So, last week Spike and I spent a week camping. Well, spending our nights on twangy tubular metal beds in a tent, and our days in fairly basic communal facilities, contributing to provide a holiday for eight people with various disabilities. This was my fifth time at camp, and the usual reflections occurred to me (apologies for the prevalence of weeing-related issues):
Camping. I mean, why? Humankind spends thousands of years mastering building, taming first fire and then electricity, improving the standard of living so most of us can live in solid homes with sprung mattresses, private bathrooms and light at the touch of a switch, and then what do we do with our holidays? We go and sleep under a big piece of smelly canvas held up with poles, rummaging around by torchlight to get settled into a big padded sack before we have to put our clothes back on, undo the complicated laces on the tent and pick our way across the field with the trusty torch to accomplish what a bleary, semi-clad six-foot stumble and a tug of a cord can facilitate at home.
On the other hand, going on this camp always reminds me how privileged I am. When I do start wanting a pee, I can choose a convenient moment and take myself off to the nearest bog, without having to ask for anyone’s help. I can just shut myself into the cubicle, me, myself and the Andrex. I don’t have to be hauled about with mechanical aids, I don’t have to make the choice between having an audience and waiting for my assistants to come back, hoping they haven’t been waylaid and left me marooned.
On the other hand, being home from camp and back at w*rk, the permanent tiredness is here again, and it’s bothering me. I need to get a repeat prescription for thyroxine, and I really am going to go talk to the doctor. I’ve wussed out of it long enough.
In other news, my dad is doing well and will be going for angioplasty on 4th July. I was pleasantly surprised to find this doesn’t even require an anaesthetic. On the other hand, it does seem to involve someone cutting a hole in one’s groin and then leaning on it, so maybe anaesthetic wouldn’t be so bad.
Oh, and I came back up to London one morning in camp, for an interview for the internal vacancy I applied for many (well, two and a half) moons ago, and I was successful 😀