Yes, I’m off to
Wales again. Well, you have to go
somewhere don’t you. Sometimes when I’m there I like to sleep in the
dilapidated old caravan at the bottom of the garden. It isn’t a happy memory
thing, my memories of caravan holidays aren’t that great, it’s an adventure
I know I should really be up a mountain in a tent, but my really rough camping days are gone, not that they really ever began. The closest that I really want to get to the elements is a nice cosy bed with an electric lamp, running water, the sound of the wind in the trees around me, and very little chance of snakes. Yes when it comes to the elements – earth, air, fire, and water – I best like them with a dash of comfort and a glass of flaming brandy.
It’s a nest thing, or maybe a cave. Enclosed in my small space of ‘almost outdoors’, reading by the light of a guttering Ikea lamp, I will feel like an owl or a badger; both avid readers Walt Disney has led me to believe.
Oh, to be a gypsy on the road to who knows where?
So this weekend I will bravely walk down to the caravan and spend a night or two in the closest I hope I'll ever get to the open air. I’m also hoping that it rains in the night; I love the sound of the raindrops on the tin roof and knowing that I really am ‘out there in the wildernesses’ will make me feel pretty brave.