Camping Out
Some outdoors store in Liverpool, circa 1987 or so. Pre-pubescent Zoo, with Father, looking at camping equipment.
Father: How do you get into a sleeping bag?
Innocent Young Girl ShopKeep: Huh?
F: Wake her with a kiss!
Z: *Mortified shuffle off stage left*
Tents. Sparkly fishing lures. Air mattresses. Hiking boots. Backpacks. Camp stoves. Polar fleece. Thick woollen jumpers. BBQs. Thermos flasks. Sleeping bags. Insect repellent. I could spend whole days in places such as Ray's Wonderland of Outdoor Supplies, just sniffing and pawing and purring at portable solar showers and gas lamps.
Endless summers spent in canvass housing. The scents of frangipani and fish gutting tables mingling by the surf club. Freshly-scrubbed sunburned bodies emerging with dripping hair from shower blocks at twilight, ready for big nights at chinese restaurants and bowling clubs. Collecting shells and counting starfish. Lagoons and surf mats and blistering hot birthdays and icecreams from the kiosk of the caravan park. Pinball machines, fish and chips, family games of tennis and teenage flirtations in the pool. Wet cossies, batik dresses, sandals, thongs, the clothing of the carefree.
I can camp it with the best of them.
Father: How do you get into a sleeping bag?
Innocent Young Girl ShopKeep: Huh?
F: Wake her with a kiss!
Z: *Mortified shuffle off stage left*
Tents. Sparkly fishing lures. Air mattresses. Hiking boots. Backpacks. Camp stoves. Polar fleece. Thick woollen jumpers. BBQs. Thermos flasks. Sleeping bags. Insect repellent. I could spend whole days in places such as Ray's Wonderland of Outdoor Supplies, just sniffing and pawing and purring at portable solar showers and gas lamps.
Endless summers spent in canvass housing. The scents of frangipani and fish gutting tables mingling by the surf club. Freshly-scrubbed sunburned bodies emerging with dripping hair from shower blocks at twilight, ready for big nights at chinese restaurants and bowling clubs. Collecting shells and counting starfish. Lagoons and surf mats and blistering hot birthdays and icecreams from the kiosk of the caravan park. Pinball machines, fish and chips, family games of tennis and teenage flirtations in the pool. Wet cossies, batik dresses, sandals, thongs, the clothing of the carefree.
I can camp it with the best of them.
posted by Zoo at 1:22 pm
3 Comments:
See... my childhood holiday adventures sound remarkably similar, the difference being that the only way I go "camping" these days involves a bunch of queers, and a minimum 4 star hotel with ensuite and mini-bar!
I'm with Tam on that one.
I tried camping in the back of a van with no mosquito net. I never knew I had such a princess waiting for the right moment to emerge inside me!
Dear lords did I chuck a royal tandy. Right royal.
Next time I believe I should be in luxury damnit.
You can have your sleeping bag at the foot of the bed.
*luffs*
never did care much for the 4star thing... guess i ain't got no class really! rather be rolling about in the dirt ;) scrubber, moi?
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