In this canvas-shanty-holiday town,
you'll hear strange sounds when the sun
goes down
and played out families are tucked up tight
in polyester slug-suits in the still of the
night.
At half past three
you need to pee
in insomnia regretting that last coffee.
Your tent mate is oblivious;
they've been snoring for two hours
while you slithered up and down the slope
with great rustling sounds.
The decision made, you try to rise
and sit up with a plan.
But your elbow's caught inside your zip
and it pulls you down again.
The zip is caught! You can't get out!
Your bladder twitches a threat.
You cursing, muttering free your legs
which immediately don goose flesh.
Pull on shoes, wrong foot, wrong way
laces tied as long as they'll stay
and with screwed up face and finger tip
try to open the front door zip.
The slower you go, the louder it is.
You think “Fuck it!” and try to go quick;
The zip is caught! You can't get out!
The whole tent gives a wobble
and you burst into the porch of sorts
in a breathless, blundering bundle.
Picking past the other homes
newly acute awareness
of whispered squabbles, saucy moans
and farts confidently careless.
As eyes adjust you realise the toilets are
worryingly distant
and like Lara Croft with lasers you must
cross the guy rope alarm system.
You wheel and tiptoe, duck and hop
knowing you'll pee yourself if you stop.
Nearly there but then your heel catches and
pulls out a peg.
You freeze and hear blamey whispers coming
from inside that tent.
“That' the fifth time! I said not to camp
here!”
“Fine, you can come on your own next year!”
Run away! Preserve yourself and reach the
portaloos.
They'll be equally grubby, no matter which
one you choose
and finding one with toilet paper's a great
thing to behold.
You lock the door and sit but the toilet
seat is cold.
The relief is blessed beautiful. You dress
again with leisure.
And water free hand cleaner is a modern
camping pleasure.
Confident, collected now you begin the
return trip
and trip's the operative word as over the
same peg you slip.
Twang! With owl wide eyes you scurry,
ducking, wheeling, tiptoeing in hurry.
The saucy moans you heard before
have progressed to throaty groans of “more”
and their unfortunate head torch shadow
display
is giving delight to some, but others
dismay.
You pass by and observe all this
but after five minutes, something's amiss.
Where did we put the tent again?
I'm sure it was here. I remember when
we pitched up. That seagull flag,
the leilandii trees, that plastic bag.
Oh look. It's starting to rain.
Didn't bring a coat of course, the noise it
would have made
would have been a rustle too far.
Oh God, looks like I've walked right past
it. It's all the way back there.
Stumble, trip, grab the zip.
Slippy fingered wrestle with it.
The zip is caught! You can't get in!
Over in the next tent a stirring begins.
You've woken their kids and they've started
to fight
An angry bellow rings out through the night
followed by a man's voice, shrilly;
“I've told you before not not stand on my
willy!”
Back in your bag, the rain sounds heavier
but only liquid sunshine falls on the
British Riviera.
And fresh air sleep is fuller
you wake feeling so refreshed
and sleeping under canvas for sciatica is
best.
So when the sun comes up we'll cook
sausages and bacon
And smile like we heard nothing of the
other campsite's patrons.
