A very good reason not to camp...

Never be the same again!

Despite being of a certain age, I like to think that I embrace new technology - I’m writing this on my MacBook and use my iPad and iPhone on a daily basis. I enjoy online shopping and social media, and love how I can engage with people with similar interests on Instagram, even though I don't know them in person.

There is, however, one technological phenomenon that leaves me cold. Pop-up tents. Now I have been camping, in my dim and distant past, and remember all too well the stress, arguments and threats of divorce that accompanied the end of a long journey and the erecting of a piece of canvas using sticks, pegs and bits of string. So I can understand why someone wanted to improve that experience, but all they did was shift it to the other end of the holiday. Pop-up tents may pop up, but they sure as hell don’t pop down again. And this technology hasn't limited itself to tents - you can get pop-up gazebos, garden shelters and windbreaks. And they are all equally impossible to ‘unpop’.

Already wonky - or on the huh!

We bought a, thankfully, cheap child-sized shelter for the garden when our grandchildren were small. We duly popped it up on a sunny day, and it was great - affording much needed protection from the sun and a place to enjoy a picnic. At the end of the day, the children went home, we tidied the garden and optimistically fetched the bag for the shelter. Fools! The world is divided into two groups of people - one group that can unpop a popup shelter, and one that can’t. What I discovered on that fateful Sunday evening was that my family is entirely made up of those in the latter group. After struggling for some considerable time, we resorted to the instructions. 

You're having a laugh!

That made things even worse! I can follow a recipe, I can operate a washing machine and drive a car, but these instructions made absolutely no sense. We ended up with a bent and mangled shelter, that got thrown behind a shelving unit in the spare bedroom!

This annoyance is only equalled by the smugness of the people who happen to fall within the ‘able to unpop’ group, who can, with a few seemingly simple hand movements, put a huge tent in a tiny bag. Someone needs to tell them that it isn't polite to smile and say, ‘It’s so easy, don't know what all the fuss is about’ 

Ugh -so smug!

I’m convinced that the ability to unpop a tent is genetically defined, in the same way that some people can roll their tongues. If you can’t do it the first time you try, then you will never be able to learn how to. I’m sure someone could carry out some research and write a useful dissertation about it - at least that way the non-unpoppers would know to stop trying!

I know I am not alone - last Sunday we sat on the cliffs at Southwold, eating our sausage rolls and watching a man confidently pick up his pop-up shelter and start to fold it. To give him his due, he persevered for at least ten minutes before throwing it aside and folding up the blanket instead. His wife (I’m presuming that, because they had three children, but anyway she was a she) picked it up and, without doing anything at all, put it in the bag. The smugness swept up to the top of the cliff, and I swear she looked desperately round for someone to ‘high five’. Her partner just walked off...

Never been unpopped!

The next day I met up with some former colleagues for a picnic lunch. The host has a lovely garden and the children there played happily - some of them in a pop-up tent. We discussed the issues with folding them up, and she said,’Oh I can’t - I just throw it in the summer house!’

At least I can put this one away!

We have since bought a different sun shelter for the garden - this one has poles and strings and, while it takes longer to erect, at least I am confident in my ability to put it away at the end of the day!

A really special place!

So exciting!

Four years ago, when my son was working as a landscape gardener, he brought me home a fern for my developing shady garden. He was raving about the place that he’d bought it - Urban Jungle on the outskirts of Norwich - and told me I needed to visit.

Shady garden, 2013!

When we did, I was truly amazed. They had a huge collection of all the plants I love - ferns, hostas, grasses - and I wanted to buy them all. It was so different from the usual garden centres - just plants and pots, not a gnome or solar lamp in sight. At that time, they didn't even have a cafe. Just a kettle, mugs and an honesty box, next to a jar of homemade biscuits!

Urban Jungle, summer planting...huge plants!

Since then, we’ve visited many times. My daughter sent me a gift voucher one Mother’s Day, we’ve been intrigued by the kokedamas, and enthralled by their summer planting schemes. When we visited in June it was incredibly busy and we struggled to find a parking space. We soon discovered why - Café Jungle had opened in place of the kettle and biscuits! Occupying the area around the koi ponds, Urban Jungle had created an amazing space to eat incredible food. The tables and sofas (yes, sofas!) were cleverly hidden between huge plants so that it almost felt as if the place was exclusively ours. Wonderful. 

Café Jungle Norfolk - lovely

We had a lovely lunch and I duly spent a small fortune on plants and we came home, bemoaning the fact that it wasn't a little bit closer…

So how excited were we when we were driving from Beccles to the A12 to see a sign saying ‘Coming soon - Urban Jungle’! We’d heard on the grapevine that the old Evergreens Garden Centre was being sold, but never imagined the coming of Urban Jungle Suffolk! It opened on August 5th, and despite following their Facebook and Instagram feeds, I struggled to imagine how they would be able to use the vast space available to recreate what is so special about Urban Jungle Norfolk. Well, after our first visit yesterday, I can honestly say I needn’t have worried. I loved it all from the moment I saw the welcome sign! 

