Extracted from "Left Again at the Womble-The Adventures of a Middle-Aged Dad Working at the Glastonbury Festival". This bit is all about practicing putting a tent up...
The remaining
time before Glasto sped by without really noticing. Before I knew it, it was
the beginning of June and therefore only 3 weeks away. Apart from buying all
the gear a few weeks before, I hadn’t done anything else. I knew that I had to
try to put the tent up, in a practice run sort of way, but considering my
general ineptitude in all matters tent-related, I’d kept putting off the evil
day, but faced with such a short deadline, I knew that I’d have to face up to
my demons and just do it. At the very least, if there was something missing or
broken, then I’d have time (just about) to sort it out. I couldn’t really leave
it until when I was actually at Glastonbury to try to put it up for the first
time.
As a side issue, and this is something I’ve noticed every time I’ve been
to Glasto, is that everyone else seems to be an expert at putting tents up.
Even really complicated, big ones seem to get whizzed up with no difficulties
and look really professional; tight, florescent guy ropes and everything
securely in place. Each time I’ve put our tent up, it’s always involved a lot
of wrestling and swearing, and the end result appears to look as if I haven’t a
clue about what I’m doing or really know how it should turn out. Which I
haven’t and I don’t. The fabric always seems gravitate towards slackness, so by
the end it’s the camping equivalent of some wrinkled prune. Whereas everyone
else’s remains as tight as a drum, repelling water and wind, without a second
thought.
Anyway, I decided I couldn’t leave having the practice run any
longer, so one night after work I summoned up the courage to give it a go. Now
for ease we’d got one of these new-fangled pop- up tents, which in theory,
should be able to be erected with simply a deft flick of the wrist. I was a bit
sceptical about this. Surely this was the camping version of the old
“whip-the-tablecloth-off-whilst-leaving- the-bone china-in-place” trick. It
would all end in tears. Always ready for a good laugh, the whole family
gathered around while I studied the instruction booklet intently. It did seem
fairly simple and because it was only a two-man tent, I decided not to mess
around with putting it up outside. The front room would do. It was a flat
circular affair when packed; like a big nylon pancake. I undid the packaging,
and to my utter surprise, it seemed to leap out of my fingers of its own
volition and jump into the middle of the floor, all set up.
“And you all
doubted me”, I said, somewhat triumphantly. “I knew exactly what I was doing”.
Amy looked at
me, over her cup of tea. “Ah, you’ve just got to get it all back in place now.
That should be easy as well.” Sarcasm
is not a very likeable trait in one so young.
Read more/see/get "Left Again at the Womble" here; Kindle e book or paperback
UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00IBK2V6M
US http://www.amazon.com/Left-Again-Womble-middle-aged-Glastonbury-ebook/dp/B00IBK2V6M
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