Campingninja Blog

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…!

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!

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!