So many plants...

The outside area is clearly still a work in progress - plants take time to establish themselves after all - but there was something to make me gasp around every corner. Prehistoric looking plants with spiky leaves that sadly won’t fit in my garden, humungous tree ferns that make mine look sadly lacking and a whole shed full of cacti and succulents!

All the succulents!

And then there was Café Jungle Suffolk. It is housed in what was the ‘gift shop and café’ of the old place, but has been completely refitted. Nooks, crannies, mezzanines and mirrors. 

Nooks, crannies, mirrors, cakes!

Truly wonderful. Again, you feel as if you are the only people in there - in fact after we had finished lunch I was amazed to see so many other people eating! 

Delicious toastie

All the food at Café Jungle is gluten-free so I wondered what my toastie would be like. I needn’t have worried, it was utterly delicious. They have managed to source gluten free bread that actually tastes like bread! Sadly, we didn't have room for the brownies we could smell baking - a good excuse to go back!

I wanted everything...

Dotted amongst the tables in the café are displays full of houseplants and stylish and unusual homewares. Oh dear, how to choose? Eventually we settled on a beautiful planter and an allegedly simple to care for plant to go in it. We also bought a bigger planter for outside and a tiny succulent for my daughter. 

Settled for this!

I don’t usually blog about places but Urban Jungle Suffolk completely entranced me - I know that it is somewhere I can go that will cheer me throughout the year, with it’s beautiful plants, knowledgeable staff and it’s yummy food. You should visit - it’s only down the road!

Shady garden, 2017!

The worst walk ever!

These boots are made for...

My husband belongs to a walking group that was started by his sister. Every Monday morning they explore paths around their part of Norfolk at, it is fair to say, a suitably gentle pace. It is also fair to say that the litheness of the group’s collective minds pretty much outstrips that of their bodies.

Given my ongoing knee problems, my usual Monday morning tennis games have been non-existent since the Spring, so Brain (as he is lovingly known by my children) suggested I go for a walk with his group. He promised me a gentle stroll, by the river, with coffee at the pub at the other end. After much persuasion, and in the spirit of saying ‘yes’ to more things, I agreed to give it a whirl.

There now follows an account of said walk. I have changed the names to protect the innocent…

We set off from Surlingham Church along the Wherryman’s Way. The sun was shining, the company was good and all was well with the World.

Incredible house!

We passed an incredible house with, ironically, a tennis court in the garden, and walked towards the river. Jean and Deirdre strode ahead, while others stopped to admire wild flowers, birds and the general vista. (I was still admiring the house with the tennis court...) We reached a small bridge, where the path forked. Jean and Deirdre crossed and continued their progress through, what looked to me like a reed bed. I waited for reassurance, not convinced that this was the way we had to go. But it was.

I ploughed on to find that Deirdre had stopped in front of me and seemed in some distress. She had stepped onto an unstable plank of wood and was quietly having a panic attack, trying to steady herself by holding onto the reeds at either side of her - reeds that were very thin and waving in the breeze! Jean and I tried to help, but she needed a man. Or Brain. He managed to take her shaking hands and help her across the plank, and she recovered enough to continue.

Not what we were promised!

We were all relieved to reach the river and looked forward to continuing our promised gentle stroll - through brambles, six foot high nettles and buzzy midges! By this time, Bea had become completely distracted by the ripening blackberries and, in the absence of a bag to put them in, was filling the removable hood of her buff coloured jacket!

Distracted by blackberries!

Our progress was ridiculously slow, and we were getting stung and poked and bitten. Not gentle, not gentle at all! Fortunately, my ever-prepared, never a boy scout, husband had his folding secateurs in his pocket, so he went ahead carving as bramble and nettle free path as he could. 

My hero!

Although this was an improvement, I was concentrating so hard on looking towards my feet to avoid twisting my knee that I missed a low hanging branch and cracked my head. To say that, at this point, I was quite unhappy is an understatement. We tried to laugh about it, joking about feeling like David Bellamy exploring the undergrowth, but it really wasn't that funny.

Here we are, in the undergrowth...©express.com

Bea’s hat was dripping blackberry juice and had been dyed an interesting shade of purple, Brain’s legs were ripped to shreds, everyone was stung to b*ggery and I had an egg on my head!

Eventually our band of intrepid explorers emerged and reached the pub. Sitting there was George, a perpetual latecomer to the group, fresh as a daisy. Asking him if he'd driven to the pub, he told us that he’d walked…how strange. Turns out there’s a quick way, through the trees - no nettles, no brambles, no midges. Aaaaaagh!

