The British weather is renowned for being unpredictable and for the majority of the time, pretty shit. However, camping has been a tradition that my family has endured come rain or shine. The annual camping trips have been something that I've dreaded and the thought of spending a week caked in mud, sleeping uncomfortably and actually having to spend time with my family sends shivers down my spine. Oh the joys of piling into the back of a pungent Toyota yaris estate (thanks to a Labrador that likes to roll in its own shit) which although has a large boot, has very little leg room when the foot wells are filled with essentials like boxes of wine. If the cramped conditions weren't enough to kill you, smooth fm would certainly prove fatal. Once the traumatic journey to the camp site is over things usually start to look up as glasses are filled with the 'essentials' but this proves problematic come 2.30 am when the toilets  are what seems like a marathon away. When its pissing it down outside and your tent is reasonably warm the thought of trekking to the nearest lavatory to relieve  yourself has you seriously considering whether it would be worthwhile to make a deal with the devil, to hell with the consequences. My bloated bladder won out.

On this years trip, having just about survived the first night without exchanging my soul in return for (what would be considered basic human rights in today's society) i embark on the weekends activities. My father has me and my family cycling for miles around quite pleasant scenery with only the odd mishap of cycling through sheep feces thus propelling it up my legs, slightly altering my perspective on how pretty the hills look. Stopping off at a pub in a small remote village in the Yorkshire dales did little to lighten my mood as the pub was very much a local pub for local people and with our sudden intrusion it meant the threat of being turned into meat pies Sweeney Todd style, hung heavy in the air. We finally returned to the waterlogged campsite after being herded out by the  pubs land lady.

The final day comes at last. By this point the weather has dampened more than my spirits and my tent is now a reverse sauna. Luckily it means we go home early and the journey home doesn't seem so nightmarish. My parents have promised that next year that we will go abroad but with the only suggestion coming from my youngest brother who wants to go to Svalbard it seems unlikely it will be somewhere hot. I hope one day i can look back at these years with nostalgia. Hopefully it will be so far in the future my brain will have edited out most parts.