Milking the Camping Theme for its Very Last Drops

Once again I put aside collared shirts, suit and tie and slipped seamlessly into my alternate role as a rugged outdoorsman.  I'll just pause for a moment to let you digest that image and then a moment longer so you can have a good laugh.  Yes, once again I have eschewed the discomforts of home to go camping.

I have to admit I felt rather proud of myself, I have acquired a sleeping bag and an airmattress and I remembered to borrow a tent.  Surely no person in history has been better prepared for camping.  I had even sourced enough food to feed our little band of back to something rather like nature but better managed enthusiasts.  This sense of achievement lasted until my companions asked if I had a cup, or a plate or any cutlery at all.  At this point I crashed back to my usual "camping incompetent" status.

We were returning to the Basin, that ghastly setting of ferocious stingrays and wallaby attacks from which we barely escaped with our lives the last time we set foot there.  There had been casualties along the way.  Jason had actually booked himself in for surgery to avoid having to come with us and Idette backed off on the rather implausible grounds that she had to look after him.  Both of them were almost indecently eager that we take their four year old daughter with us however.  Thus our band of nature worriers was reduced to Tony, Natali, their four year old daughter Jasmyn, someone else's four year old daughter Abigail and me.

For reasons best known to himself Tony decided that the best place for us all to rendezvous was the Temple of Mammon on George Street (number 580) a location which turned out to be extremely inconvenient for all of us.  Nevertheless we did eventually gather ourselves together and manipulate our bodies around the luggage in the car and headed north through the Friday afternoon sunshine.  The Friday afternoon sunshine was a bit difficult to notice through all the Friday afternoon clouds and rain but we persevered.

The prevailing conversation on our journey was about how on our arrival we were all going to have to turn around and come back what with it raining and all.  Since the rain was mostly of a consistency of fine mist this should give you some idea as to how legitimate any of our claims are to be "rugged outdoorsmen" although Tony and Natali are veritable Bear Grylls but comparison with me.  Just while we're on the subject does anybody else think that Bear Grylls sounds like a rather exotic restaurant?

Fortunately (or annoyingly dependent on your point of view) the rain stopped on our arrival in Palm Beach allowing us to haul our equipment (or luggage as one calls it if one isn't going camping) to the ferry undrenched.  For Natali and myself this consisted of putting on a pack and slinging a bag over one shoulder.  Tony was so festooned with equipment that he resembled nothing so much as a walking pile of luggage.  Since luggage doesn't normally move on it was own its safe to assume he was inside it somewhere.

Groaning, staggering and sweating we collapsed onto the ferry for the journey across Pitt Water.  On our arrival the ferry disgorged about a dozen people and approximately eighteen hundred tonnes of camping equipment.  It was noticeably higher in the water as it made the return trip leaving us on a hostile shore, well pier.  Gazing from the pier we could see a positive ocean of wallabies and giant lizards underneath which was the camping ground.  A brief but vicious struggle ensued before we could drive of enough pushy marsupials and stubborn reptiles to grab the opportunity to pitch our tents on their shit.

Now the camping weekend could begin.