We’ve tried camping, and before Poss came along, I might have even grudgingly admitted that I liked it. But the trips since have been nothing but dirt, freezing cold and stress, intertwined with a few glorious moments that fool you into thinking that camping is a good idea.
However, I can concede that there are some bits of camping that I do like. The outdoors, fresh air bit (as long as it’s combined with an indoors bit), the being together bit and the fire bit.
What is it about a fire? Despite my asthma hating on me whenever the smoke blows my way; staring into the flames is intrinsically relaxing. As long as a ventolin puffer is in reach.
Husband bought a fire pot thing (totally a technical term) a few months ago and every now and then, we light it up, pull out the camping chairs and pretend we’re camping. Faux camping. Just for a few hours. With the comfort of the house meters away. Just the way camping should be.
This time around, we upped the game with a bag of marshmallows. Poss delighted in filling the sticks like little mallow kabobs, then charring them until they go all gooey inside. She doesn’t like them too cooked, preferring them just warm, but will happily take orders for everyone else; any excuse to be as close to the fire as possible.
Watching Poss was almost as good as watching the flames. Her eyes were completely transfixed on the fire; mesmerised, she sat quietly for hours just watching it dance and lick at the logs that husband kept feeding it.
Eventually it was bedtime. Sleepy, relaxed and with the faint smell of smoke still clinging to her hair, Poss was dragged begrudgingly away from the fire to bed. Which, in the best part of faux camping, didn’t involve any air mattresses or sleeping bags.
Not a bad way to spend a Friday night.