How camping works

Following on from our previous instalment, I thought it might be helpful for those who aren't experienced campers - or, indeed, folk festival attendees - to sit at the feet of the master and glean some scraps of wisdom. Mrs QO and I have refined the process over many years and although I cannot pass on certain of the higher arcana in this public forum, it may help the novitiate to have a few discreet pointers.

Packing the car
QO: "Is your bag ready to go? Because it has to go in the middle of the back seat and that's where I'm up to."
Mrs QO: "Nearly, dear. Now, what do you want in your sandwiches?"
QO: "What? Oh... er... ham and mustard, please."
Mrs QO: "We've got some cheese, you know."
QO: "Yes, I know. But you know I always have ham and mustard."
Mrs QO: "If we have ham, yes."
QO: "Erm... yes, so about your bag... because if I can't pack your bag, I can't pack the bedding."
Mrs QO: "Why ever not? The bedding's all ready."
QO: "Yeah, but... the bedding always goes on your bag. You know what? I'll finish the sandwiches if you finish packing your bag."
Mrs QO: "Oh, you can take it if you like. I'll put the other stuff in a carrier bag."
QO: "You're taking two bags? Oh, for... how the hell can I pack the car properly if you take two bags? You never take two bags, we haven't allowed for two bags... I might have to move the washing-up bowl... but that would mean the inner tent going in the boot... and then... oh, God, we'll never get there..."
Mrs QO: "Oh, look... we've run out of mustard. Ooops."

Pitching the tent
QO: "OK, we'll drive round the campsite three or four times just to make sure of getting the right pitch."
Mrs QO: "That's fine, dear. Let me out here, would you? Oh, and pop the tailgate..."
QO: "Let's see. I have my compass here... OK, so that's north. The Met Office say prevailing wind for the weekend will be nor-nor-west, and obviously we want the back of the tent towards the wind."
Mrs QO hums a snatch of Aida to herself as she empties the tent poles onto the ground.
QO: "But of course before making a final decision, we need to check the slope of the ground. Fortunately I have my spirit level with me..."
Mrs QO assembles the frame poles and opens out the canvas.
QO: "And then there's the question of shade... let's see where the trees are, and I'd better check on the BlackBerry to see when sunrise is..."
Mrs QO, with a deft flick, drops the canvas onto the frame.
QO: "I wonder whether we might usefully dowse for any artesian springs that might lead to excessive dampness under the tent?"
Mrs QO, now humming a tune from Gilbert & Sullivan, taps the final pegs into place and rigs the guylines.
QO: "And I'll just Google the local mole population density..."
Mrs QO unfolds her camping chair, sits down, and opens the first of many beers.
QO: "Damn. I meant to look up where the ley lines are round here. Oh well, we'll just have to manage."
Mrs QO: "Want a sandwich, lovey? I think you packed them under the sundial. Ooh, isn't it nice here?"

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That's enough classified material for one post, I feel. Moving swiftly on... you may recall I once wrote a post about a new kind of Barbie doll. I can now exclusively reveal yet another variant - surely one that will do superlatively well in the current zeitgeist. (That's French for 'these days', by the way.)

Among our extended camp family - by which I mean the group of friends camping together rather than anything smutty, thank you so much - was a miniature person of indeterminate age (though Mrs QO assures me the young lady in question is nearly four), among whose dearest possessions is a Barbie doll with very long hair.

Super-Disreputable Friend and I could not help noticing that it didn't seem possible to put the doll in question down without its legs splaying. Now, I grant you this is distinctly puerile, and we did get serious Extreme Aunt looks from the womenfolk, but we decided that new Slapper Barbie would be a market winner. See what you think.