Be The Jam

I went home, back to see the parents, back to the most comfortable bed in the world, home cooking, clean clothes and good company. It was invigorating. When I arrived, covered in mud, rips in my jeans, catapult in my pocket and heavy with the aroma of wood smoke I did feel a bit like I was 14 again. It seemed to be only a moment later that it was time to leave again, only this time it was a clean me, light with the aroma of soap and laden down with big jumpers provided by worried parents that was setting out.

Cunningly I picked up my winter sleeping bag before I left, it's not so much fun sleeping out in the frost in a summer bag. Somehow, and I can't for the life of me figure out how, I have lost my bivi bag (big waterproof sack thing for putting a sleeping bag and oneself in when sleeping out). This isn't normally much of an issue as I usually leave my basha (waterproof sheet stretched between handy branches to create a roof) up in the same place so that I at least have a dry patch of ground to sleep on and the roof keeps most of the rain off during the night. Last night though I didn't make it back to chez monkey and so went to my summer residence (down my the Thames) instead.

Rivers are not necessarily the thing that one wants to be sleeping by when it is cold, the proximity of water tends to lower the temperature, there is usually a bit of mist as well. Last night the river surpassed itself by laying on a supply of freezing fog for my entertainment. The long grass was heavy with dew, most of it already turned to frost at 10pm. I have been living outside for over a year now and believe that I can say with some authority that water and ice are not the first choice of substances to lay down an un-waterproofed sleeping bag on. Ever quick of brain I decided not to take Jamie and Georgia up on their offer of a bed for the night and a ready supply of tea but to tough it out. A further application of thought to the situation revealed that it was not even strictly necessary to lie the sleeping bag directly onto the icy wet grass, I could use the basha as a sheet and stay dry that way. After picking my way about in the moonlight I found a spot that looked reasonably secluded to settle in for the night, hung my rucksack from a tree so that it wouldn't get wet on the ground and laid out the basha. On top of this I laid down the sleeping bag and then, luxury upon luxury, I put one of the big winter jumpers into the bag the sleeping bag come in to use as a pillow. Then, with one of those legendary flashes of genius like what I am prone to, I decided to fold the basha over the sleeping bag to create a cocoon and so keep the fog out. I tied the foot end together so that I wouldn't slide out of the bottom of the cocoon and then used the poppers on the sides of the basha to hold them together - perfect. I had made myself a warm dry place to sleep, I was very pleased with myself as I stepped back to admire my handywork before taking off my shoes and getting into bed.

This is when the problems started.

I had forgotten rule one of sleeping out - head up and feet down is the appropriate arrangement. I was feet up and head down and this isn't good. It didn't occur to me to turn through 180 degrees. Instead I tried to roll to the left until such time as I found somewhere comfortable to lie. As I rolled the sleeping bag and basha became slowly more tightly wound around me. The pillow was soon covering half of my face forcing me to breath from the left hand side of my mouth. I'm not sure if I would have carried on rolling until the blood supply was cut off to my head or not, I guess I will never know as an inconveniently placed cow pat forced me to stop rolling and, rolling to the right now, back up. Soon the bonds around me loosened and breathing and movement became free again before once more becoming constricted as I rolled off past my starting point looking for somewhere suitable to sleep. This time it was thistles that halted my exploration, I swore quietly out of the right hand side of my mouth. I sat up and wriggled a bit to loosen the sleeping bag from around my head. then I lay down, arched my back and wriggled in an attempt to loosen it from around my waist before quickly sitting bolt upright again as I realised that somewhere along the line the basha had worked free from around my shoulders and now the sleeping bag was now soaking up the water from the grass. It didn't take long to work my left arm free and pick up one corner of the basha or for me to take hold of this corner with my teeth as using touch alone I searched for the right corner, it was not to be found. I'll worry about that later I thought and began to shuffle myself along like a worm heading in the direction my feet were pointing in, albeit a worm who is sitting up, travelling backwards with a basha in his mouth and muttering darkly to itself. Shuffling wasn't a hugely successful mode of transportation, I didn't find anywhere suitably comfortable to lie, in fact all I achieved was a further bunching up of the basha.

Before I knew it I was standing up in my bare feet holding the basha, sleeping bag and pillow above my head in an attempt to keep them dry. I picked my way back to my boots, peering into the darkness trying to make out cow pats and thistles before my feet discovered them. Once I found my shoes, hung everything from branches, dug out my head torch, remembered I was going to fix it when I was at home and found somewhere flat to sleep it was relatively straight forward to remake my bed and go to sleep. What it was thought was absolutely freezing, even with a fleece on and in my winter sleeping bag I still woke up shivering on a few occasions, I'm looking forward to getting back to the "ditch", there it won't be foggy and I'll have a roll mat to keep me insulated from the ground.

I'm glad to report that in the morning the sleeping bag was mostly dry. However, I felt dreadful, coming from the comfort of home, running water, kettles, company and the most comfortable bed in the world waking up covered in frost seemed strangely unpleasant. The walk back into Oxford was glorious though and by the time I was sitting down out side the Bodliean with a cup of tea and a chicken and ham pie I was feeling on top of the world.