Campingninja Blog

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.

A lonely bottle of anti-aging serum waited at the sinks in the campsite washrooms.  Lost, forgotten, and patiently waiting for its owner to come back and collect it.  Who did it belong to, I wondered?  Someone would be looking older by the second without that, I thought!  I considered adopting it myself for a moment, but it wasn’t a very ninja thing to do.  And besides, there’s nothing wrong with a wrinkle or two. 

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!

Some people camped out in the rain to try and get tickets for Wimbledon’s Centre Court. 

Some people will watch it beaming live onto a mini television screen in the comfort of their caravan.

Some people will take their tent and escape the racket and fluorescent yellow ball madness and get away from it all with a camping break.

Some people will play their own game of tennis, on an imaginary court in between tents and campervans at a campsite, with plastic rackets and a brightly coloured soft sponge ball that narrowly misses the neighbouring canvas.

Some people and some Camping Ninjas like me, will watch the tennis on a caravan converted into a mobile television screen that is parked in the courtyard in between some swanky office blocks.

But no matter what kind of Wimbledon experience you’re having, one thing you can be sure of is that people (and Camping Ninjas) love camping!

Wherever we go and whatever we do, people (and Camping Ninjas) who just can’t get enough of camping, will surround ourselves with tents and camping equipment wherever we go.  Now that’s what you call Wimbledon with a camping theme!
 
Of course we all know that there are no real, traditional camping opportunities in Wimbledon.  Too many Wombles on that common!  And there would be no chance of getting a peaceful night’s sleep with all that womble-ing by night going on.

So however you’re enjoying Wimbledon fortnight, just don’t forget the strawberries and cream.

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.

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.

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!

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!

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.

April and May in 2011 have more bank holidays than the rest of the year put together. Prime time to dust down the tent, check the poles and book a fantastic campsite for Easter holidays, Easter weekend and the Royal Wedding May Bank Holiday weekend. April and May are packed full of camping potential with more free days off from work than ever before.