unhappy camper
I don’t wake up today because I never got to sleep. Last night was was my first night camping, and of course, with my luck, it was also the only night this week that actually got cold. Even with my layers and properly equipped tent, I was far too freezing to get to sleep for even a minute. I spent the hours between 4ish a.m. and 6:40 (the present time) in the campsite reception tent, where I charged my phone and sat enveloped in a massive blanket. If I had a nickel…
I’ve decided to go home. The thought of working for eight hours on no sleep in what will soon become blasting heat, then crawling into this tent and doing the whole thing again on Monday is enough to make me reckless about losing my bond. The supermarket opens in 15 minutes - I reckon it’s a snack then heading as promptly as possible to the station and hopping on the first train back to London. It’s rather embarrassing to fail so drastically at camping for a second time, but I honestly think I was looking back too fondly upon the whole fiasco of last year - the baseline facts of having to sleep on your back all night, grubby and cold and slightly wet, amongst other people who walk around all night and snore and occasionally shout, is enough to put a light sleeper and truthfully rather high maintenance girl like me off. The tent is now dripping condensed water onto my phone in protest as I write this. Good times.
I had fun though. I partied, I had a chat with Jeremy Corbyn and I think he insinuated that I am to be his successor. Fear not Jez, I will take to the streets of Islington once I’ve had a good night’s sleep.