Adventures at Camp Bestival Episode 2 – Tent Up, Tune In, Chill Out

Last time, on Adventures at Camp Bestival…lists were made, cars were packed, sandwiches were eaten.  Now that is what I call a cliff hanger.

Today, dear readers, you find us in the Camping Plus car park which is exclusive to Camping Plus ticket holders and the nearest to the Camping Plus site.  Easy to find, a slight delay getting in due to some dodgy traffic lights but, all in all, pretty painless.

We unload all our stuff, ALL OUR LOADS AND LOADS OF REALLY HEAVY STUFF, onto the grass and look up to take in our surroundings.  We really do look up.  Up a big hill that stands between us and our pitch.  But, no matter! The CB team have thought of everything and there is a free tractor and trailer shuttle service continuously running up and down the hill.

Camp Bestival Rucksack

Yes, it is really quite heavy

Fortunately , we had procured a huge fishing trolley so with that, a smaller trolley and two reluctant teenage helpers we made it up and down the hill in three trips.  Yes, three trips.  Suddenly our extensive list of essentials didn’t seem quite so essential but you live and learn.

We passed through security, grabbed our wrist bands and hunted for our pitch.  The site is marked out in a grid of coloured zones and the alphabet, so it is pretty easy to find your booked space.  I’d opted for a place nearer the action which was, by default, further from the car park but the trade-off was a good one.  Now all we had to do was put up the tent.

This was going to be easy!  You’ll remember from Episode 1 that we had a very successful tent practice.

On that sunny, still, breeze free day.

In a very sheltered garden.

Fast forward to an exposed hilltop.

In 30 mph windy gusts.

Hmmm…

We spent forty minutes wrestling with fly sheets and ground sheets, snapping two tent poles as they got caught in the wind.  Helpfully, Teen 1 rolled around the grass in fits of laughter as we grappled with what was basically a massive parachute ready to carry us away into the atmosphere.  I could feel my camping bonhomie slipping away.

Lucky for us that Camp Bestival folk are a friendly bunch and, just as things felt desperate, the cavalry arrived.  Four extra bodies, one bearing a roll of duct tape for our pole casualties, and between us we got the tent up and secured.

From then on it was a short hop and a skip to fill the tent, string the bunting, light the fairy lights and head down to the Magic Meadow for some food.

Time to relax, let the weekend begin!

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Thursday night – clean, keen and ready for action.

Coming next: Adventures at Camp Bestival Episode 3 – The Main Event: Friday

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Resting Bitch Face

RBF

I suffer from this.

I know that because Teens 1 and 2 remind me of it regularly.

“For God’s sake” they’ll hiss “stop giving them the evils”

More often than not I am actually thinking about something random and unconnected, like can I get away with wearing a skirt tomorrow without shaving my legs, or have I uploaded the meter reading.

But to the outside world it looks like I am a seething mass of anger and resentment judging and criticising everyone in my path.

This actually is the case in Waitrose on a Saturday morning but other than that I am innocent of all charges.

It is quite an affliction because people make snap judgments based what they perceive from your facial expressions.  I may be dancing the Macarena on the inside but the person passing me in the street immediately assumes I am in a bad mood.

It is hard to control RBF because it is basically just the way your facial muscle fall.  However, when I am in a situation where a cheerful first impression is vital I do try and make an extra effort.  I consciously lift the corners of my mouth whilst channelling happy thoughts and clips of Michael McIntyre sketches.  Sometimes it works but the half -crazed, twitchy lipped gurning look is not to everyone’s taste.

The great unfairness is that I do smile and laugh.

A lot.

It’s just that when my mind is elsewhere my face just downs tools, goes on complete strike until I re-focus on the present.

I literally have sulky, work to rule facial muscles.

So if you ever pass me in the street, or stop your car next to mine at the traffic lights, PLEASE don’t take offence.  I’m not thinking evil thoughts about you.  I’m not thinking evil thoughts at all.  Just give me a prod to come back into the moment and I will release my inner Macarena – goodbye Resting Bitch Face, hello Active Smile Chops.  No gurning necessary.

The Times They Are a-Changin’

Things are a bit weird around here at the moment – Teen 1 has passed her driving test.

