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!

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!

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.

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!

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.