Summary (by AI): Abbey Farm campsite; River Thames walk; Wide-open field; Private atmosphere; Long treks to toilet; Jamie Oliver lamb burgers; Valley views; Morning sunrise; Hares; 56-year-old man perspective;
Blog: A friend of mine had a stroke ten years ago. To mark the anniversary of that event, she has decided to walk the length of the River Thames. She is still a little hard of walking because of the long-term effects of the stroke, so she is tackling it in short, manageable bursts of four, five, or six miles at a time.
Most of her friends are joining her along the way. Every month we head out to do another little section together.
With a walk planned for the Sunday, I could see that a beautiful weekend was on the cards. My wife and son were both out, so I thought to myself: perfect opportunity to do a bit of camping and knock off an ABC.
I scouted around for somewhere nearby and settled on Abbey Farm campsite. It was a functional, pleasant site—different from the more secluded forest and wooded farm camping I’ve been doing recently. This turned out to be a big, wide-open field, but because it was still relatively early in the year, there weren't many people pitched up. We weren't piled on top of each other at all, and it felt remarkably private.
So, I pitched my little tent and settled in for the evening.
The only issue I subsequently encountered is that, as is my wont, I had enjoyed a few beers and some wine. Naturally, when you do that, you need to have a pee quite regularly. If you pitch your tent right in the middle of an open field, surrounded by other tents, and it doesn't get dark until ten o’clock at night, you face a dilemma. You have to keep clambering out of your tent and walking bloody miles—or at least to the very edge of the field—just to have a wee.
I dread to think what the people in the neighbouring tents must have thought, watching me traipse back and forth around nine or ten o'clock once the volume of beer had fully kicked in. But anyway, those are the trials of a 56-year-old man with what I suspect is a slightly enlarging prostate. Who knows? I had it checked a little while ago and we’re all good, but it's just one of those things.
Despite the midnight treks, it was a lovely campsite. For dinner, I cooked a recipe from a Jamie Oliver BBQ book: a moussaka lamb burger. It's essentially lamb mince mixed with cumin, served with feta cheese and aubergine. It was... alright. I always struggle a bit with burgers; they are either absolutely stonking or just okay. Most of the ones I cook at home fall into the latter category, and this was one of them. With a little more TLC it might have been better, so I'm certainly not blaming Jamie.
The saving grace was my pitch. I was perched right on the edge of the field where the ground dropped away, offering a beautiful view over the valleys. I was woken up again at about four o'clock for another quick wee, so I wandered out of the tent. It was absolutely marvellous. The sun was just starting to crest over the valley, casting a beautiful morning light.
As I stepped out, I startled a couple of hares who had obviously been playing not far from my tent. They went bounding off into the distance, straight into the sunrise. It was a fantastic little experience, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
To top it all off, I had a wonderful walk the next day with my friend.
The Map: