- The Observer,
- Sunday March 9 2008
Sleeping under canvas for the first time at 49 was brave but probably a bit daft. I allowed myself to be persuaded by my husband and 14-year-old son to forgo our usual Greek holiday and join our friends Tony and Maria and their children on a 'fun' holiday, driving in convoy to a campsite near St Tropez.
Seven months before the holiday, Tony and Maria separated, suddenly and acrimoniously. But Maria, determined not to disappoint the children, wanted to go ahead. She did brilliantly and we all arrived in France as planned, except it did not feel like France at all. The camp staff were all English and we were surrounded by Dutch and English people.
Our tent was freezing at night. Used to being unable to sleep because of the heat in Greece, I had not packed nightwear. I went to bed wearing every piece of clothing I had with me.
Our Dutch neighbours smoked and drank outside their tent every evening, getting louder and louder until three or four every morning. The beach, a mile-and-a-half away, was packed, with little more than standing room. The final straw came when the heavens opened. It rained solidly for three-and-a-half days.
My darling husband, doing everything he could to try to make us comfortable, swept out flood water, shored up the tents and kept us warm by keeping the gas cooker on and making endless mugs of soup. When the camp staff came to check on us they concluded that we were fine. Poor Maria, the stress finally taking its toll, took to wearing a rain hat and a bin liner and wandered around with tears streaming down her face telling everyone she was a single parent. It was misery.
Finally, we decided to pack up and leave. Maria made it back to England in record time. We went more slowly, and opted for an overnight stay on the way back. Driving through woods near Dijon, we followed signs to a hotel in a clearing. Yes, they had rooms available! Soon we were swimming in the hotel pool before a relaxing drink and a superb dinner. As I drifted off that night in the huge bed, cosy and warm, I heard my husband say to my son: 'Look, Mum's smiling in her sleep.'
The campsite burnt down the following year, and never reopened. Maria has a wonderful new man. My son maintains it was the best holiday he ever had.
WS, by email
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