LPlate1

This is, of course, cause for great celebration.  Passed first time – yippee! Can drive herself places – Yippee! Can drive me places – yippee!

That last bit was me BEFORE the test.

Now the L plates are off the reality is that she is rarely here, pausing in the door way just long enough to nonchalantly swing her car keys in my direction before speeding off (within the speed limit obvs – don’t want to short circuit the telematics black box fitted for the insurance) the lingering echo of drum and bass the only evidence that she was here at all.

The before-test me would say, fab! Now you don’t have to drive her everywhere you can use that time to do other stuff, like hoover the stairs/read a book/ write a blog post/launch an award-winning ecommerce business from the kitchen table.  That kind of thing.

The after-test me actually sits like a rabbit in the headlights not knowing how to deal with these little parcels of gifted minutes.  Far easier to do none of the above and just pass the time tracking her location on the Find my Friends app.

I know.

Ridiculous.

I wonder if this is how CEOs of huge corporations feel when they retire?  I have, effectively, been the CEO of my little family unit for 17 years and, as is the case with many of my friends, have run it much the same as I run my career.  So when a third of the firm breaks free to start up alone it shakes the dynamic a bit.

It is not empty nest syndrome, there are few years ahead before that, thank God.  It’s like the peri-menopause of empty nest, a little warning shot over the bows of things to come.

Of course, I still have Teen 2 at my disposal and you will be forgiven for feeling a bit sorry for her as she now bears the full brunt of my control freakery. Endless trips to and from ballet and gymnastics used to be silent affairs as she scrolled through Snapchat and I inwardly cliched about being an unpaid taxi.

Now I am relishing each trip, aware that soon these too will be things of the past.  I’m chatting merrily like a proper Stepford mum, enjoying the time that I am still needed behind the wheel.  Teen 2 is still scrolling through Snapchat in silence but to be fair, Rome wasn’t built in a day.

So, on the agenda for this month – (1) stop obsessing about the myriad of potential road traffic accidents that could occur on any given journey and (2) fill any new found time with productive activities of the novel writing/stair hoovering ilk.

Just let me check the BBC Live Travel Incidents website first.

Conversations With My Teen. #Clothes

What are you going to wear to the party on Saturday?

OK, sorry, what are you going to wear to the gathering on Saturday?

I didn’t say gathering in a funny way

I didn’t! it’s just that in my day a large group of teenagers in a garage with music and cider was a party

No I don’t think you are 5 years old

No I don’t imagine there will be balloons and jelly and ice cream

OK, I will stop calling it a party then.

What do I think you should wear?

What about that blue dress?

Well just because no one else is wearing a dress doesn’t mean that you can’t

It wouldn’t make you a weirdo

What is everyone else wearing then?

But if you don’t know what everyone else is wearing how do you know they won’t be wearing dresses?

I am not being deliberately annoying

I am not

If I am an old lady with no fashion sense then why did you ask my opinion?

Yes you actually did ask my opinion

Try the black jeans

No, they do not make you look fat

Because you are not fat you are beautiful

Yes I am your mother but I would still say that even if I wasn’t

Yes, I would

Wear the cord skirt, that really suits you

I’m sure no one will remember that you wore it to Emma’s

Well you can’t wear a brand new outfit every time you go out

Because we are not millionaires

I am not useless, you just don’t like any of my suggestions

Please don’t slam the…

…door

Best Summer Ever

It’s official, as of yesterday Teen 1 is no longer a uniform wearing school pupil.  She has put the last full stop on the last GCSE and emerged dazed but triumphant into what is officially the Best Summer Ever.

I did helpfully point out that it is only the last GSCE If she passes them all and doesn’t have to re-take any which didn’t go down terribly well, TBH.

However, even my helpful parental musings couldn’t ruin the mood yesterday as she gleefully stacked all her books, flash cards, coloured charts and revision timetables into bags destined to moulder in the garage.  The dining table was restored to its rightful use as a place to eat rather than a place to study, sigh, text, sigh some more, scroll through Facebook, delete Facebook because something irritated you, re-install Facebook due to FOMO, study a bit more…you get the picture.

