Campingninja Blog

‘‘On your marks, get set, go!’’ they shouted, as I set off from one of the Camping at the Games Olympic campsites.  It was a race against time you see; as my cousin Fifi was about to dart off on a camping trip to deepest Cornwall. 

While she’d been busy over the last couple of weeks packing up her camping kit, I had been enjoying all the action at the Camping at the Games sites, and what an electric atmosphere there had been.  And it was then that I got the call on the ninjabile from a panicking Fifi.  She’d borrowed one of my tents to take away with her and all the pegs were missing.  Where could they have got to we wondered? 

Of course when I opened up the boot of the ninja wagon to have a look for them, there were the missing pegs, right in front of me.  Really we needed the help of an Olympian to race the pegs over to Fifi, because her train down to Cornwall was departing in just 20 minutes! 

Then I had a brainwave.  It just so happens that I’d cooked myself some chicken nuggets on the camping stove for my breakfast that morning, which was just as well as my plan involved some Bolt fast running to relay the pegs over to Fifi in time. 

So I got on the ninjabile and called Fifi back.  Did she have time to meet me somewhere by the station to collect the pegs?  Yes.  Excellent news.  And was she ready to be part of the Team Ninja peg relay?  Affirmative. 

We hung up our phones, and then it was Team Ninja, go, go, go!!

Our relay meeting point was by Mandeville, where I handed over the pegs to Fifi.  There was just enough time to capture our sporting moment with a few pictures.  Fifi clicked away on the camera, snapping a few shots of me and my new best friend Mandeville, the Olympic mascot. 

We had a lot in common, as Fifi was quick to point out - our similar cartoonish build apparently, although I like to think of it as more of our athletic build.  Mandeville wore an ‘I Love London’ t-shirt, while I wore my ‘I Love Camping’ t-shirt.  He had only one eye, and I winked for the camera with one eye closed.  It was to be another great photo memory of a fantastic time Camping at the Games.

When a ninja’s got to go, a ninja’s got to go.  Thanks to a few late evening drinks, I couldn’t get to sleep in my tent without one last trip to the bathroom.  So I unzipped the tent and with my shiny bright torch light leading the way through the pitch black darkness of the night, I caved into nature’s calls and left my nice warm bed for the fresh night time air, and sleepy-eyed, wondered across to the bathroom. 

Much to my surprise, a crowd of people lined the field along the edge of the campsite.  There were some old people and some young people, and some people in between, and some who looked like it must have been way past their bedtime.  But it was clear that something had made them all come out and gather together for some kind of special occasion, and it was one which I was yet to find out about.

As I made my way across the field of the campsite with my little torch lighting the way along the windy path, they all began cheering.  I was only on my way to the bathroom.  There really was no need for all the attention.  In fact, on my way to the toilet in the middle of the night, to be honest I didn’t really want all the extra attention!  And I was puzzled to think what all the fuss could be about. 

Then I remembered - the Olympic torch relay.  Oh…

So I thought that in the spirit of the Olympics, I’d better start to run.  So I ran fast, like a true ninja, all the way over to the bathroom block. 

The onlookers began cheering even louder and clapped along with my every footstep.  I could feel the buzz of excitement in the air, although it was a little disconcerting that people were making all this fuss over my trip to the toilets.  Probably there had been some kind of misunderstanding as quite often happens, that I’d managed to get myself mixed up in.  But I wasn’t going to stop running, as I kind of needed to go to the bathroom! 

A few strides later I reached the bathroom block and switched my torch off ready to go inside.  ‘‘Booooooooo!!!’’ the crowd of people sighed.   

‘‘False alarm!’’ I called out to them, as I flickered my little torch on and off in a somewhat Morse code-esque fashion, trying to muster something along the lines of ‘‘don’t worry!  I’m not an official torchbearer!’’ out in code.  For it wasn’t the real Olympic torch I was holding like everyone in the crowd had thought.  It was merely my ever ready little ninja camping torch.  A well-used, trusty little torch, but whether or not it truly deserved all the fame and attention, now that is debatable!

A wise ninja-man once said… well, no, actually it wasn’t a wise ninja-man at all, it was a wise man of a different kind, Baz Luhrmann, in the song Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen) who once said – ‘‘do one thing every day that scares you’’. 

