Perils of Camping: Trapped

Perils of Camping: Trapped

It was day four of our cornish adventure and the kids were revelling in tent living.  Even I was learning to love the canvass, although I am a firm glamper rather than camper.

Traveling to the loo was traumatic for me, a bladder that twins sat upon for nine months is incapable of going more than four hours without needing to be emptied, making night time interesting.  However the kids were adoring walking the three hundred yards to the shower block without an adult chaperone.

On day four, twin boy collected his towel, toothbrush and shower gel and announced with a grin he was off to shower, alone.  Knowing his dad was already in the area brushing BB’s teeth, I rubbed his head, planted a kiss on his cheek and reminded him to wash behind his ears.  He skipped off, feeling like a grown up.

Ten minutes passed and I washed the remains of breakfast from the bowls using hot water fetched from the tap, and heated by the kettle.  Suddenly BB appeared next to me baring clean white teeth and a rubbed red face.  My husband stroked my arm as he walked by and I looked for twin boy to appear behind them.

“Where is he?” I questioned as rinsed suds from my hand with an evian bottle.

“Who?” questioned the chap I had pledged my life to for eternity.

“Owen,” I laughed “he followed you to the shower, he wanted to go alone.”

Liam laughed, knowing how much pleasure our seven year old would take from being allowed to do something without a parent.

“I’ll find him. I am popping back down for a shower and a shave myself.”

With that he planted a kiss on my head, grabbed his black toiletries bag and headed off through the herd of tents.

Minutes passed and I busied myself packing for the day, placing towels, wetsuits, umbrellas and reading material into separate waterproof bags.  When all was finished I sat in the brown wicker chair on the decking, and cracked the spine on my novel.

Then I saw twin boy and his father walking towards me, a smirk painted on both their faces.  I poured a cup of tea from the pot and waited to hear the story.

Twin boy walked past me with a cursory wave and went and buried himself in Harry Potter and the husband sat down beside me.

He began, “I got to the shower block and gathered up and watched behind me in the mirror for the lad.  I finished my shave, brushed my teeth and still he didn’t appear.  I figured he had headed back and I had somehow missed him.”

He stopped and chuckled.

“Then I heard a noise, it sounded like a lad in the shower whose dad had gotton shampoo in his eyes.  The kid sounded distressed, but I couldn’t quite make out the words.  Then my ears fine tuned and I made out…

I am going to be here forever, I don’t want to spend my holiday in a shower, I am going to die, die I tell you.”

Turns out Twin boy had locked himself in.

Seems us parents are still quite handy after all.



  1. September 3, 2013 / 12:29 pm

    Love the dramatism!

    Hope he’s recovered and you enjoyed the rest of the camping 🙂

  2. September 4, 2013 / 11:11 am

    Oh the poor mite – he’ll remember that for ever!

  3. September 9, 2013 / 11:27 am

    Awwww bless, death by shower – pleased he was rescued from that terrible fate xx

  4. September 9, 2013 / 7:47 pm

    A clean death… did anyone else say that? am I super hilarious?? am I?

  5. September 30, 2013 / 1:03 pm

    O bless him! it’s walking to the shower block and then realising you have forgotten your top or towel or underwear that always gets me!

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