebody or something had misinterpreted the flip flop and toilet joke on the Campingninja Essential Camping Packing List when they read it?

Flip flops – great for the shower and or getting up and going to the loo in the night (no, not in the flip flops – they're just easy to put on).

I hope not, but I'm not going to risk it and put them on. I think I'll play it safe for today and just wear some different shoes. Although after already loosing one Croc in the river the other week and now this has happened to my flip flops, I do seem to be a bit unlucky on the shoe front!

With a lock in courtesy of the cows, I thought that it's probably a good idea for me to send a few postcards to let people know where I am. Plus, by way of tradition, I always write a postcard to my Ninja Grand Papa in the ancient ninja language of Ninjaaa (because that's all he understands these days).

D<<a* N**n^ Gr@n@ @ap*,

@aving a lov>ly time a@ay c*mping, but can you gu*ss wh*re I*m sta><>ing on my ho*d*@? @@ere are some lues@

I s*i*f t*@ air and turn to *y rig<t, a*d *a@e a dee> *re@@th, I *an the sm**ll of the fa>m just ne@t @oor.

W*e@ I loo* ahead, with big e*es, I*>e<m tea in fro*t of me. Um*m, yu*m@! 

*he m*p@@ing Ni@<:a

For those of you who don't speak Ninjaaa yet, this is what it says...

Dear Ninja Grand Papa,

Having a lovely time away camping, but can you guess where I'm staying on my holiday? Here are some clues...

If I sniff the air and turn to my right and take a deep breath, I can the smell the farm just next door.

When I look ahead, with big eyes, I lick my lips at the sight of the delicious cream tea in front of me. Ummm, yummy!

If I turn to the left I can see the sea in the distance. If you're imagining me running on the beach with the sand tickling in between my little ninja toes you'd be on the right track.

And when I spin right around to see what's behind me, there are stunning views of rolling fields and an old favourite, familiar tent of mine pitched in the middle.

There's only one place I can be. Camping in Devon! One of the many special places that make Great Britain so great.

Wish you were here. No actually I don't, as I still haven't got over the last time we went camping together and you trod in a cowpat and left your shoes next to my bed all night, but if you were staying in one of the caravans in another field, then that would be OK.

Lots of love,

The Camping Ninja 

You might think that after spending a month camping together with the same 3 other people and the same old tents, that maybe we would be getting bored of each other by now and possibly even running out of things to do. But no way!! There's always something fun to do when you're camping, even when you are stranded and blocked in by cows.

Luckily we saved one of the best for moments like this. Sleeping bag races!

Remember like the sack races on sports days when you were at school? This is the grown up version and even better!

Must go now though to prepare for heat 1, me against Elwood. Only 2 minutes left to place your bets and I'd like to remind you that I'm 99.7% pure Camping Ninja thoroughbred so I should be fast at this 25 metre sleeping bag dash event. Very, very fast indeed!

Similarly to people being stranded on their holidays due to the ash cloud, cancelled flights or travel companies going bust, you may not expect it to happen in quite the same, one in a million, back of the mind chances like you would with a holiday overseas, but the same can happen when you're camping too.

We were due to travel back home yesterday afternoon but due to a rare breed, herd of cows with a national protection order preventing anyone from moving them, blocking the only exit road out of the little village where the campsite we're staying at is, we're unable to leave, until the cows decide to do so of their own will. Definitely not moo hoo for me - I am very happy about it!

The tricky thing now though is having to call work on a Monday morning and tell them that after taking a month off for a camping holiday in the UK, you're not going to be able to make it back in for possibly another week, or two even, because of the whim of some Devonshire cows!

Eric, who was too embarrassed to tell his work that he was going camping anyway, braves the phone first. He makes up this hugely unbelievable, long, garrulous story about how his plane was diverted to a desert island on the way home and that now he's marooned there, stranded in the middle of the ocean and growing a beard.

The gritty details are shocking, as is the amount of detail he goes into and 35 minutes later when he ends the call, his made up story is strangely more believable than the true one I'm about to tell when I call my work. Because quite frankly, who's going to believe you when you tell them you're stuck on your holiday because you can't get past a few cows?!!

We moved on from our campsite this afternoon and after having driven for a couple of hours en route to our next campsite, we had the conversation about whether or not anybody had remembered packing Eric's bed into the boot. No one had. We'd accidentally left the bed on the roof of the ninja wagon and driven off!

With the bed long gone and after a long journey of Eric fretting about having to sleep on one of the roll mats, thinking that it was going to be like sleeping on a rock, we arrived at our new campsite.

