Many moons ago, as a newly emerging writer, I wrote about a woman in America who lived under a bridge.

To keep her spirits up, and to try and stay optimistic, she would tell herself on bad days that it was “just like camping”.

We both knew that it wasn’t… ”Like camping” didn’t even come close to how she was living.

To go camping means that you get an actual pitch for your tent… It means that no-one comes to move you on, calls you names or steals your things.

You don’t get pissed on in the night.

“Going camping” means access to clean drinking water; it means toilet, laundry and shower facilities… it means that you don’t have to get dehydrated, get a UTI or make like a bear and shit in the woods.

 

You and your clothes get to stay clean…

 

But the absolute best thing about “going camping”?

 

Some of us actually get to go home…