Five Go Glamping: An adventure in the countryside for grown ups

Every corner in Digbeth did look a bit the same, but I did wonder if she was lost.

‘You said that five minutes ago’ whined Steph. ‘I can’t believe I’ve agreed to this. If there is one whiff of patchouli, I’m not staying. Christ, my feet are killing me. We’ve been walking for miles.’ She leant against a wall to adjust the straps on her shoes.

‘Maybe Chelsea Aurora Moonbeam can heal your blisters, Steph’ I offered as Steph steadied herself using my shoulder.

‘Actually, Chelsea says any problems to do with the feet are to do with your ability to move forward in life.’ said Sinead, walking ahead purposefully.

‘Hmm, yeah or maybe it’s something to do with wearing six inch heels to work.’ I suggested. My feet were killing me too. I hated to admit it, but they were a teeny bit puffy. Christ, was I getting cankles? It was probably dehydration from not being able to get a drink whenever I wanted. And maybe the heat? And wearing my coat a lot in the middle of a heatwave.

‘We’re going out afterwards though, aren’t we?’ asked Steph.

‘Yes, we are definitely going out afterwards.’ I said. Every other Monday we went to the pub quiz with Kirk.

‘We’re here,’ called Sinead from a few yards ahead.

A small purple sign above a door on the former warehouse told us we were at The Himalayan Healing Centre.

Stepping through the doors, Steph and I looked at each other and gave approving nods, we were suitably impressed. It was stylish inside, white décor with a few nice touches. Nothing like some of the places Sinead had taken us to before, which were all crystals and musty curtains and sitting on cushions and incense burning everywhere.

White uniformed staff took our names and we paid our £9.95. They said they had run out of five pence pieces so it was actually ten pounds, but still, I wasn’t going to worry about a mere five pence. There was hardly a mirrored skirt in sight. In fact everyone seemed quite ordinary. There was wine and orange juice in champagne glasses on trays on the table. It was more like a spa or one of Steph’s fashion events than Sinead’s hippy gatherings.

Sinead went off to speak to some bloke with weird trousers.

‘Total waste,’ sighed Steph as she watched Sinead flirt with him.

‘He could be so very hot, but those trousers. Eek!’ ‘I said.

‘I know. It shouldn’t be allowed. So, what we are we doing this bank holiday weekend then?’ she asked. ‘The very exciting White Swan beer garden or shall we go into town for shopping and tapas? Or cinema and cocktails?’

‘I was actually thinking of going to the caravan with Mum and Dad. Connor will be working. And I’ve already booked the leave off.’

‘You’re going to Weston? For August bank holiday? Are you crazy? Are you taking your four cats along with you and some knitting?’

‘I love Weston. Anyway, it’s too late to plan anything now. We’d have to research it and organise it.’ I shrugged. ‘And you started knitting, remember? When you read that Gwyneth Paltrow did it? Anyway, Wayne and Colleen have got a caravan now, caravans are cool.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t do knitting for fun, did I? It was an accessory, it’s different. So are you really going? Don’t you want to do something fun instead? Bloody Weston!’ she tutted and rolled her eyes.

I did want to do something fun, I just wanted to plan for it.

Sinead skipped back over to be greeted by an excited Steph who grabbed both Sinead’s arms so tight, it startled her.

‘Hey Sinead. Let’s all go away this weekend. It will be brilliant.’

‘Well, it’s funny you should say that, because I was talking to this guy over there–’

‘You should never trust a man with crazy trousers,’ said Steph, eyeing him up and down.

‘Agreed,’ I nodded, after taking another look.

‘And he said he has four spare weekend tickets for this, and we can have them!’ Sinead beamed and passed a leaflet to Steph.

Steph turned her nose up ‘Camping? That’s even worse than going to a caravan. What is wrong with you two?’ She forced the pamphlet back at Sinead.

I took the leaflet and unrumpled it, smoothing out the creases.

‘Give me a look.’ I said, sensing Sinead’s feelings were hurt. I read out the headline.

‘The Castle Festival. Interesting. Not all mirrors-on-your-skirts business is it?’ I wouldn’t ordinarily be interested, but the free part definitely caught my attention and it would be nice to go away.

‘Why is it free? Is he in a cult? Is that why he has those trousers? Because it’s what they have to wear in his cult?’ Steph questioned.

‘No! It’s not a cult.’ said Sinead. He’s promoting it and he has spare tickets. He said if we took part in a few activities we get to stay in this yurt for free at the Find Yourself Festival field and we get free passes to the Castle Music Festival. And the sheep festival is on.

‘Sheep festival? Back to knitting again are we?’ Steph said.

‘Gwyneth Paltrow goes camping.’ I offered. I was really warming to the free holiday idea. Much better than a fake-cation in the caravan.

‘Anyway, it’s not camping, it’s glamping. We’ll have our own beds in a luxury yurt,’ Sinead offered, trying desperately to sell the idea to Steph, who just rolled her eyes.

A willowy woman appeared. ‘Please ladies, make your way to the Theatre Room.’

‘Come on, I‘m not sitting near the front.’ Steph yanked my arm almost out of my socket and we made our way to the not quite accurately titled ‘theatre’. There were three tiers with black plastic chairs. At least there were chairs, and we didn’t have to sit cross-legged on cushions.

‘We’re not going to have to hug anyone are we? Or talk to imaginary angels?’ I asked. ‘I’m not doing that again. That was a total bloody waste of seven-fifty.’

‘Shush,’ said Sinead.

‘What is that bloody racket?’ Steph shuddered at the sounds coming out of the speakers as we took our seats.

‘It’s chakra music,’ said Sinead tentatively, knowing it wouldn’t go down well with Steph.

‘It’s bloody creepy is what it is. Chakras, my arse.’ muttered Steph.

A woman in a smart white suit and perfectly coiffed blonde hair gracefully walked down the steps on the stage.

‘Namaste!’ she said brightly.

Most people in the room responded as brightly.

‘Oh fuck, here we go.’ muttered Steph.

‘Will you shut your face?’ whispered Sinead angrily.

‘You shut your face.’ Steph said crossing her arms.

A moonfaced mirrored skirt lady on the row in front turned round and smiled kindly at us which I knew from experience of going to Sinead’s new age affairs meant ‘I want all of you to shut your faces but I’m too busy pretending to be uber-positive and have all my chakras in order so I can’t tell you to shut up’.

I imagined that one day, the mirrored skirt lady would probably flip, all that smiling and positivity couldn’t be good for you. You could tell she wasn’t really calm inside. If she was, she wouldn’t have turned round to basically tell us to shut up. It was, I was fairly sure, all an act. One day she’d be queuing up for her henna in The Body Shop and someone would push in, and that would be it. She’d go totally bat crap crazy and go on a rampage, smashing the white musk bottles to the floor screaming like a banshee. The angels wouldn’t be able to help her then.