There's An Englishman And A Scotsman Sitting In A Tent

"I need to upgrade my camp lifestyle." says Mr King, the Scotsman. It's 3.35 in the afternoon. We’re here on a spontaneous trip down to Dorset and I'm sitting with Mr King in the foyer of the Artemis 400 - in other words the living compartment of my tent. After many years of 'stooped' camping, I've recently gone 'stand-up' and Mr King is envious. The rain belts down on the canvas. We're trapped. Delightfully so.

I suggest to Mr King we have a sandwich. It's neither breakfast, brunch, lunch, tea, dinner or supper time but all that goes out the PVC window when you're camping. Eat what you want, when you want... in a tent.

"Yes. A sandwich. What you got?" enquires Mr King.

"Mackerel pâté" I reply nervously.

"Mackerel pâté?"

"I know. Bit strange. I don't even think I like it. Just thought it fitted the camping vibe."

"I'd say crab paste would have been more apt. Mackerel pâté’s more like something one would have at a funeral."

"A funeral? No, it's more upbeat than that. I'd say a 60th birthday party or perhaps a Bar Mitzvah."

"Do the Jewish eat mackerel?"

"Yes, it's shellfish they're not keen on."

"So no crab paste then."

"Exactly. Mackerel pâté is truly multi-cultural. If we all got flooded in by this torrential rain my sandwiches would help everyone on the campsite stay alive - no matter what their religion."

"What if they were vegetarian?"

"I've got some Laughing Cow triangles somewhere."

"What if they were vegan?"

"I've got some honey."

"No good - it's an animal product."

"But bees are insects?"

"Still an animal."

“Damn.”

Our vegan dilemma and fears of an apocalyptic campsite flood ease as the rain abruptly subsides. And after a brief moment of silence the sounds start up. Sheep pontificating in adjacent fields, young rascals screaming whilst having their hair pulled by older siblings, parents discussing what to barbecue later whilst opening car doors and boots.

However, myself and Mr King are happy to remain seated in the foyer of the Artemis 400, our only sound the slightly unsure munching of mackerel pâté sandwiches.