Schadenfreude, sweet schadenfreude

The Wolf and cub went camping for the first time this year at DiveFest, the annoyingly fonted diving beano, held for the first time in the SW. The Wolf's cruel masters decided that the project he works for should have a 'presence' divers being one of the 'stakeholders' the project needs to 'engage with'. This 'fucked off' the Wolf who spends his time talking and arguing with these groups for a day job. Handing out leaflets to disinterested passers by over a weekend, like the poor cow who hands out rum flavoured cheese samples at the local Tescos, is not 'best practice', is not a 'targeted' use of his vast, cold, intellect.

Still, the firm paid for the Wolf cub and a hog roast ticket, so he could sell the trip to the cub as a camping trip at least.

Arriving at the site with White Zombie blasting out of his decrepit Disco (trying to drown out the ubiquitous acoustic drones of this weeks trendy surf croaker from the tents), the Wolf was unsurprised to see probably half a million quids worth of gleaming steroidal 4x4s, over-powered dual engined ribs and vast and complex polygonal canvas structures. These people have serious disposable income issues he thinks. While they like to present themselves as half-Jacques cousteau half-Attenboroughs piratical adventurers, mostly they are middle-class people who can't play golf, but still need A Life Style to reflect and display their status/credit access. Diving will do nicely. You need serious STUFF for that.

The Wolf spent a while diving himself in the past and loved the diving, but not the posturing and gear obsession that went with it. Most of the people he met were determined to tell him how much more their gear cost than his, and at which long range destination they had recently patronised the locals at. Underwater, to the Wolfs fishing conditioned eye, they were nervous and panicky, or operated at levels of idiocy which could potentially leave them and the Wolf dead very quickly in the event of an occurrence outside of the BSAC manual. Not all, to be fair, but most. Back to the woods for the Wolf.

The forecast looked satisfyingly grim, so Wolf and cub spent some time making sure the tent was well-pitched, muttering powerful Ray Mearisms, channelling his pudgy powers as they hammered in the pegs and twanged the guy ropes. They then sat in their luridly cheap deckchairs sipping a Guinness and a lemonade respectively, watching the newly arrived yuppies and their larvae began the construction of their yurt next door. The Wolf knows how expensive these yurt copies are and how they take an age to put up, even if you know what you are doing. Not having the benefit of computer designed mass produced frameworks and modern fabrics, they are neither as weatherproof or as stable as the Wolfs bargain bucket Halfords special. Fun to rent maybe thinks the Wolf, but buy? Presumably they are attractive because of their cost and the statement they make about you? Which from where the Wolf was sitting was screaming TOSSER, in an array of ersatz ethnic fabrics. Once up (a long way from erect in any sense of the word in the Wolfs opinion) the yurt was filled with an array of efnicky-looking stoves, folding divans and throws. Yep, throws. As fine an example of 'Glamping' as the Wolf had ever seen.

Later that night the first of the weekends succession of howling gales hit the raggle taggle middle manager gypsies-o. Nothing to the Wolf and cub, it's what happens every time they go camping (to the point where his son thinks wet weather is camping weather) so no drama. Suddenly, his sensitive ears picked up a blood curdling shriek of pain and loss from next door in the yurt "Do something Charles DON'T just bloody stand there, the salad is EVERYWHERE". The badly pitched yurt had begun to attempt to fly back to its ancestral home on the Mongolian steppes, leaving garlic crushers and drolly patterned wellies everywhere. "I am NEVER coming with you in this bloody ethnic hovel again Charles, what were you THINKING"
Of course the Wolf went to help, he's like that.
Can't stand by and watch a tossers tossed salad tossed...