For a Camping Ninja, that doesn’t mean going camping in the rain, or sloshing about playing football in the mud.  That’s not scary.  But leaving a half open packet of space raiders out on the camping table while going out for a morning stroll along the beach - now that is scary, and I’m telling you, the fretting on that walk of mine was intense!  So it became more of a power walk, then a jog, and then a sprint finish back to the tent to rescue my favourite space raider snacks, only to find a magpie munching out of the bag (for anyone who thought they were only into things of a shiny and silver kind, think again).  And that was my one thing of the day that scared me, done and dusted. 

There were some other wise words of advice from that song too, like to wear sunscreen.  Hmmm.  Worth making a note of, but perhaps something more apt for a camping trip in this weekend’s rainy weather, is simply that you can never have enough rain macs, wellies or umbrellas for a rainy weekend away with the tent.  And there you have it – some sound camping advice straight from what some people might imagine to be, hidden under my trademark ninja neck scarf, my very horse-like ninja mouth!

The face of the woman at the launderette said it all.  There was no way on earth that she was going to let me try and squash my tent into one of her washing machines.  And that was too bad for me, because my tent was very, very, very, very muddy! 

So when a Camping Ninja is faced with an extremely muddy tent situation, there is really only one thing for a Camping Ninja to do – go camping in the rain!

Any takers to be my camping buddy for a rainy weekend away? 

Who?  Dot Cotton from the launderette wants to come along? 

Oh… 

Camping at the farm over Easter had been a great idea, except for one minor chocolate diminishing detail.  The cryptic note left by the Easter Bunny had led us to the final destination on our Easter egg hunt – to the chicken enclosure. 

It seemed innocent enough initially.  The chickens were sitting there clucking away contentedly and batting their eyes at me.  Then on the other side of the chicken coop, there was a mean looking cockerel, the Arnold Schwarzenegger Terminator of cockerels, fiercely guarding the chocolate eggs. 

Hmmm.  How are you going to get round this one ninja?  I thought to myself, for I cock-a-doodle-didn’t know if even my ninja super powers could match an angry cockerel!  Something told me this wasn’t going to be the easiest chocolate fix I’d ever have… 

It was very much time to put the FTSE 100 to bed.  The weekend was here and this game of numbers was more about choosing some hopefully lucky lottery numbers, and the Ninja 500 – a Camping Ninja’s 500 tell-tale signs that the Spring/Summer 2012 camping season is well under way.

So here we go for the Ninja 500…

101 Dalmatians (or any breed of dog, in any quantity) allowed at Campingninja’s dog friendly campsites. 
 
117 days to go until the start of the Olympics and the party of happy campers Camping at the Games.

1 campsite available to book in beautiful Italy for anyone looking to escape Olympic fever in the UK this summer.
 
44 Spring daffodils brightening up the back garden.

More than 9 consecutive sunny days in a row in the Monkton Avenue area over the last couple of weeks and plenty of degrees warm enough for comfortable camping.

1 great Real Campers Meet Real Campsites campaign launched for keep it real campers.

5 whole more months left of every ninjas favourite, Spring/Summer camping season.

7 individual space raiders left in the bag for me to munch on while diarising the Ninja 500.

2 free days off work for the Easter weekend coming up.

4 spaces taken up with passengers in the ninja wagon, and 4 friends coming on this weekend’s camping trip.

8 precious centimetres of breathing space between each passenger with camping baggage squashed along the back seat of the ninja wagon.

10 minutes estimated until they all get slightly claustrophobic and annoyed!

A 12 track mixtape to listen to in the ninja wagon on our journey to the campsite – because for camping weekends away, it’s not just about where you’re going, but the fun you have on the way to getting there too.

3 pitches booked at the campsite and 173 miles of scenic driving to take in en-route.     

A quick adding up on my solar powered camping calculator (because doesn’t everyone always take one of those camping with them?) totals an almost perfect 501.  That means 1 more space raider to eat, yummy!  Then the Ninja 500 is complete.  Magic!

The daffodils in the garden bravely lifting their heads towards the first twinkling of sunshine meant that at last, spring was on its way.  It was time to dust off the cobwebs and prepare the caravan for the upcoming camping trips I’d eagerly been planning for this year’s camping season.

There was a long, slow creak as I opened the door of the caravan, which had become stiff from not being in use over the winter months.  An overbearing musty smell hit me as I climbed up through the doorway, but despite having to hold my nose to overcome it, surprisingly everything looked pretty much in ship shape condition at first glance, looking at the inside.  There would probably be some moth-eaten furnishings and the odd ball of tumbleweed, but I’d come prepared, armed with a broomstick and a spray can of Febreze, and within a few ninja flashes, I expected to be able to get it all ready, spick and span, and fit for a Camping Ninja. 

