Wood life

Camping is supposed to be a chilled time away from the tribulations of city life, right?

Well, of course it's not exactly what happens when certain people set up on their voyage...

So there we are, Saturday afternoon, enjoying the peace and quiet in the middle of the woods. All very relaxing. The fire is going, I am reading about crazy Chinese torture, Gringowlindow is listening to the football on headphones and scaring the deer with every almost-goal, our friends are taking a nap in the tent. Until...

Big guy and old farmer appear from nowhere.

Old farmer - What is this?
Me (puzzled by the obvious question) - Well, we are camping
Old farmer - Mmmmmmm, camping, huh?
Me (defiant) - Yes, camping, this is public land.
Old farmer - Well, not really. This is my land.
Me (not feeling so hot anymore) - Gulp. But isn't this the Kings Wood?
Old farmer - Not really. Kings Wood ends before that field. These are my woods.

At that time, Big guy was having a look around our campsite, and I was preparing to get up and leave when Gringowlindow goes...

Gringowlindow - Errrrrr, do you mind if we stay until tomorrow?

Surprisingly, Old farmer decided that we could stay. I think he realized we were not exactly Hooligans after having a look around and seeing:

- Scrabble
- A backgammon board
- A few books
- Our many empty bottles of wine set aside for recycling.

And so we stayed. But I suspect our friends (who had never camped before) were not so convinced anymore by our claims that we were pro campers (considering I also forgot to bring the pots and pans).

(...is great, especially with pots and pans...God save Sansbury's!)