Too tense..

Note lopsided tent due to Spud-related injury

Ah yes, the camping. I am dull clever enough to have two tents which I think is crucial in any expedition involving a member of your family who is currently wearing nappies. And using their knees to propel themselves through cigarette butts and rabbit poo the wilds of nature.



I thought, in fact, that I was very clever indeed, until the moment the spud created the Larousse Gastronomique of all posterior souffles just as it started raining. And we were in the wrong tent. By the time I got to the poo tent, as it will be known for now and possibly forever, he was wearing poo trousers and all the wipes in the world were not going to be enough. There was an outdoor sink with warm running water nearby, however half the campsite were at that point lining up to do their dishes in it and I rather thought I would lose my chance at the 'miss popularity' prize if I ran over clutching my bundle of loveliness and begging for a quick dabble in their dish-soap.

However, I overtake myself.

We arrived at the campsite in perfect time, the sun was shining, the spud had slept for 2 hours in the car and crucially, my friends were already there, tents up and with the wine cracked open. I put up my tent, unpacked, realised that my car was now blocked into the far corner of the campsite for the entire duration of the event, cursed momentarily and then relaxed. For about two minutes.

The spud thought it was all brilliant. He could crawl anywhere he wanted to crawl. This meant, initially, crawling onto the tent. Not into. Not around. Onto. You would think a tent would be a match for an 11 month old baby but no, within seconds it was down and spent the rest of the weekend, possibly even the rest of it's tenty little life, with a kink in the front pole.

He also crawled out of our campsite, into other people's campsites, through mud, grass, brambles, under parked cars and er... into more mud, more grass and, if he wasn't watched closely, dangerously close to the biscuit packets.



None of this however prevented me from enjoying the wine. At least not until we woke up the next morning in a boiling hot, sun-bright tent at 8am. Spuddy slept a remarkable 11 hours in his wee sleeping bag. In fact, I woke up first, rolled over to see how he was and he actually winced, put his hand over his eyes, said 'eurrrr....' and rolled away to go back to sleep, proving his paternity beyond any doubt.

When he did however deign to wake up, he just couldn't believe his luck. Here he was already on ground level, outside on a sunny day. No push-chair, no cot, no stairs, no getting dressed, no nappy changing, no face washing, no breakfast - just straight from boob to beautiful day. He poked out his head, took it back in, beamed at me with all seven teeth gleaming in the sun and was out like a rocket, directly to the fire pit. The colour of his feet was not to be believed. And, since the queues for the hot water sink seemed to be endless, I never washed them. And that's ok, because I was wearing my Bad Mother hat all weekend. I didn't wash my feet either.



Seeing as this was rather an earthy sort of gathering, he also decided that to fit in he required a multi-coloured knit jumper and a guitar to go with his dirty bare feet.


Mummy's little hippy...

I'd like to be sarcastic about this but really, for the most part it was idyllic. The Frog showed up for the afternoon on Day 2 and we perambulated about trying to project the picture of perfect parenthood while pretending the spud was not covered in food, mud and various unidentified (but hopefully non-toxic) smudges. The spud was complicit in this as he was intent on showing off his new tooth which everyone mistook for him being beamingly happy.

The second night was another sleep-through, however at 4am the rain came. We didn't leak, (or at least, the tent didn't leak) but without the benefit of all that lovely ground to lol about on, the spud was not quite such a happy camper in the morning. He cried, he complained and he grudgingly accepted a bottle.


I will cry as soon as I have finished

And then came the Great Poo incident, the Merde Major in our little constellation of tents. After I had used all the kitchen roll and my towel suitable materials to clean him up, we said goodbye to the tents and the fields, struck camp and that, my friends, was that.

The Spud saw wolves, eagles, medieval dancing, freaks and friends, fire, trees, rabbits and their poo butterflies, stinging nettles, car tyres, mud, brambles, people falling over, hangovers, dancing and loads of other children all close up, he slept like a log, he ate corn on the cob, poked out the tooth that gave us so much grief in France and was a very relaxed, happy little spud.

I may even go camping with him again. Next time, however, I'll bring a bath.