Nature Bites.

A lot of you may have noticed I've been suspiciously quiet, this year. I know what you're thinking: "That Rosie's a sociable girl, with lots of exciting tales to tell (she's really pretty too. I want to give her money and jewellery). Surely her New Years Eve was at least worth a mention?"

Well, folks, I'm glad you mentioned it. Up until now, I've keep the dark events of my NYE a secret, afraid of the dire consequences I that might befall me for squealing. With your support, I have finally gained the courage today to tell my story. (It could also be that I didn't want to offend my friends with whom I shared new years, but have had absolutely nothing else to write about and I'm sure they'll forgive me [right, guys? "Yeah.. Rosie rocks! Did you get the jewellery we sent you?" Aw, shucks. You shouldn't have]).


Ok.. Here it is:

CAMPING.
Need I say more?!
For those of you who don't know, camping is the most degrading, dehumanising.. stinkifying experience available to the human man, femmebot or worm baby. I had always suspected this, but as I'd also denied my husband the chance to camp for the past ten years, I thought it only fair that I give it a try. (Of course, it turned out that I was right and should never listen to anyone about anything, but we nevertheless put my fear and hatred of all things natural to the test.)

At first, I was actually excited about camping out under the stars with a bunch of friends for new years eve. There was to be yoga, games, music, the beach and boozin'. I imagined we'd take some walks by day then tell tales by the fire come nightfall. With only a shed on the property, there were no amenities available but there would be 'cooking facilities' and (it was initially indicated..) a portaloo, which I could handle. Even when I heard the temperature would be around 40C, I didn't worry, thinking, "That's ok, at least we won't be cold at night!"

The panic began to set in when we were warned a few days beforehand that there was no water and.. no toilet. I received the final piece in the horror puzzle not more than a day before we set out on that fateful trip, when I was told, "Bring a jumper, because the days may be hot, but the nights are freezing." Nnnnoooooooooo!!!!


By the time I realised camping was best left to the homeless insane (as well as my lovely, sane friends who mostly have homes. Good save?) it was too late. I pleaded with people to give me an out, or at least some advice, but met with a lack sympathy and a "she'll be right" 'tude. Only my best friend saw my complete unsuitability for the trip, laughing in my face as she predicted, "You are gonna get covered in pee!" No, she didn't suspect my camping pals were in some secret golden shower society, but referred to the coupling of my constant need to pee with a constant lack of toilet.
When the day came to get our camp on, I could no longer hide my problematic sissiness and chose to embrace it. I slapped on a pink dress and an impractical, rainbow array of nailpolish, so that if I died covered in pee, at least I'd be pretty.

On the drive to the campsite, we met up with my Dad who had convinced us to borrow some swag-style sleeping-bags my step-mother made. When we pulled-up, Dad approached the car and, after motioning for me to lower the window, taunted, "Have you had your morning poo?"
The swag bags proved well worth the abuse, providing a very comfortable night's sleep (and, I want to say, somewhere warm to poo. Take that, Dad!).
We also stopped at the beach on the way to have a beer with Ben's relatives, moving on to our showerless destination only once we were sunburned and covered in sand and sweat. Brilliant.

My spirits lifted a little when we reached the campsite. It was a lovely block of land with some tree clusters that assured shade and pee coverage, and was miraculously fly and mosquito free. Approaching our group of friends, however, the first sight my eyes caught proved a fitting omen: we met with the wrong end of a yoga position in which the practitioner laid on his back with his legs about his head. Ah, yes, the olll' butt-in-face greeting.
I had intended to join some group yoga lessons, but as I found only my friend and her partner, both advanced.. 'yogi/n', balancing feet on eachother's shoulders and bending into impressive little pretzels, I shamefully scrapped that idea in favour of keeping my shaky, rigid abilities to myself.

Moving on to the rest of the group, the next surprise was that it was mostly comprised of strangers who had in tow, roughly, oh, I would say.. One million children. Hey, strangers are good. How else are you supposed to make friends or learn anything new? (Which I presumably would've done had I stirred from my 'sulking in chair' position. It's a yoga position. Rosie yoga. Rrrroga...) Heck, I even like those little fuckers (or, 'kids'). I just hadn't imagined my dream of running naked through the fields and swearing like a sailor would be so quickly dashed by kiddie sing-a-longs and general clowning. So, I took to my chair like a professional Rogin.

I remained rock-like until dinner time, when we set out to find our promised cooking-facilities. Just to add to all my other pre-conceptions that were based on no evidence or suggestion, whatsoever, I had presumed that there would be some sort of stove available in the shed on the property. Instead, we were directed to the insert of a washing machine, in which we were to build a fire then cover with a grill plate. We fell tellingly silent at this revelation, recognising our make-shift stove as karma for our arrogant joking on the way down, "There'll probably just be a fire and a piece of tin!" Initial shock and awkwardness aside, Ben's brother Josh did actually cook us some amazing, smoky steaks which were a highlight of the trip. And a pumpkin and beetroot salad that I invented all by myself turned out to be delicious. Just sayin'.

After we'd set up our tents, I pretty much sat in my chair, occasionally falling asleep, waiting for midnight to strike so I could go to bed! I know, I'm an absolute misery guts. Josh had borrowed his tent from a younger cousin and discovered only after its construction that it was child-size. It looked so ridiculous, covered in a kiddy motorbike theme and all, that I couldn't help but laugh.
The night was freezing and dewy, as promised, a second torture to the day's searing heat. When the damn new year finally came, I looked for Ben to say goodnight. He asked me to hold up my lantern while he detached a spider from its web, but as he kept his hand still, the spider began to climb toward the obstruction. He flicked it away from himself which happened to be in my direction. That's what we call a 'camping goodnight.' In the morning, I also saw a spider crawling over my bra in a pile of clothes in the tent, which I was glad I hadn't noticed the night before.


Since Josh had provided a fine dinner, Ben and I confidently took to frying up some bacon and eggs for breakfast. As the grill had been pretty active by that point and we had little skill or patience to properly clean it, however, we ended up with greenish bacon and eggs that would've starred well in a Dr Seuss book! One quick dip at the beach later, to rid of all that camping sin, we were on our merry Melbourne way.


A couple of three things I did like about the trip:
- My friends' little girl Luci was impressed by my nails, and we spent a bit of time learning all the colours. (Although, she eventually just decided that they were all orange. Fair enough.)
- Mark's amazing telescope.
- Mark himself! As well as all the people I did know, and the one person I didn't who I spoke a few words to.
I'm sorry you all had to tolerate me on your camping trip, but rest assured, you'll never have to, again!