No, not some weak homoerotic phrasing there.

I literally mean… we’re meant to be camping, outside, at the mercy of the elements — but… we now lack a tent.

Because we’re in the middle of ‘the worst storm this year’.

We had a tent 24 hours ago. Then, about 12 hours ago, when I went to check on it,  there was no tent. There was evidence of where a tent might have once been — some pegs, some shattered rods from its exoskeleton… but not much else.

Obviously, at 4 in the morning, with driving, horizontal sleet-rain it’s fairly hard to get your bearings. So two of us ended up in the car, where I’m told it got very, very cold — and two of us slept inside, under our computer desks.

Sadly there are no photos… because I didn’t take my camera outside into the hurricane-force winds.

I currently look very dishevelled, and in the words of my cousin: ‘like some kind of 1980s sex machine’.

I’m not sure what we’re doing tonight… maybe I can just sneak into someone else’s tent and pretend I know them…

‘Alright mate! Yeah! Sorry, I’m a bit drunk… great game we had earlier eh? You totally owned those noobs. Anyway, we should get some sleep, yeah.’

The seeking of solace and the end of religion
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I am a tall, hairy, British writer who blogs about technology, photography, travel, and whatever else catches my eye.