Recap; Hastings, camping, beach, chips, seagulls. Now for day 2.
The day started with a full English breakfast made on our stove. For those who aren’t English, it is a mess of beans, sausages, bacon, fried eggs (give and take whatever else you want) and you would hate it. It’s amazing. English foods all seem to be just a pile of goodness that’s terrible for you. Others will never understand the beauty of cheesy beans on toast. As the only veggie here I got my food first – I was going to quote that rhyme kids sing, till I remembered it went ‘first the worst, second the best..’ I suppose sometimes it was ‘zero the hero, first the worst…’ so I could be a hero. I am the one not contributing to killing animals after all. I say as I am typing this eating left over pizza made with cows milk. Reminds me of Lil Dickys song Pillow Talking – fucking brilliant. Go listen.
Turns out Dad was giggling last night and saying ‘camping is fun. Let’s sell our house and live in a tent.’ So that made my Mum laugh and my brother is four and so he just laughs if anyone is laughing. A lady approached my Mum and asked if my little brother was her son, she said yes, the lady said ‘aww, he’s so cute! And it’s he’s birthday!’ So turns out the little evil genius has been telling the children in the park that it’s his birthday today – it was 3 months ago. The lady said that’s so clever, she’s going to try that one.
James and I were all packed up by 10 but my Mum and Dad have decided to stay another night. I think they’re cool with camping, even though it’s raining now. It’s all we know. Give us 30 degree weather for two weeks and there’s mass hysteria. We don’t understand sweating. It rains and we all calm down, we get this, we are familiar with this weather.. but commence the whole of England complaining about that now. Why are you never satisfied?! I personally am okay with any weather, see vegetarian and doesn’t complain about the weather?! Zero. No, damn, I meant hero.
We learnt from last time and stayed in flip flops in the rain. I wore my Birkenstocks in the Cornwall rain (which I didn’t think anything of because I basically live in those bad boys) (and it really is that Lil Dicky song now, but I got them before I was a vegetarian) and they stayed wet forever. Same with any other footwear – you’re outside constantly pretty much, so you and the rest of the campsite just gets wet. Everyone stays in their shorts, hoodies and flip flops – we give no shits, we are campers. Bad boys for life. The only people that weren’t like that actually were my parents, my Mum in particular who was wearing a jacket and wellies. Oh bless her and her over prepared self. At least she remembered the oil, unlike us. Without that no mountain of English breakfast goodness would exist. Thank you Mum, for I have sinned.
Now something I don’t think I’ve really done, and don’t plan to do often so don’t get used to it, is a little thing we call giving advise. Advise. Makes me feel sick saying it. Here it is. I had a blow up bed from my days of festival camping and James’s brother was getting rid of a mattress topper. Combine the two together and you get a super duper nights sleep. Trust me, I’ve camped twice now. Expert.
Now my mother, who loves a tip, loves advise, loves a welly, made some notes which I will include now;
- Saturdays are the nosiest night
- don’t pitch tent too close to tent groups
- always have a plastic festival mac handy
- don’t pitch opposite a playground
- always take a jacket with a hood
Camping notes from a middle aged couple. To be fair I would definitely read that blog.
The era we are in seems to be the era of festivals of every kind. Every couple of metres on the sea front there’s an advertisement for a festival. Festival of music, of beer, of fish, of food, of gin, of zooquarium..? What’s zooquarium? Oh how I could google right now but I won’t. Put festival in the name and I for one am tempted to go. I’d have no money or holiday left at work if I went to everyone I’ve seen advertised. They’d all be disappointments too to be honest, especially as I wouldn’t have any money left to spend there. That being said I do have a talent of having fun in any situation. One of two of my talents. Which is handy right now because the rain stops you doing anything normal. And you know me, all I want is normal, I scream normal. After getting drenched while walking from the arcade to the car, we began to drive carpark to carpark to see the sites. My two year old nephew called it a ‘parcark’ the other day – that never stops, two year old nephew, you will do that for the rest of your life. Anyway, you get to people watch while feeling they can’t see you this way, highly entertaining – especially when a seagull is stalking a bunch of girls for their lunch, and we wait in anticipation for him to dive bomb.
Now I know you’re wondering what my other talent in life is. It is that donut people love me. I don’t know how I do it. I love them back equally, to be fair. Ever since I can remember I would go to buy donuts and they’ve always given me more than I paid for. At Thorpe Park, when I was 14, they gave me a whole extra bag free. I don’t understand this power but I mustn’t misuse it. So, I’ll set the scene, grey miserable day, everyone is drenched through other than my Mums toes in her snug wellies, and they decide what they need for a pick-me-up is good ol’ fish and chips. I don’t always eat chips from the chippy because sometimes they use the same oil for everything, so I said ‘no, I will get myself some donuts,’ and left them. I was pushing against the wind and rain to the first donut stand and it said ‘4 donuts for £2.50’ and I though ‘that’s a bit steep isn’t it, I’ll walk to the next one.’ So off I went again, against the wind and rain, to the next stand where it was exactly the same price. So I was like ‘that’s clearly a standard price and I’m just a cheapskate, so I’ll buy them here,’ ‘4 donuts, please,’ ‘that’s £2.50.’
I walked away. They had given me 7.
I had to tell one of my best friends because she’s often been there to witness these events. But wow, amirite? What a day.
I didn’t write a whole lot more in my notes, and after visiting an old pub – which I just googled about – we just went home. I won’t google about ‘The Ghost of Dunkirk’ or ‘1066 country’ or ‘zooquarium’ but I will google a pubs history. Apparently that’s the kind of person I am. I wish I didn’t though, apparently not a lot is known about it’s history but it seems it’s not actually from the medieval age, but rather a post war build. One website went as far to call it ‘a fake’. That’s my whole Hastings visit ruined!
On my post about the first day I mentioned that there were so many strawberries and cherries for sale on the side of the road, then there was a whole bit about cherries being a chimney sweep compared to the strawberry which is a Lord. You should go read it. I thought I counted 7 of these stands, James said I was well off. So we genuinely did a tally chart on the way home.
Tally Chart of Strawberries and Cherries being sold (including eggs and any other produce) (not logs, but there was loads of them)
16. That’s right. And please ignore the ‘wanker’, it’s not directed at you and I can’t for the life of me remember what it was in reference to. Probably ourselves for being the kind of people that make a tally chart counting how many produce stands we drove past. You probably can’t read my writing anyway, not many people can. I shouldn’t have brought any of this up.