I was making ninja-quick cleaning progress, until I pulled down the top section of the sofa seat to check that the bed hadn’t been nibbled at by any mice.  Urrrrrrrgh!!!  I jumped back startled, unsure of what it was that I’d seen, and gazed with my eyes wide open at what looked like a large tuft of Yeti fur on the bed.    

Who had been in my caravan?  What’s more, who had been sleeping in my bed?!

It was beginning to feel like the tale of Goldilocks and the three bears, except I wouldn’t describe my hair as being gold locks, and if there had been Yeti’s in here; I really hoped that it had only been one and not three of them.  That would be really bad news. 

I started the process of Yeti tracking through the caravan.  There was so much fur that it did cross my mind that perhaps it wasn’t a Yeti after all, and that maybe there had been a Bigfoot taking over my bed instead.  Oh great, a squatter, I thought.  Whatever it was, I’d probably never be able to get rid of them now, I pondered solemnly, as I walked around the caravan picking up the odd, random pieces of fur lying around. 

I was almost ready to accept fate and go back into the house, leaving my dusty old caravan for the mysterious, molting furry creature to live in in peace.  When, with a handful of fur, I opened up one of the caravan cupboards hoping to find a rubbish bag, and instead found a pair of my old fur-lined ninja Ugg boots.  Oh, I gasped, as I put two and two together in my mind.  All those suspicious pieces of fur were from me, from my boots when I wore them in the caravan last camping season.  I was the phantom Yeti! 

Oh well.  All’s well that ends well, as they say.  But I did feel a bit embarrassed about blaming the imaginary Yeti.  Oops.

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!

Give me a tent in a field away from the crowds any day, but needs must, so a day of Christmas Eve shopping it was to be.  There was a buzz of excitement and festive spirit filled the air, with everyone jigging about as they walked through the shopper filled streets.  By twisting about too fast, trying to make my way through the crowds and getting tangled in amongst somebody’s shopping bags, I was knocked backwards into the front row of a neighbouring choir of carol singers.
 
How festive, I thought, before I realised that there was going to be no easy way to get myself back out of the choir!  I was a camping ninja by nature, and not a carol singer by any means, but with it being Christmas I thought you know what, just go with it ninja.

I noticed a camera crew filming us.  Everyone else in the choir started upping their game, singing louder and dancing about with a fierce Christmas intent.  At that point I realised that swaying gently from side to side in time with the music would no longer be enough.  I felt like I really needed to sing along, but didn’t have a clue what the words were.  So I did what every camping ninja would do in that situation, and began singing the only song I could confidently say I knew every single word to – the Macarena - and totally got into the groove, dancing my much practised and perfected Thriller moves.

A little while later, all shopped out and full to the brim with mince pies given to me by the choir, I got back home and flumped on the sofa in front of the TV.  The doorbell rang its Christmas jingle and my Auntie Matilda and Uncle Gerald, and all their Christmas cheer, descended on number 63 Monkton Avenue.
 
We all sat down in the lounge with a glass of Auntie Matilda’s homemade mulled wine and watched TV.  The BBC News came on and to my Auntie Matilda’s delight, they had carol singers on.  She clapped her hands with joy and started singing along in a way that only my Auntie Matilda could.  Oh no, not more carol singers I thought, for I was all carolled out for one day.  Then I spotted a ninja, just like me on the TV.  Hang on a minute I thought… then it was me!  The ninja standing in the front row, who was clearly singing a completely different song to the rest of the choir, was me!  I watched as my mouth moved to the words of the Macarena, as everyone else sang their hearts out to Jingle Bells.  Primetime on the BBC News on Christmas Eve.  Now that was embarrassing!

‘‘Ho, ho, ho!’’ my Uncle Gerald laughed and laughed, like Father Christmas.  But in the Christmas spirit of things, it could all be forgotten.  Auntie Matilda sparked up a genuine conversation about whether she should make savoury Brussels sprout mince pies on Boxing Day, and before my embarrassed red cheeks knew it, my Macarena carol singing disaster had become merely a ghost of the Christmas minutes just passed.

A Christmas wish to all Secret Diary readers and camping fans, for a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Now, what would Father Christmas and his reindeers prefer us to leave out by the chimney for them tonight – traditional mince pies and sherry, or a selection of savoury Brussels sprout mince pies?  Hmmm...