When the Lord of the Manor required a tent for an upcoming Brew Club weekend away, I suggested we invest in something more versatile than a swag. A tent that might – may – accommodate us all if we completely take leave of our senses and decide to go camping as a family.
The Lord of the Manor had just one stipulation. The new tent had to be easy to erect. No hour-long struggle with collapsible poles, endless threading, bending and stretching for him. He wanted pop-up, Ta-da, it’s done.
I had a stipulation of my own. I wanted a tent tall enough for us to stand up in. Being knee high to a grasshopper, this requirement presented no problem for me. But the Lord of the Manor’s lofty six-foot frame posed a greater challenge.
Then the Lord of the Manor presented me with a possible solution.
Isn’t that what I have exactly sixty minutes after a cuppa tea? I bantered playfully, only to have a sheet of paper thrust at me with a condescending sigh.
Now, I have no intention of taking up camping as a regular holiday activity, but I do rather fancy the image of me smoking the peace pipe by the campfire and referring to the other campers as pilgrim in between loud renditions of Colours of the Wind; a fair-headed Pocahontas if you will.
But much to my dismay, the Lord of the Manor was not quite so taken with the idea of being called, Two Dogs…. Talk about pee on my parade!
See you at the pow wow, Pilgrims.