Young and camp.

Having returned from my week and a bit of camping (in various areas of the country) i have realised that I have not posted on the ol' blog in a while... though not, I suspect on quite the same level as others I might think of. (*cough* Laycock there is STILL only one post! *cough*) <- quite a lot to say in-between coughs as I'm sure you can imagine!

My holiday consisted of two parts - Devon and Greenbelt. One of which is a music festival and one isn't. I'm sure you can work out which is which.

I suppose I could start with Devon... or do a George Lucas and start in the middle and work from there.
In the spirit of this...

A LONG TIME AGO
IN A TOWN RELATIVELY BUT NOT QUITE THAT FAR AWAY REALLY... I SUPPOSE

ADAM LEGG

*que dramatic music that sounds suspiciously like the starwars theme*

(I cannot confirm or deny that this is actually the starwars theme due to copyright. However if you thought of the starwars theme while reading this feel free to sue yourselves. Just finish this blog first.)

EPISODE WHATEVER: THE PHANTOM SHOWERS

DURRR, DURRR, DEDEDE DURRR DURRR DEDEDE DURR DURRR DEDEDEDEEEEEE (you get the idea)

Adam Legg has arrived in Devon with the Black's (in the spirit of the douchebags who might interpret this as racism, it is not. My girlfriend is Emily BLACK... her father is Jonathan BLACK, HER MOTHER IS ANNE BLACK... you get the picture) all seems to be going well until they return from the beach.

Adam and Emily go to have a shower but are met with a curious case of facist showerdom.

(By now maybe the starwars music is getting a bit boring for the rest of you who aren't massive fans of the franchise. In which case I suggest "Build me up buttercup". You can accompany it with the idea of me and Emily with classic 80s style cheesy shocked faces if you feel the need. Maybe even some long-johns for me too?)

Can they save enough 20ps to keep clean or will they spin into itchy decay and grow mould in their armpits? ONLY TIME WILL TELL...

Moving away from the starwars nostalgia that I'm sure many of you were feeling during that little piece of variation on the usual blogging. Devon was rather good!

CELEBRATE GOOD TIMES, COME ON! (No prizes for guessing what spotify has just put on)

Back on track (and back to black!) The campsite showers! *Que DUN DUN DUHHHH* *Screaming heard in background* ARGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Anyway these FACIST SHOWERS (okay I've been listening to Billy Bragg a little too much)

Okay well, the showers in the campsite take money before they wash you; a sort of "pass my showerhead with silver" sort of thing. (Not a sort of thong which spellcheck decided to suggest!) You have 4 minutes once the shower decides that your 20p is indeed not fairy currency or a piece of chewing gum and accepts it. Included in this the shower gives you a 1 minute period of grace for you to strip off and mentally prepare yourself for the frenzy that will follow. You do your stretches, jog on the spot, weigh up your shower and attempt to position yourself so NO WATER WILL BE WASTED. The shower demons are unforgiving.

Suddenly you hear a beeping noise and you run in! Only to realise that the beeping noise is someone else's and all the meets you is the cold, bitter feeling of disappointment while the shower laughs in your face! As you walk out, there is another beeping and the shower turns on. The Demons laughing again as they torment you! You slap yourself with showergel and move until the pathetic drizzle your shower gives you. (I was half tempted to start shouting "It's spitting! It's spitting! Everybody in!")

To add to the initial stress of trying to get clean in under 4 minutes you are supposed to listen out for other beeps that indicate intervals of time that have passed. However, to torment you further, the demons of the shower have put all the showers close together, so your shower is accompanied by a series of beeps; none of which you know what it means and any could mean that you are left more soapy and disappointed than a slag at a foam party.

If you are unlucky enough to not heed the warnings of the beeps you might end up in that state. There is a solution though. You can go stick another 20p in the meter outside (cross my showerhead with silver). While this may satisfy the demons of the shower, it does not satisfy the massive queue of unhappy campers who glare at you if you so much as THINK about putting that 20p in. You little bastard.

I have bought myself a straw hat. Emily hates it. I love it.

While we were on the beach I was thinking how a wedding on the beach is something people view as romantic, cute etc. (Sex on the beach has just popped up on spotify. How wonderful.)

However the cynical voice in the back of my mind was wondering about the practicalities of it that might not make it so appealing...

For a start, getting sand on your suit will probably result in the loss of your deposit on it, probably the same with the dresses... secondly the wind blowing sand in your face isn't considered massively romantic either, as the priest having to spit several times over the bride to get the sand out his mouth wouldn't give you a massive score on four weddings.

I will blog about greenbelt tomorrow as I am conscious about how long this one is getting

Talk later,

Adam xx

Hello my name is Russel and I am a wilderness explorer...