I'll never go camping again
I was ten years old and camping on the Norfolk coast. I was playing/gambolling in the dunes and felt a pain in my ankle. I walked on for a bit feeling a bit weird. When I got to within shouting distance of our tent I called to my dad that I had hurt myself and I felt a stinging sensation - he told me it was a bee sting. Some time later I wake up with a hippy sucking my ankle and the various members of the camping party staring down at me, I look down and my leg is twice its normal size and a funny blue colour. Apparently I'd stood on an adder and it had taken offence. We bundle into my dad's Bedford and do one to the hospital. I remember vomit and my mum slapping me to stop me passing out - coma danger apparently or maybe she just felt like it.

Then - next time we return - took some persuading mind - my mum spills a pan of boiling water on her leg on the second day. Cue hospital trip.

At a different campsite - with my mates this time - I bet them I wouldn't take a shit for the whole time we were there - 5 days. They caught me sneaking out of the tent on the 3rd night - in agony and with partial leakage.

That same holiday we met some local girls and got them drunk and stoned, one of them got really ill, green and sick and horrible, the immortal words "Her dad's a policeman - he's going to go mental" still make me shudder.

We also spent a lot of time in the woods chuffing like good ‘uns - until the moment when - after about 30 minutes of smoking - a helicopter started to land about 20 meters away - cue paranoia, every man for himself style immediate evac and hiding in the tent for the rest of the holiday.

That is why I will never camp again.
(gorgeousbob, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 17:01, Reply)