We did enjoy a coffee by the river - although some of our group complained about its quality, cost, size - and while everyone was inside ordering their drinks, I enjoyed a quiet moment and saw a kingfisher flying down the river. Not that anyone believed me…

Suitably refreshed, we walked back - the quick way - re-admiring the beautiful house on the way, and got back to our cars in about a quarter of the time, leaving a trail of blackberry juice as we passed.

Still amazing!

Then the shout went up, “Brain, Jean’s got a puncture!” Oh God, all I wanted to do was go home and find some antihistamine cream, but we had to faff about trying to find her spare wheel and then access it. This was a miserable failure, as it was underneath the car and the restraining bolt just refused to budge. Never mind, Jean was in a rescue service. She didn't have her card, or her debit card, and she’d never made a call on her clamshell mobile, but she was in a rescue service! 

Not one I'd ever heard of, but yay, a rescue service!

Eventually she got through and explained, with eight of us listening, that she was an elderly lady on her own in the middle of nowhere! We were satisfied that she would be okay and there were enough people to stay with her, so we took our leave, dropping Bea and her hood-full of blackberries off on the way. 

As we drove through the villages on the way back, we noticed what we managed to convince ourselves was a community speed camera…until a ticket dropped onto our doorstep on Saturday.

Meh - at least I wasn't driving...

It really was the worst walk ever. I’m writing this on a Monday morning - both of us decided we wouldn't go this week.

Important update: Bea washed her hood and it is back to its buff-coloured best!

I'm lovely, and I have the photos to prove it!

Satisfyingly blurry!

First things first, Martin J Patterson is a genius…not only did this unassuming man in his shorts and t-shirt persuade me, in the most professional way, of the efficacy of a boudoir shoot, he also managed to produce a portfolio of photos that I not only love, but have agreed to him sharing wherever he likes. 

I have now completed the final part of my boudoir journey. For me it’s been quite a trek, and you can read about how I arrived here in my first, second and third posts in this series. What started out as being, frankly, a bit of a cheeky joke has turned into so much more than that and I genuinely feel that I have travelled some distance in how I feel about myself and about how others see me.

I wasn’t sure how I would react to seeing the photos. It’s been quite a while since the shoot and at times it seems as if I’d dreamt it. I was a bit apprehensive, but nowhere near as much as I thought I would be, and that was coupled with a little bit of excitement. 

My biggest fear was that I would hate my pictures, but have to pretend that I liked them for the sake of the project.

I love them!

I needn’t have worried - somehow Martin had succeeded in taking photographs that were not only classy and tasteful, but that magically drew my eye to my best bits. No photoshopping involved (the stupid tan line on my wrist proves that!) and yet I could look at them and feel genuinely happy with how I appear. And that is something I never thought I would think, let alone write! My husband loved them too, and I happily showed my son, his girlfriend and my stepson. I also shared them with my friend The Salted Tail, my sister and my daughter. My friend and sister duly raved about them, but Beth just asked if I was pleased with them. My mind then went into overdrive - she doesn't like them, so maybe I don’t either. They must be tacky / cheesy / unattractive. Rats. How could I have got it so wrong? I really thought they were nice. 

Of course, she did like them, but was in the pub, and couldn't really look at them. Phew. I hadn't got it wrong after all.

Beth's favourite!

How ridiculous…I clearly worry so much about what other people think that I change my views to match theirs. That definitely needs to change.

So, apart from me not being confident in my own opinions, what else have I learnt from this exciting, yet strange and surreal experience?

Well, on a superficial level I found out how to do smokey eye make-up, I discovered how much more comfortable a properly fitting bra is and I know that making time to moisturise after a shower reaps many benefits! I also realised that I enjoy spending time on making the best of myself, and I still use my eyelash curler!

Smokey eyes and a hint of a smile - hubby's favourite ❤️

On a more profound level I have uncovered some truths about myself and even about my husband. I wasn’t expecting it to have such an effect on him and I suppose we have come to a realisation that we both have insecurities that impact on us and our relationship. But this experience has given us an opportunity to explore some of those issues and talk openly about them. 

More personally I have come to realise that I feel judged by people because I judge them - another thing I need to work on - and I wouldn’t have felt anywhere near as comfortable with a female photographer, because I often feel that woman are more critical of other woman than men are.

Daring, or foolhardy?

When I wrote my original posts people made comments about how brave I was. Personally I think that firemen and lifeboatmen are brave, and while I certainly found this personally challenging, I think daring is a more accurate description of what I am. That, and foolhardy!

Most importantly of all I feel far more at peace with myself than I have for many years. The fact that I blithely signed away sharing rights to the photos proves that. I am proud of how I look in my pictures, and am determined to no longer define myself by my age, my weight, my appearance. I am who I am, and Martin has skilfully reflected this in my boudoir portfolio!

Not defined by age or shape - just me, in sharp focus!

When we went to bed last night, my lovely husband turned to me and said, ‘So now do you believe me when I say you are lovely?’ It’s only taken eighteen years, but finally, yes I do.