We are camping for the first time. Because we spent some money puchasing things like bed rolls and mosquito repellant, and because the world is at best a perverse and cruel place to live, this of course means it has rained solidly for a week. It is raining heavily now. It will rain tomorrow, and quite possibly never stop again.
We are on Daftö, an island in the North West of Sweden, sharing a four-man sommarstuga with V's family (a total of ten people). It's an attractive holiday destination, V described it as the Swedish equivalent of Brighton. Yes, if Brighton was in the Outer Hebrides. Or an attractive holiday destination. To help save space in the tiny cottage, F and I are going to sleep in a tent near the door.
F has not slept in a tent before.
F has not slept in the same room as her parents for over a year.
F is quite excited.
2000 - We say a final night night, and sing Little Cat, traditionally our 'close of business' bell toll.
2005 - Goldilocks and the Three Bears.
2015 - We say a final night night, and sing Little Cat, see above.
2030 - There are some flies on the ceiling. Daddy shoos them away.
2035 - 'Flies and Shooing - A Short History'. A fascinating tour of this age-old pastime in which we explain how flies are shooed, why shoes are not the same thing and touch on the mysterious providence of flies in tents.
2045 - 'Flies and Shooing - Continued'. The practical half of this delightful talk, featuring a chance for the audience to shoo flies themselves
2050 - We manage to kill the last of the flies, peace reigns. We say a final night night and sing Little Cat.
2055 - Goldilocks and the Three Bears, second sitting.
2100 - 'On Rain' commences the next in our series of natural history discourses, in which we consider puzzles that have fascinated the curious since antiquity - What noises does it make? Why doesn't it rain inside? Can you see it from here daddy? and Why Rain?
2120 - Goldilocks and the Two Bears, third sitting.
2125 - 'Reflections', where we remember the day that has passed. A meditative talk for those of tranquil and calm mood, focussing on the precious memories the day has brought, like when we nearly went to McDonalds in the shopping centre on the way here and then didn't instead, or the elderly selection of toys discovered in a mouldering paper bag at the summer cottage we're sleeping beside. Sorry, lying inside a tent beside.
2135 - Shirley Hughes' 'When We Went To The Park', a recitation from memory.
2140 - Julia Donaldson's 'The Gruffalo', a recitation from memory.
2145 - Goldilocks and a Bear. There once was a little girl and the baby bear said 'and she's still here!' The End.
2146 - We emphasise that this is night night and sing Little Cat in a cautionary tone.
2150 - 'How Tall is Your Tent?' An all-new interpretive dance piece. You'll be amazed at where the sleeping bags end up!
2155 - This is definitely the last night night and look, daddy is a bit grumpy now but still somehow willing to talk about the health benefits of a good night's sleep in a reasonable tone of voice. Semi-reasonable. Repercussions are explained as a concept, in case they need to be used.
2200 - If you don't go to sleep, we won't sleep in the tent, okay?
2205 - Bunbun is upset about something and cannot sleep.
2210 - Bunbun can't stop crying because Bunbun doesn't like tents and doesn't want to sleep in one any more. The rain outside redoubles.
2215 - I get dressed again, put F inside her sleeping bag and carry her like swag to a nearby caravan, on loan from the cottage's owners. Uncle D and Cousin V are sleeping in here. Like any well-maintained elderly holiday caravan, there is a welcoming atmosphere of humidity and mould that beckons one inside like a decrepit hooker. Nevertheless, F has never slept in a caravan before and is quite excited.
2220 - After running back through the rain to collect my sleeping bag and running back to the caravan to install it, I realise I have left my mobile phone in the goddamn tent. The rain outside redoubles.
2225 - We growl night night and sing Little Cat very quietly because D and V are sleeping just over there and we can't wake them, okay? Now go to sleep.
2235 - There are windows in a caravan, did you know? And you can see out through them. And drum your fingers on them to make a noise like rain. It goes 'pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter', Daddy, did you know? I don't want to sleep, Daddy, I want to play! Play with me, Daddy! I write a new musical called 'Wishing I Was Sisyphus', featuring the number 'I'd Roll That Boulder Over My Balls (Before I'd Have Another Child)'
2240 - We sing Go To Sleep Now Or Else, traditionally our 'Close of Business' bell toll.
2245 - Requests for a final round of Goldilocks are quashed.
2250 - F discovers you can make another kind of pitter-patter noise without drumming your fingers on the windows, because that's been forbidden. You can do it by lying on your side and running your feet up and down the caravan walls.
2255 - Or up and down Daddy's back.
2300 - F starts stroking my face and cooing at me in an attempt to engage a fond paternal reaction and a commitment to more play.
2305 - F takes a firm double hand of beard hair and attempts to tug a fond paternal reaction out of me.
2306 - F strikes me hard in the bridge of the nose with the heel of her hand in a last-ditch to get the old fond paternal reaction thing kickstarted. Repercussions commence.
2310 - D and V are probably not sleeping, although I nevertheless invoke their names as reasons that howling is not acceptable right now. Does Bunbun want to go back to the tent? Because Bunbun is going the right way about it. The rain redoubles.
2315 - Daddy is cross, do you understand? You must go to sleep. Right now.
2320 - You are being naughty, F. You are bad.
2325 - In lashing rain, I carry my screamingly repentant daughter across a pitch-black quagmire to the dubious shelter of our tent before her misery wakes D and V again. In our absence, a deep pool of water has gathered in the outer porch. Fortuitously, my trousers absorb it all before it can do us any harm. I have remembered my mobile phone this time, but still need to go back and get my own sleeping bag. The rain quadruples on the way back.
2340 - F tearfully apologises once more, sings Little Cat in a tiny voice and goes to sleep.
0200 - I wake up, expecting to have to change and feed C, and then lie awake for two hours listening to the rain trying to nail the tent roof to my face, occasionally twitching as mosquitos brush my face.
The lovely irony is, of course, that this is still the best night's sleep I've had in two months.
No comments:
Post a Comment