At just before 2am, I started shivering. Violently. By 3am, as the rain battered my tent, I had put on every item of clothing in my bag: pyjamas, golfing mid layers, a hoodie, shorts, a pair of jeans, and extra socks. I was still cold.
The occasional flatulence coming from a nearby tent I could handle (we all do it), but the non stop snoring was too much. It was like I was sleeping amongst a herd of cattle.
This morning, after just one night, I packed up and left.
I got excited at the start of the year, deciding that I would be going to Royal Portrush for the 153rd Open as a fan (no working). Given the price of accommodation (punchy), I would do it on the cheap. I would camp.
Two years ago, I did a two-day stint in The Open Camping Village at Hoylake. I can’t say I loved it, but that’s just me – not a happy camper. The set-up was decent, with a bar, plenty of food options, and on-site entertainment that made for a great atmosphere.
As campsites go, it was top level. The problem is, it’s still camping – no big comfy mattresses, too much noise, pesky insects, shared toilets – and people. Lots of people.
Nevertheless, I thought this year might be different, especially given the recent heatwave in the UK. I wouldn’t even need a tent, I’d be sleeping under the stars.
Assuming that there would also be hosepipe bans in operation 300 miles away in County Antrim, I left my home near Liverpool without packing waterproofs; confident that the weather would be favorable, I didn’t even pack a sleeping bag.
Other essentials to be confidently omitted included: bug spray, a pillow (easy to use a pile of clothes), a torch, snacks, ear plugs, and waterproofs.
Check-in went smoothly, and I even started to look forward to spending the night outdoors. To avoid getting up in the night, I avoided the bar and made myself comfortable on my blowup mat with a good book.
It wasn’t until about 10pm when I realized I was in trouble. The wind had picked up and the temperature in my tent was dipping fast. I put on a FootJoy gilet and a pair of jeans and turned off the torch on my iPhone (you don’t need a torch to go camping).
Instead of a sleeping bag, I’d packed a lightweight cotton bed sheet, which I soon discovered belonged to my 11-year-old son, making it necessary to curl up into the…
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