Back in The Olden Times (as Flea charmingly referred to my youth this week) I did a lot of camping. My Dad was a cub scout leader and we would regularly tramp off to a field to sleep in a tent, climb trees and splash about in rivers. We slept in scratchy sleeping bags on the floor, and woke with stiff limbs, crawling out into some muddy field or other for a campfire breakfast. As kids it was a dream come true, but my Mum was never quite so keen - and with the benefit of age, I can see … [Continue reading]
