Making Memories

Ah that’s better.
Tea from a china mug, summer duvet on the bed, toilet less than 20ft away and no screemin weans from the tent adjacent.
Makes camping sound like a lot of fun right?
Mmmmmm, well I have been a camper since I was knee high to a grass hopper and my wee lassie had her first encounter when she was but a babe in arms around 9 months old. I have some crackin memories of running around camping fields in my jammies and trying to locate my tent with a million-candle torch!! My Dad was always a sucker for over exaggerated advertising.

Camping with the Brady bunch was always going to be a military operation. Add in a few Welsh’s for good measure and that’s a serious amount of mobilisation required. Oh and I forgot to mention the presence of Billy the Bank and his missus and he’s in a wheelchair!! WTF, are we mad?
Holiday – break, rest, retreat, escape.
My experience was none of these. I have since learned that camping with children is – a series of tasks linked by sleep.

The site; Haven by name hell on earth by nature is a melting pot of tattoo stamped, cigarette smoking, footie shirt wearing f*%k wits with a penchant for flashing lights and bad karaoke. I might sound like a total snob but this was not my idea of a blissful family holiday. We reckoned that as we were gonna have 6 or 7 children ages ranging from 6 to nearly 16 then a venue which on the face of it would cater for all tastes would be a smart move.
The reality being the older weans ran about like eegits playing with the wee ones and thoroughly enjoyed themselves too. No need for organised clubs and activities.

Its funny though, how the mind works. A bit like childbirth. You swear at the time you’ll never do it again. But then the good things, the nice memories take hold. Like sitting on a beach miles and miles long. With a partially blue sky and a wind that could knock Nelson off his column watching children laugh and giggle as the dare each other to submerge themselves in the frosty waters of the North Sea. Or seeing the look on a child’s face when they become totally captivated by history and education. Who new archaeology could be such fun?
Life for a parent is about making memories for your children. I take a lot of pleasure out of doing that for mine and those close to me.

So, my lot are off with their Dad for a week. The Pirate and I are hoping to squeeze in a fly weekend of wild camping and WHW route bashing. Now that sounds more like fun to me. Either that or a big fluffy duvet and room service in some secluded country house hotel somewhere. What are my chances???

Mrs Mac x