About 12 years ago, travelling in FNQ with my just pregnant wife. She was not happy, quite unwell. We had made it to Cooktown, and were heading for the tip. My wife woke up in the morning, and said "I want to go home. You can go without me, if you want. Put me on a bus back to Sydney".
I thought about it putting her on a bus. Briefly.
We headed home, first stop the Daintree, some huge campground for backpacker types. We were the only people in a huge area.
We set up quickly, had dinner (not much conversation, I have to say) and went to bed early.
A campervan with a young couple in it turned up, in the dark, and parked so close to our tent I could touch the van.
They proceeded to set up camp, cooked themselves a nice meal, had a few drinks, a few laughs. They were having fun.
In between each of these things, they opened and closed the sliding door of this van innumerable times. I can still hear it. Open. Closed. Open. Closed
Then it got amorous.
They made love. Sweet love. He was fantastic. She was vocal. He was a stayer. He went for what seemed like hours. She loved it.
My wife lay rigid in the bed beside me, with her fists clenched tightly. Sick. Angry. She likes her sleep.
Not happy, Jan
My lovely wife woke me at 0500. She said lets pack and go. Now. No breakfast.
Whilst I packed up everything, she stood at the drivers side door of my Defender, and slammed the door. Over and Over.
Then she took two pots, stood over the tent and banged them together.
Repeatedly.
For a while.
We were the only two vehicles in a huge open campground.
We didn't camp again for a couple of years.
We have only just started camping again (three kids now)
