When people invite me for camps and hikes I always say no. To be honest, a kind of mist envelopes my brain when I hear the two words, thus my reaction is always to be safe and say, “No”. It’s difficult explaining just how much I loathe these two activities, but by golly, I will try!
The truth, the only truth is, I hate camping. I mean the tents and sleeping bags kind of camping. I have only done it once. When I was at university. The company was fantastic- the night so bitterly cold, it was hard to believe I was still in Kenya and not, say, the middle of Antarctica. My back suffered on the hard stony ground, unbearably. As a result, when I hear the word “Camping” accompanied by the suggestion, “Let’s go”, I instantly break out into a cold sweat. No, please no. Never. Don’t take me there! I’ll lick your feet! I’ll do anything JUST DON’T TAKE ME CAMPING.
In the spirit of trying new things, once I went hiking up a mountainside. It was what I call my near-death experience. I don’t ever want to do it again, not this side of sanity. The painful memories of that day will be forever etched in my mind. To make a long story short, I had to be dragged up the slope — my limbs having lost all strength and feeling, flopping uselessly about like those of a rag doll (ok I may have exaggerated a tiny little bit).
In summary, I don’t think I’m outdoorsy. I like being clean. I hate sweat. I hate suffering for no understandable purpose- wasn’t that what I was busy doing for four years in XXX Girls’ Penitentiary- oops I meant School (no really, I meant Penitentiary for Unpardonable Offences)? It will be a cold, snowy day in Karamoja before I take myself back to that kind of life.
There you have it, the full explanation. Next time I turn down a camping or hiking invitation, I’m sure you’ll understand why. Thank you for not inviting me