It’s that time in Australia when we always used to go camping with our kids. We’d roast sausages over a campfire, go bush walking, and watch the stars come out before all piling higgledy piggledy into the tent. Now out kids take their kids camping (our old bones just can’t take sleeping out any more) but it’s still just as much fun as ever, and they still burst out laughing when regaling us with the latest camping adventures. Years ago I wrote this little poem about family camping trips:

“Get your foot off my neck – your knee’s in my ear –
I’m trying to sleep – get that frog out of here!
Mum, Chris won’t shut up – your feet aren’t washed! –
Move over, someone, my hand’s getting squashed.”

They say they love camping, they swear that it’s true,
When the weekend comes, and there’s nothing to do.
So we pack up the kids, the dog and the tent,
And head for the lakes, where good times are spent

Sunning and swimming and just having fun –
“I’m hungry, I’m starving, are the sausages done?
I won’t use that toilet, there’s spiders and bugs –
I’d love a good cuppa, did you bring the mugs? “

The mosquitos are biting, the repellant’s at home.
Oh what is this urge that drives us to roam
Far from the comforts of bedroom and bath?
There’s only one reason – it’s such a good laugh!

Gail Kavanagh