My Name Is Debbie and I’m A Failed Camper

BEFORE you rush to judge me, please be assured that ordinarily I would not let a little bit of rain put me off doing anything. As a former girl guide, a keen swimmer, lover of outdoor pursuits and mother of three, I consider myself strong, confident and prepared to tackle most things, but it did rain a lot last Wednesday and Thursday. In fact, the rain could have been described as torrential and I have no doubt that the AA were probably advising people to stay in bed and eat cakes and watch DVDs rather than go camping on the Suffolk coast.

In case you haven’t guessed by now, we didn’t go. We listening to the rain all night and woke up in the morning and decided that a waterlogged, muddy campsite with a howling wind and driving rain was not going to be all that romantic or even mentally challenging...just wet and miserable.

I was rather hoping I could get away with not mentioning it in the column, but several people have asked how I got on so I felt I had to spill the beans, as it were.

My middle son Aaron called me “a coward” and the youngest, Russell, said in the sternest of voices: “I’m disappointed in you mother, I thought you were better than that” before shrieking with laughter.

So there you have it. My name is Debbie and I’m a failed camper.

I went to visit my mum at the weekend and was glad to see her whizzing about on crutches after her hip op. Dad is feeling a bit weary as he has been looking after her and has taken on all the housework and cooking in the six weeks since the operation so I offered to do the ironing to give him a break. Mum was a bit taken aback, though, when I proceeded to iron sheets, my dad’s boxer shorts and the tea towels. I have asked round and it seems that most people don’t iron these things so maybe I’m a bit fussy, or, maybe I just need to get out more...