A camping weekend in Borrowdale, Lake District. June 2009 ....
The sleepy campsite yawned, stretched and slowly came to life as the canvas community became a buzzing hive of activity; the bustle of breakfast moving to the clattering billycan beat.
The sleepy campsite yawned, stretched and slowly came to life as the canvas community became a buzzing hive of activity; the bustle of breakfast moving to the clattering billycan beat.
The four happy campers peered out of their tents and greeted the grey day, ecstatic to find that the wailing wind and rhythmic rain that had kept them awake all night, was, for the moment, nowhere to be seen.
One by one, the happy campers stretched into life. The gloomy grey cloud did nothing to dampen their high spirits as the mountains in the distance embraced their souls. They had become part of a quietly beautiful lush green world; away from the humdrum tumult of the busy city.
The clouds swelled with the echoes of their excited chatter as they walked, ambled, scrambled and clambered, up, up and over their conquest of Haystacks. The silence of the downward plod punctured only by dreams of well deserved treats they felt sure awaited them at the bottom.
It was a weekend of celebration, a special landmark for a special camper. Thirty whole years, passed in the blink of an eye and a heart beat of memories. They celebrated in camp style with charred sausages, warm fizz and a cake of mountainous magnitude. They filled their hearts with contentment and their lungs with sparkling mountain air.
Soon, the night sky darkened to the chattering of the happy campers, their heads enveloped by a red wine glow, as they counted floating lights and toasted the spirits that warmed them from the depths of their bellies to the toes of their souls.
It wasn’t long before the peaceful snores of the happy campers drifted out of the tent and floated away, lost among the arms of the old oak tree.
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