I am a huge fan of camping. The weather doesn't matter, whilst I love being woken by bright sunshine at some hideous hour of the morning I also love sleeping close to the sound of rain and wind, snuggled in a warm sleeping bag, reading a book by torch light.
Every year after exams finish I begin planning for the camping trip. Old friends that have long graduated, home back to the coast and new friends we have made begin to get excited. We gather, come rain or shine, at Llangennith and the boys begin to assemble the tent whilst the girls (trying our best to look busy and useful) drink wine from paper cups and watch them pityingly.
A fire is always lit, even if we have to all pile into the doorway of the tent to watch the poor cook struggle, and we play rounds of mafia (the narrative becoming increasingly gory) and chat until we all start to doze. It is often hard as an adult to regain the exciting feeling of a sleepover party but squeezing nine into a small tent always manages it somehow.
This time we flew kites, ate incredible food, got both soaked through and sun burnt within 24 hours, played board games in the dunes, drank cider in the afternoon, went surfing and created a human pyramid. I even got to see my little brother for the whole weekend. It really was pretty blissful.
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