Night was drawing in and the bed fiasco still very much remained a fiasco! So we set up to play a quick game of short straws and stick (because we didn't have quite enough straws in the camping kit for one each) to settle it fair and square and see who would get the comfiest blow up camping bed tonight and for the rest of our stay, and who would be the less fortunate ones with the roll mats...

A full moon and a hooting owl. Lucky for some ninja's I thought, but would I be one of them? Only time would tell. The last straw was drawn. The straws compared. Moments of tension, followed by further moments of tension. But yes, I'd got it, the longest straw! This little Camping Ninja had won his right to sleep on the air bed, fair and square.

A classic ninja celebration followed - me dancing the traditional ninja two step. It wasn't very fancy or sophisticated but I wasn't worried. The air bed was mine and the roll mats were for the others.

As I snuggled up comfortably on my air bed to sleep, looking out through the tent window and watching the stars twinkling in the night sky, the shadow of the lucky hooting owl passed over the shape of the glowing, full moon. An eclipse of ninja good fortune.

And then off to sleep. Zzz.

We're all off to the beach today for a spot of amateur surfing. Should be interesting, as none of us have ever been surfing before, or let alone, have the ability to balance on anything remotely resembling a board, since the skateboard incident back in 2003.

We arrive at the beach car park, windows wide open, the Beach Boys blaring out of the car stereo and the four of us singing along with our own holiday version of the lyrics ''everybody loves surfing, surfing Devon-bay''! Rather embarrassingly we happen to park amongst a bunch of local surfing pros. Try to unload the surfboards from the back of the ninja wagon without looking too stupid, but even that's a tough job as I manage to manoeuvre my board into the path of some other beach goers, almost puncturing one of their lilos! A sharp reminder that I'm much more adept in the sea with a lilo and why on earth we didn't bring our blow up air beds instead? Unconvincingly we attempt to cover up our inadequacies by referring to each other ''Dude''!

First challenge is navigating our way down to the beach, whispering to each other ''which way is it?'' followed by a loud ''DUDE'' at the end of every sentence. Not wanting to appear like sheep, we decide not to follow all the others down the main path to the beach, and instead make our own way there via a long, steep and painfully rocky non-path.

Fortunately when we eventually do touch down on the sand, there's a clever little sign pointing to the sea entrance. Most probably put there for people like us! Surfing, off we go... wish me luck! 

After a good pub lunch and a few drinks, there's a bit of a siesta thing going on in our camp this afternoon. It seems that everyone else is having a snooze, but I just can't get to sleep.

So as an alternative to counting sheep, I'm improvising and trying it with rabbits, as it looks like there are plenty around.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7… Why don't they keep still? …1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 …

Read an article in the paper today about a boy who caught a huge goldfish in a lake while he was fishing. 5lb's of it, thought to have been released into the wild because it became too large for it's tank. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about how big my goldfish back home might have grown by the time I get back from the camping trip.

It keeps playing on my mind, remembering how I left him at home with a feeding block for 24 fish. At the time I hoped he would be hungry enough to eat for 24 fish. Well, I take it all back now goldfish, I don't hope you're hungry at all!

Where would I put him if he got that big?

I wouldn't actually do it, but he would be too big to fit on the barbecue even if I did want to eat him!

I came back to our pitch after lunch today to find that someone had left a daisy hanging to the edge of my tent. A flower for love, left by a secret admirer? Only one way to find out - the famous old plucking-off-the-petals-elimination-technique!

… a secret admirer loves me, a secret admirer loves me not, a secret admirer loves me, a secret admirer loves me not, a secret admirer loves me, a secret admirer loves me not, a secret admirer loves me, a secret admirer loves me not, a secret admirer loves me, a secret admirer loves me not... a secret admirer loves me!

But ooh, who could it be?

Freda from the pond, perhaps?

The lady from the caravan opposite? Today is the second morning she's smiled at me with a mouthful of cornflakes, eating her breakfast when I pass her on the way to the washing up sinks.

Maybe one of the campsite owners even?

So romantic. If only I knew who it could be... Although on second thoughts, might be one of those occasions when it's just better not to know, especially if it is the cornflake option.

We were having a picnic on the riverside for lunch today and I dunked my feet in the water. Why would anyone do a silly thing like that, you might be thinking? Isn't that living life a little too close to the edge, trouble just waiting to happen? Well perhaps yes, but I am a ninja after all and it was a really hot day so I did it to cool off.

Not such a great idea as it turned out, and yes, the almost inevitable did happen - one of my Crocs started to float away down the river. Probably I deserved it but am now down to one shoe and in all honesty, I never have been very good at hopping on one foot.

Oh well, see you later alligator!