The Tent
By: Natalie Enn
Tags: Nature, Life, Thoughts, Humour, Outdoors

My little one has a few areas in the house that are reserved solely for his privacy. You may laugh when you think of a child under two needing privacy. The audacity, the entitlement, eh?

Agreed.

The main area is his little tent. He flees there with the speed and agility of a brown hare when either one of us is hunting him down in a predator-like fashion, to change his nappy or to retrieve the remote.

Mr Man’s actual tent.

“King of the cove”, we often call him. But let’s call my kiddo Mr Man.

Mr Man has a few toys scattered around his tent, as well as an exceptionally comfortable cushion. At times we’ll catch him in there, just lounging on his back with his legs crossed and hoisted up on a stack of carefully selected toys, gazing intensely into the distance. Like he’s just returned from a double shift in the mines and just needs to get away from it all. “Can a man just get one second’s peace around here?!” his countenance would suggest.

I suspect that he’s most likely focusing on the next snack, or whatever mischievous adventures Raa Raa the Noisy Lion will be up to next.

I didn’t have a tent as a child. My Parents used to throw duvets over the sides of the dinner table and whilst DIY and most certainly rustic, my Brother and I had the best adventures in there. My intention, unlike Mr Man, wasn’t to lay there and ponder my existence. No. For me, it was all about snacks and how many I could sneak into my ‘tent’ without being unwittingly betrayed by my Hansel and Gretal, trail of crumbs approach.

Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash

In terms of my personal experiences with real tents, they have been consistently terrible. The most haunting experience I recall was when I stayed in the New Forest as part of a youth trip; returning with a heavy cold and conjunctivitis. Torrential rain, terrifying midnight trips to the toilet and mini beasts wherever I laid my head all contributed to the experience.

I call myself a lover of nature, within reason. I’m just not massively outdoorsy. Let’s put it this way, if I am outdoors, I prefer to pass through, rather than linger or dwell for any length of time.

I remember when my friend, who isn’t particularly sociable (or outdoorsy) but wished to ‘challenge herself’, mentioned that she had booked a lone backpacking trip around Australia, staying hostels and camping sites. Immediately, I had visions of me making this decision and crying for 17.5 out of the 24 hours in each day upon arrival. Couldn’t have handled it.

Again, I’m a lover of nature, within reason. Honestly, I prefer to be loving nature whilst looking out of the windows of an underfloor-heated luxury hotel or countryside cottage. But that’s by-the-by.

The romantic notion of camping under the stars doesn’t appeal to me either. I know people who go camping regularly and they seem to have the most extraordinarily joyful experiences.

Photo by Scott Goodwill on Unsplash

I personally can’t imagine any other outcome than being hospitalised due to an incident with a wild fox or ending up on an episode of Crimewatch, never to be found again.

At a stretch, I could Glamp but…… realistically, no.

So, back to the upstanding Mr Man and his tent. Oh Lord, he’s just grabbed the remote. Gimme a sec….