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To be truthful I wasn't looking forward to sleeping in a tent. The first time I went camping with my family was five years ago when I had seriously hurt my back. I had something bulging out of my spine that shouldn't have been, and it was hell on earth. I had borrowed a small tent from a friend, and some very basic equipment, and off the family went. It was only for two days, but laying on a hard floor with only a sleeping bag with chronic back pain isn't an enjoyable experience.
Since then we have bought our own tent and added equipment to make it more comfortable. There was plenty of egging on by the wife, and children, who wanted to go camping again, that persuaded me to give it another go and invest in some equipment of our own. Personally I'm more happy by the pool somewhere hot in the world, but we're a democratic family, and camping got the winning vote.
But I had a good sleep on the first night, and it was the wife who had the restless night. The group of adults next to us had sat outside their tent when their own children had gone to sleep. They were drinking and talking, and the more drunk they got the louder they became. It didn't bother me because after all the hard work I had put in that day, and a few beers, I soon fell into the land of nod. But the wife became more and more irritated with them, and apparently by the first hour of Monday morning she had had enough, and went over to them asking them politely to be quite. They said sorry, and quietened down, but it took the intervention of somebody from another tent, plus an argument, before they finally went to sleep. I was none the wiser to these events until a rather tired wife told me in the morning.
After I cooked a breakfast of bacon and egg sandwiches we walked down to Cromer beach. It took longer than we expected. For some reason we thought we could get to get to the beach in ten to fifteen minutes, but we had to add another half an hour to this before we could get the swim ware on as the sun appeared. Cromer is a traditional British seaside resort. I enjoyed the local speciality of Cromer dressed crab, caught just off the coast, and landed on the beach in small wooden boats before being prepared locally. We all had chips for lunch with dashings of salt and vinegar, and later on we had ice cream on the beach.
The walk home was too much to handle so we took a taxi back to the camp site. Me and the wife sat outside our tent with a drink while the children played with their new friends they had already made, and once we all had a shower, and changed, we headed to the camp site bar.
All I can say about the food in the bar at Forest Park was that is was the best ever value meal I have ever had in the U.K. All the dishes were tasty, and my burger was probably the best burger I have ever eaten. We went to bed that night with our bellies full, and very content.
The children feel asleep as soon as their heads hit their pillars while the wife and I had a glass or two of wine under the night sky while watching shooting stars. The end to a perfect day on a traditional British seaside camping holiday.
Regards
Mark
To be truthful I wasn't looking forward to sleeping in a tent. The first time I went camping with my family was five years ago when I had seriously hurt my back. I had something bulging out of my spine that shouldn't have been, and it was hell on earth. I had borrowed a small tent from a friend, and some very basic equipment, and off the family went. It was only for two days, but laying on a hard floor with only a sleeping bag with chronic back pain isn't an enjoyable experience.
Since then we have bought our own tent and added equipment to make it more comfortable. There was plenty of egging on by the wife, and children, who wanted to go camping again, that persuaded me to give it another go and invest in some equipment of our own. Personally I'm more happy by the pool somewhere hot in the world, but we're a democratic family, and camping got the winning vote.
But I had a good sleep on the first night, and it was the wife who had the restless night. The group of adults next to us had sat outside their tent when their own children had gone to sleep. They were drinking and talking, and the more drunk they got the louder they became. It didn't bother me because after all the hard work I had put in that day, and a few beers, I soon fell into the land of nod. But the wife became more and more irritated with them, and apparently by the first hour of Monday morning she had had enough, and went over to them asking them politely to be quite. They said sorry, and quietened down, but it took the intervention of somebody from another tent, plus an argument, before they finally went to sleep. I was none the wiser to these events until a rather tired wife told me in the morning.
After I cooked a breakfast of bacon and egg sandwiches we walked down to Cromer beach. It took longer than we expected. For some reason we thought we could get to get to the beach in ten to fifteen minutes, but we had to add another half an hour to this before we could get the swim ware on as the sun appeared. Cromer is a traditional British seaside resort. I enjoyed the local speciality of Cromer dressed crab, caught just off the coast, and landed on the beach in small wooden boats before being prepared locally. We all had chips for lunch with dashings of salt and vinegar, and later on we had ice cream on the beach.
The walk home was too much to handle so we took a taxi back to the camp site. Me and the wife sat outside our tent with a drink while the children played with their new friends they had already made, and once we all had a shower, and changed, we headed to the camp site bar.
All I can say about the food in the bar at Forest Park was that is was the best ever value meal I have ever had in the U.K. All the dishes were tasty, and my burger was probably the best burger I have ever eaten. We went to bed that night with our bellies full, and very content.
The children feel asleep as soon as their heads hit their pillars while the wife and I had a glass or two of wine under the night sky while watching shooting stars. The end to a perfect day on a traditional British seaside camping holiday.
Regards
Mark
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