Edel Coffey: From festival hardship to family glamping, trying to be the 'outdoor type'

"It seems incredible to me now, as a grown woman who also has children, that I have managed to escape camping for so long."

Sat, 08 Jul, 2023 - 17:34

Edel Coffey

Evan Dando of The Lemonheads once covered a sweet little song called ‘The Outdoor Type’ that perfectly sums up my feelings about the great outdoors.

‘I’ve never slept out underneath the stars,’ he sings. ‘The closest that I came to that was one night my car/broke down for an hour in the suburbs at night/I lied about being the outdoor type.’

I was reminded of this song, sitting on my couch, watching the crowds at Glastonbury on TV two weekends ago.

It looked fabulous — sun, live music, Sienna Miller looking exactly the same as she did at Glastonbury 20 years ago — it felt like an intoxicating vision of summer, all enjoyed from the safety and comfort of my sitting room thanks to the BBC’s live broadcast.

I’ve always loved music, live performances, and festivals. Wouldn’t it be nice, I thought, to be there singing along to Elton John at his farewell gig?

But before the reverie got out of hand, I reminded myself I always stumble at the same hurdle — the two-man tent.

I went to Electric Picnic every year for 10 years without sleeping in a tent. I used to drive home each night, get a good night’s sleep and then head back for the next day’s performances.

It sounds like a meagre festival experience but honestly, I think it’s important to know one’s limits and the two-man tent is mine.

The best music festival I ever went to was Primavera in Barcelona because there is no camping. You go to the festival at the city’s Parc del Forum outdoor venue, and then when the music is over you go to sleep in a bed in your bricks-and-mortar accommodation of choice. Life-changing.

It seems incredible to me now, as a grown woman who also has children, that I have managed to escape camping for so long.

Even as a child, the idea of sleeping outside in a damp, cold, uncomfortable environment didn’t appeal. And I’m not being a princess here.

I grew up in the era of damp, cold, and uncomfortable housing, but even back then camping seemed like an unnecessary hardship, a bridge too far in the self-punishment stakes.

It is a testament to my resistance to the great outdoors that, to my knowledge, I have only ‘slept’ in a tent once in my whole life.

My one and only encounter with camping, like many bad decisions, was the result of a moment of weakness.

A last-minute offer of a two-man tent from a friend made me break the habit of a lifetime and throw caution to the wind. Maybe I hadn’t given camping a fair enough try, I thought.

And all the signs were in our favour. The weather was supposed to be warm, the forecast was dry, if I wanted to experience camping at a festival it was now or never. So my friend and I went for it.

I realise now that the whole enterprise was doomed to failure.

Even a groundsheet, a blow-up mattress, or a few other items I don’t have the vocabulary for, might have been enough to make the experience a positive one but my friend and I, both cliched city dwellers, were woefully unprepared.

We threw a couple of duvets and pillows into the car along with the tiny tent and set off for Electric Picnic.

At some point in the middle of the night, I was awoken by what felt like some sort of truffling animal at my back.

It turned out to be my friend who was so cold she was chattering and trying to snuggle into me so that she wouldn’t die of hypothermia.

As daylight dawned on our sleepless night and my body was so stiff from damp that every bone ached,

I felt I had proven my hypothesis enough to never camp again. I just wasn’t the outdoor type.

I remained happily estranged from camping for several further years but time passed and I had children and those children began to walk and talk and clamour for a camping experience.

I felt a little guilty that my aversion to camping was depriving them of what many people swore to me was a wholesome and fun experience.

And so, when we got the opportunity recently to visit the Mountain View glamping venue in Kilkenny, it seemed like the perfect compromise.

The giant bell tents were nicer than some hotels I’ve stayed in, with real beds and rugs and all sorts of little luxuries.

It was all a far cry from my previous camping experience, which involved zero sleep, rising damp, and a shivering bedfellow. Maybe I had misjudged camping after all, I thought.

The gods of camping smiled on us as the sun shone all day and by some further stroke of what I can only think of as divine intervention instead of sleeping in one of the very lovely tents, I ended up sleeping in a ‘shepherd’s hut’, which was essentially a studio apartment with all mod cons. What could I say?

As I drifted off into a blissful sleep in the cosy hut, I was reminded of another line from the song ‘The Outdoor Type’ — ‘god bless the great indoors’.

Edel Coffey: Age only defines us if we let it