Some camp sites simply aren't designed for comfort. Rocky, unforgiving and with a distinct slope. The fact that ours was the only tent within cooee should have been a warning of something not quite right here. But I was tired and cranky, anything was acceptable.
Foolish, foolish decision.
Water, in containers filled at the last bore a couple of days ago has a distinct mineral flavour, perfectly acceptable when all was well, but tastes intrusive and annoying when I'm already irritable. Sigh. This camping lark can be a bit of a trial sometimes.
My nostrils twitch unhappily with the acrid smell of the refuse previous campers have discarded into a still smouldering fire. Double sigh. Off to get the spade and see what can be done to clear up after them. Feet drag listlessly. Bring on a cup of tea!
Later, during the night, after settling and being soothed by the glorious clear, deep sky and fabulous vastness of dark and stars, I find myself cocooned unnaturally tightly in my sleeping bag, unable to move my legs, feet or toes. My knees are wedged at an odd angle to my feet, my toes are bent back unnaturally, sort of in a zig-zag shape. Attempt to wriggle. Nope, not possible. An exploratory stretch of my right leg - resistance. Left? No, equally unforgiving. I'm crumpled like a piece of thoughtlessly scrunched and discarded copy paper at the bottom of a waste paper basket. Mega sigh.
Darn gravity, bloody sloping ground, horrible rocks.
Wriggle, wriggle, wriggle. Shuffle, shuffle. Puff, puff. Pause to catch breath. Slide back. Repeat. I finally claw my way back to the top of the bag by alternately caterpillaring, then clutching at the mattress and clawing my way up the unbelievably steep slope to my beloved pillow.
And repeat at annoyingly frequent intervals during the excruciatingly long night. Why oh why did we choose this site?