By guest (trainee) blogger, DBT
I was certainly not attempting to rip off some slapstick comedian this morning when I crawled from the tent and stood up in such a way that the awning above me shifted and dumped half a galon of rainwater down the front of my t-shirt. noooo.
Stop laughing.
I WANTED to close said awning before going to bed last night, but Mrs Itstoohotinheredontyoudareclosethat wouldn’t have it.
Anyhoo, before I was allowed back into the tent to change my shirt, I had to make up two baby bottles for the morning rituals. No “shakey”, no entry. This was made quite clear not only to me, but to all campers within 60 metres of our location (2x toddler screaming range in the old language).
Sorry? Oh … about 5:30am.
No worries. Crank up the gas burner (more on that piece of technological convenience later). Heat some water in the billy. Scoop formula into bottle. Fill with warm water. Lather, rinse, repeat.
With the broodlings now calmed and suckling, time to continue assessment of the rain effects from the overnight deluge. Ten minutes and two more t-shirts later, the ropes and pegs were adjusted to my satisfaction.
One could be forgiven for assuming breakfast would be next on the agenda. Well, due to a slight planning oversight, we had no provisions at this time. Oh Sure, the intention to procure supplies was not remiss. However realisation that outside even mildly metropolitain areas, public holidays are so all encompassing, they even extend to retail, simply hadn’t registered.
So the phrase “…meh. Lets buy groceries when we get there.” can be added to the list of famous last words; whoever it is out there keeping a record of such things.
By the time we all dressed, visited the facilities, returned unsatisfied and marginally agitated to ask what the #%&* key code for the bathroom door is again, hurry back and gain access just in time and return with a more relaxed gait, It was close enough to a decent hour that we piled into the bus and headed for town.
Enough family members turned their noses up at the yellow arches, that we passed them by. (No, they’re only “golden” if you own them; to the rest of us, they’re just yellow).
So we rocked into Forster, looking for a breakfast joint, where 7:30am was on the right side of opening time. We were in luck and for the princely sum of $97, we were all fed. As Forrest says: That’s all I have to say about that.
The best part of half a day was then spent seeking retail therapy, along with most other people in the greater Forster area who appeared to go into some kind of post-holiday panic shopping frenzy, having been denied the opportunity for an excruciating 36 hour period prior to this bizarre phenomenon.
This was no country town kind of busy. This was quite obviously a tourist from Sydney mass group-think disaster. The local merchants performed admirably, but the car parking facilities were simply not up to the task. Don’t even LOOK like you are walking back to your car. Just don’t. Carpark pedestrian “stalking” is common in Sydney. Here today it was borderline foxhunt material.
But we survived and returned to camp with … provisions. Food, yes, but also warm clothing and a few … enhancements for our current accommodation. Many of the more experienced campers had large tarpaulins covering their tents, providing shelter from the elements. I for one am not too proud to rip off a good idea when I see one. So when no one was looking, I ducked into the local Bunnings hardware, and perused their selection of tarps.
Trying to guestimate the dimensions of our tent, I planned to find a tarp of the same length and a bit wider to give us a covered outside area for … doing stuff. In the end I really had no idea, so I based my decision primarily on price. I purchased an 8m x 6m behemouth. As an afterthought, I grabbed 4 adjustable metal poles to hold it up, along with some heavy duty guy ropes. A study in eternal optimism, I may be.
Back at camp, we were stowing our new gear, when the rain decided to ease lesurely back onto the scene. “Quick! Lets get the tarp up” I yelled. I ripped open the plastic bag and gave a corner each to Tiff and the kids. “Now pull it apart” I skilfully instructed them.
Wow, that’s big, I thought, as the sides went tight and the centre lifted off the ground, thanks to the recently employed tarp pulling labourers. I was starting to wonder if it would fit within our allotment of space, when one of the kids - I think it was Immy - observed “It’s still folded in half”. Tiffs already bug eyed look became comical as the tarp was further extended to it’s full dimensions.
Aparently, 8m x 6m is @*&%^#% huge, in the old language.
“No problem,” I squeaked. “Do you want the silver side up, or the green side?”
With only stares of incredularity in response, I made the executive decision to increase the planet’s albido ever so slightly and flipped it silver side up. “It’ll be cooler this way.” I said, basking in the ambiguity of my statement.
It turned out that the size was almost perfect. The excess length on one end became a handy privacy wall. The full width spanned our camp allotment almost exactly. Never mind that you can’t take 2 paces in any direction before tripping over one of many stabilising guy ropes.
It took all of two hours for Tiff to proclaim project “Swag to Circus tent” a success … and good thing it was her idea too.
What the? …
I don’t know if this is a long post by anyone’s standards, but in case you are wondering, no the phone was not the transcription vehicle of choice this time. Tiff still brought her laptop, with the intention of playing a DVD or two on it. Turns out that it has a buit in SD card reader, which is the same memory card that my phone uses. Type on laptop. Transfer via memory card to phone. Upload.
MS Notepad never felt so sophisticated as it does tonight.
Oh wait! the gas cooker. Yes. Aparently these new fangled compact burners are frowned upon by the traditional camping set, as they lug their 9kg gas bottles into position to feed their large camp stoves and BBQs. We’ve had this one for a while, used once or twice during blackouts, but this is it’s first camping trip. I made a point of carrying around our burner complete with it’s internal fuel supply one handed. It performed admirably through the day warming baby bottles and even pan frying a mess of gourmet, gluten free saussages for dinner. Later, with the cranky critters asleep and the other kids off at the camp dance, I put the billy on to make a well deserved cuppa for us grown ups.
It was about this time I learned of the typical endurance of the fuel cell in our burner.
“That’s OK”, Tiff called out, as the dark and stormy look intensified on my face. “It came with 3 more cans of gas. Where are they?” [pause] “… Dave?”
“I know EXACTLY where they are!” I quip. “But I’m NOT telling you!”
So we had … warm tea for supper.
Aparently I am going shopping again first thing.
