Another Piece From My Yet Unpublished Book. Going Camping At Christmas In The Lake District.

Regular readers have read some extracts of my unpublished book before.  Especially the ones about allotment characters.  Seeing that its Christmas or nearly.  I thought I would share with you the following.  Hope it makes you laugh

Here are a few adventures on the campsites of Great Britain and mainly the Lake District. Myself and about six others. Used to go the Lake District to visit Dove Cottage, sample the Kendal mint cake and consume gallons of Jennings best bitter and Theakston’s old Peculiar if we crossed over into the Yorkshire Dales. Or found a Lake District pub that sold it.

We always tried to get to the Lakes for News Years Eve. I mean when else would you go camping and want to sleep under the stars, with a bit of frost, rain and snow thrown in?. We weren’t the only one’s though. The local farmer said he always did a roaring trade round Christmas. 

My old friend D, always brought his camping equipment with him; a apple, bottle of cider and ten Benson and Hedges and a box of matches. He said he only brought enough stuff with him for four or five days. Besides he could always borrow some money from somebody on a permanent basis. 

My most terrifying encounter with D, was one New Years Eve in a little village in the Lake District. After wrestling with the tonsils of every young lass in Cumbria ,and being shown the door by the pub landlord. “yes it’s painted red with a brass letterbox”. D decided he needed a few carry-outs, to get him back to his tent for his midnight feast, and stash of half a bottle of Strongbow cider and half a Granny Smith’s apple. The only trouble was. He didn’t have a bottle opener. No problem for D. Oh No. He only smashes the top off a bottle of Pils, against wall of the Police station. Leaving a bottle with pointed shards around the top. D placed his mouth around the jagged edges and drank down his lager. I stood there thinking he would cut his lips and tongue to shreds.

“What’s up with you”?

He said spitting pieces of glass from his mouth. He was a complete and utter beer monster anorak.

Another time. It was Summer time for a change. We all came back from the pub rather the worse for wear. Everybody was acting tiddly and rather silly. I include myself. To my absolute horror. A unit from the British Army. Had only gone and decided to pitch their tents and their trucks besides our tents.

They looked like the S.A.S on their holidays. Some of us had long hair and were quite the opposite to the soldiers. I had visions of them cutting off our hair and ears for souvenirs. We retired for the evening and my friends started to mouth off. Yours truly quickly sobered up.

“Shut up. Just go to sleep.”

“Hey Dave. Is it you who said they are in the T.A? You know. The Toy Army?”

The soldiers started to laugh. They had a sense of humour.

A posh sounding female voice from a nearby tent shouted:

“Excuse me young men. Will you please turn off your heavy metal music and go to sleep.”

One of my inebriated friends shouted back:

“No f**k off”.

The Army lads roared with laughter. There must of been at least fifty of them.

My drunken friends sensed they had a audience in their hands. So they shouted back to the woman.

“Are you Princess Anne on your holidays?”

“No I am not. Now go to sleep?”

“Where’s Peter and Zara?”

The Army lads guffawed and laughed again.

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