So here we are again, another field, another tent, and yet another bad life choice. So I had debated hitting the canvas on Friday, but after a rough week, felt a day doing nothing but lazing was probably on the cards. I had packed bags though, so when I felt the call of the wild, I was nearly ready to jump straight in. However, I had planned to use a different bag, so by the time I was supposed to head trainwards, I had decided that it wasn’t gonna work. So one quick repack later I was aiming for the next train. As has been my previous experience, as I got if the train at Ashurst, it started drizzling. As per usual, it waited until I climbed the stile into the field leading to the site until it bucketed down.

Gave up on waiting for it to stop. Headed out to pitch. As I unrolled the tent, I realised I’d brought the wrong damn tent. This has to be the world’s smallest tent. Originally managed to pitch where there was a huge puddle just outside the door, so had to shimmy the tent a few feet to avoid falling in a pond when I left the tent. Currently everything I was wearing is soaked, and although I managed to cook, I still feel hungry, and it’s nearly impossible to cook as there’s no vestibule.

To clarify my accommodation, I have decided to name the tents.

Vinny was who I meant to bring, as its huge dry vestibule means it’s perfect for rainy camping.

So-called as it looks from inside with both the doors open like the view if you’ve got a pair of Y-fronts on your head.

The name says it all.

I will update you tomorrow on whether I survived.