Once the public areas of the house were ‘de-examed’, we headed upstairs to the bedroom.  It would be easy here to write a trite paragraph about teenagers bedrooms being black pits of messy despair but, fortunately, Teen 1 does not generally conform to this stereotype (that honour goes to Teen 2 who wears the teenage pit badge with pride).  Teen 1 is generally a little bit OCD about having a tidy room, some friends have even been known to be too scared to stay over lest their overnight bag caused offence.

So the fact that a certain amount of post exam fumigation was required shows what kind of pressure Teen 1 has been feeling.  We liberated half a dozen glasses, numerous yoghurt pots in varying degrees of furriness, and a rubbish bag full of wrappers that explained why I thought there was  a hungry marmoset living in the biscuit tin demolishing the contents as soon as it was re-filled.

The stained and food encrusted hoodie and shorts that seemed to be the 24 hour uniform during study leave have gone on a boil wash, windows flung open and crisp fresh linen put on the bed.  In short, order has been restored.

Teen 1 now has ten glorious weeks of freedom stretching out ahead of her.  Many plans are afoot – days out, trips to the beach, festivals, and of course the obligatory school prom (when did our secondary schools morph into poor imitations of an American high school in a Disney movie?).  All scheduled around two Summer jobs which will go some way towards funding everything.

The first event is a big beach party rumoured to be taking place sometime next week.  When I pressed for more details I was told that they hadn’t been released yet by Party Admin.  What is Party Admin ? I ask. Apparently it is a self-appointed group of fellow 16 year olds hold that regular meetings, I don’t know where but I am suspecting Costa, to organise the details of the event.  WTF? I am pretty sure that in my day we just scammed a two litre bottle of cider and hung around the back of the station for an hour or two.

So, Teen 1, if you are reading this (and I know you do, if only to make sure I am not revealing anything too embarrassing), enjoy your Best Summer Ever.  You have earned it and I couldn’t be more proud of the tremendous effort you have put in to giving every exam your best shot.  Even maths, our mutual nemesis.

Play hard, have fun, and when Party Admin finally release a schedule can you let me know?

Best Summer Ever

Fancy A Game Of Teen Bingo?

I no longer have a tween in my family.  Last month’s birthday celebrations (and I do not advise having children born only three days apart, it makes for a very hectic week every year) meant that not only has the teen turned sweet sixteen, but the tween is no more!  We now have a household of three females, 13 years, 16 years and 45 years – you can smell the hormones from four streets away.  Seriously, you do NOT want to be anywhere near our place when there is a full moon.

The tween-that-was is a slightly reluctant teenager.  She has always enjoyed the role of being the youngest and is quite vocal about not wanting to grow up.  Mainly, I suspect, because with growing up comes more responsibility, more chores, less opportunity to lie around the place saying ‘but I’m only…(insert age here)’ when asked to do something.

So, where turning 13 is usually much anticipated and celebrated, in our house it has been the elephant in the room, no mention to made, strictly verboten. We have also been issued with rules.  We are not allowed to:-

  • Tell her she is a stroppy teenager every time she gets in a bad mood.
  • Look exasperated and say ‘for goodness sake you are nearly 14 years old’ whenever she forgets her lunch box /PE kit/ own name.  This much hated tradition of rounding up to the next age usually begins the day after the last birthday.
  • Remind her repeatedly of the things that her older sister did or didn’t do when she was a new teenager.
  • Get cross and tell her to wash up/tidy her room/put her shoes away because she is ‘not a little girl any more’.

I am doing my best to follow these instructions but the plain truth is that I am now fighting a solo battle against two teens who have me surrounded in a pincer movement of angst, frustration and growing up-ness.  So, to pass the time and lighten the atmos I am indulging in regular games of Teen Bingo.  A game for 1-100 players but only fully appreciated by parents who are currently navigating the post-child, pre-adult minefield.  If that is you then stay strong, I feel your pain.  Keep your bingo card in the cutlery draw or the bottom of your bag (or, for some real fun, on the fridge door where the teens can see it – that will really make them mad!), I guarantee you will be shouting ‘House!’ before you know it.

Teen Bingo Card2