{{futureEnquiries.length}}
I am a huge fan of New Year's resolutions. Well, that's not strictly true. I am a fan of my own New Year's resolutions. They are usually very intelligent and thoughtfully considered. Other people's resolutions are usually superficial and lack imagination. Stupid would be a good word to describe them. The worst resolutions of all though, are the ones where someone else makes a resolution that involves you. Personally, I think this is unacceptable and a clear breach of the United Nations Convention on New Year's Resolutions. I mean, where is the logic?
"Hey Grant, what's your New Year's resolution this year?"
"Well, gee Bob, thanks for asking. It's that you lose 15 kilograms, stop smoking and finally get a personality!"
How can that possibly be considered an acceptable resolution? I understand that I sound a little bitter but I have cause to be. One of TLJ's resolutions for 2015 was that the Clark family would get back to nature and would start camping. First problem: in order for me to get back to nature I would have to have been there at some stage previously. I haven't. I find Mother Nature unnecessarily cruel, completely indifferent to human comfort and frankly a little bit unhygienic. Critically she does not appear to be big on TV or cold beer.
Far be it from me to be a wimp in my own house. I am the master of my own destiny and as such I noted my objection to TLJ in the strongest terms possible. She threatened to unplug the beer fridge and the TV and turn off the plugs at the distribution board. Not a serious threat? Well maybe not to you but, firstly, I have no idea where the plugs are in order to turn these life support systems back on once they are turned off, and secondly, and more seriously, I have no idea who this Distribution Board is but I assume they are a quasi-political body (possibly the military wing of the Liquor Board?) who take such an unhealthy interest in my consumption of beer and TV. Frankly, the sound of them makes me quite nervous.
So it was that I ended up going camping. Against my better judgement and with TLJ, the Moose, Mackers and Sizzles stuffed into an over packed Kombi we headed off to a spot that TLJ had chosen, which I thought was called Beaver Lake. It sounded pretty if nothing else. Well, surprise, surprise, Mother Nature kicks me in the nuts yet again. Not only were there no beavers at Beaver Lake, but there was no lake. After complaining to management I was duly informed that it was called Beaverlac. What - I ask you with tears in my eyes - is a lac? And that still doesn't explain where all the beavers are. Unless what they meant was "a lac of beavers" in which case the name was spot on if not a lot stupid. It's kind of like calling Joburg "Beachlac".
Anyway, after arriving I was set to work by the tribe of ladies in my life. My first task - to determine if I was in fact a man - was to erect a 6 man tent by myself. I am fairly sure that the Cape Town stadium was less complicated to erect. After carefully choosing a shady spot that had not been approved by TLJ and semi-erecting about a third of the tent, I realised that the requirements for space when erecting a tent are not only ground area but aerial clearance as well. And while I had picked a wonderful spot in the shade, the apex of the tent was at least twice as high as the stupid low hanging tree branches. So the whole thing had to come down and we had to move camping spots.
At this point my general lack of humour at being persecuted by the Distribution Board and then discovering no beavers and no lake had turned into a downright thunderous gloom. I think I can safely say that in the midst of all the frolicking hippies at the campsite, I was the grumpiest Grinch present. This was quickly exacerbated when I realised that I had forgotten the toilet paper at home. A camping holiday with 4 ladies and no toilet paper - you do the math as to who the tribe wanted to vote out first.
The highpoint of my day was undoubtedly when after unpacking the back of the Kombi, I opened the side door in order to get more stuff off the back seat when my prized and cherished handpicked watermelon, which had apparently shifted from it place of pride on my sleeping pillow while we were driving, rolled out of the Kombi, landed on my foot and broke in two. I didn't know if I was crying because I was never going to walk again or because my planned high point of the day had just, literally, bitten the dust.
Aside from the fact that living in tents means you can see everybody doing every small thing and you can hear people farting at night - it wasn't our tent - I have to, grudgingly, admit that I did end up enjoying camping a little bit. I enjoyed the giant rock pools and swimming with my plethora of mermaids, I enjoyed braaing under the stars and I enjoyed the ice cold beer that TLJ found for me somewhere. Sure there was no TV and no couch, but like TLJ said I would, and I hate it when she is right, I survived. I feel like I am a better person for persevering through this experience and I have learned - most importantly - to stow one's watermelon properly.
Also On This Month's Newsletter:
Previous Posts - Clark's Corner:
