We shuffle across the dewy grass,
Flip flops sinking, lost in depth
Our toes so cold they crackle and burn.
Our towels are tucked with gawdy washbags
Underneath our youthful wings, we laugh
And shush each other as we slalom through
The tents and ropes and rounders bats.
We reach the block, the smell of bleach
Heavy in the strip lit air, flourescence
Lights our naked bodies locked in cubicles,
She sings next door to me
As soapy water swishes past, like rapids
That we ride in rubber dinghies.
Scrubbing at our reddened skin
We balance on one foot to dress,
Flamingoes in our native land,
But with our sodden socks we cut
A saddened, greyer version in the camping world.
I have things I like about camping, and things that I really hate. Last time I camped I had to sleep in my jeans every night because I was so cold. I must have slept for about three hours a night as I tossed and turned on that inflatable mattress that slowly deflated throughout the night.
However, I may be in the minority here, but I really love going over to the shower block each morning. I know that a lot of people probably find it a bit scummy, but having slummed it for a whole night, I love popping on my flip flops and trekking across the campsite with my towel under my arm.
I remember when I was a kid, loving putting the 20p into the timer and then racing to get washed before the water cut off.
And then there’s something so refreshing about walking back to your tent with your hair freshly washed and the coutryside air on your face. It feels very wholesome.
I was just taking a shower today and my ankles were really muddy from going on a run on the trails, and I just had this little memory bubble up, of being all mucky when camping, and enjoying scrubbing myself clean. It inspired me to write a little something and I kind of felt it necessary to explain why.