This was in the Times ages ago (in May), but I am still cross about it.
"Anna Maxted sets out for a night in the wild, no tent allowed."
Anna Maxted? Who? Why? What for? Who cares?
In the course of the article Anna Maxted reveals herself to be a privileged rich person with a strongly developed ability to delude herself. She took part in one cossetted night's camping for which other people did all the preparation, fetching, carrying and clearing up afterwards; but she thought she had trekked successfully and self-reliantly across the Amazon Basin, discovered source of Nile, been to N & S Poles and ascended Mount Everest without oxygen cylinders.
Paragraph 1 : Poor Anna is cold. Her thermal fleece is a horrid colour. She has built herself a shelter (I bet) out of logs and leaves. She is lying in it. Mistake, Anna! What a fool she is. Everyone knows the first thing you do in camping is make a fire, before anything else happens. Fires are comforting and cheerful. You light the fire, have some beer, then build a shelter, if you still want one. No-one cares what colour their clothes are, as they'll soon be covered in mud anyway.
Paragraph 2 : She explains that she has signed up for a Survival and Bushcraft Course and she is doing this for feminist reasons, to show how clever women are. She says she "bristled with outrage" because Bear Grylls (a celebrity he-man who does camping on television) might be better at survival than her. Her reasoning was that automatically due to being a woman she would be better than all men at everything. This seems odd, since I have NO DOUBT that her extensive back-up team consisted largely of men, except for the make-up artistes who readied her for the photographs.
Paragraph 3 : She admits to having once worn Gucci Clogs (What they? - Ed.) (see below, Ed) for cliff-walking (what ever that is). This is supposed to establish her Londony credentials. She did not like camping when she tried it a few years ago. Well done, Anna. Camping is disagreeable and inconvenient. I don't like it either because I require hot running water, a squashy bed with linen of thread count > 40,000, and clean clothes, also proper cooked food on china, at a table and with wine in crystal, thanks.
 |
| A Gucci clog. Ideal as you can see for all forms of walking activity. This is the sort of item that causes Exmoor to deny the existence of London. |
 |
| Exmoor boots for either sex. "London? I don't believe there's any such place," say the farmers. |
Paragraphs 4-94 : Anna tells us more about the bushcraft course. Things have gone badly, right from the start. She has found that she can't even travel by Land Rover without bashing her pretty little head on the window. The fact that she mentions it shows what a weed she is and she would not last 5 mins on Exmoor where girls are expected to spend their nights lambing 85 sheep while fending off advances from Lothario of the neighbouring farm, their days whipping-in to their father/brother/aunt on a great charger with the D&S Staghounds, and the evenings running up and down Porlock Hill dressed as Father Christmas to raise charity money for the Air Ambulance. The Air Ambulance is held in kind regard on Exmoor as it is the only way of getting to hospital with the ailments that plague the moor, eg. chainsaw-related lacerations, wounds sustained during brawls in lawless village of Brendon, injuries from being run over by quad bikes, and consequences of the lethal pairing of combine harvesters and alcohol; although in practice most people round here just self-medicate with ketamine and a welding torch in such emergencies.
They (Anna and the instructor, who is also a woman but marginally less silly than Anna) drive in the distressing Land Rover to the Lake District, where they take 3 hours to build a shelter. Real campers would have taken a tent. Anna sleeps badly in the shelter. "I need a pillow," she complains. Why didn't she use her wallet, eh, stuffed as it almost certainly was with nice soft £50 notes. Those Gucci clogs don't look as though they would make a comfortable pillow, unlike the Exmoor boots which are often used for the purpose in the lambing sheds of the South West.
Next morning Anna announces that she won't drink until they've made a fire or eat until they have foraged. What a weirdo! Personally when undergoing something nasty like camping I would want to be drinking constantly and nothing less than 4.5% vol. Worse still, the daft Anna means she will forgo ANY LIQUID AT ALL, not just alcohol. I can't see this turning out well.
The women are absolutely USELESS at making a fire. They "tramp for miles to locate a dead branch of sycamore" - in a WOOD! They carve a spindle, friction creates wood dust and so on and so on... Why in the name of Jesus Mary Joseph and all the Martyrs didn't they just bring some matches with them? They got up at 6am, and have the fire alight by 3pm. They haven't eaten yet, or, presumably, drunk either. These women are INSANE. The instructor woman tells Anna "That was excellent. You are very strong." Well she'd have to be, wouldn't she, doing all that with no food or sustenance of any type. I think the instructor woman's enterprise should be shut down, she's a danger to everyone including herself.
However it is easy to detect that the whole thing is a actually lie. Look at Picture A below, where Anna has brought a completely pointless twig and is adding it proudly to the very feeble fire they have got going. And fancy lugging a big cooking pot like that with you, but not bringing matches. Idiots. In Picture B the fire shown is a different one, which you can tell because it's in a different location. It was probably made by the helpers, using flamethrowers, petrol and coal shipped in by helicopter. In real camping you would not bother making 2 fires. One would be ample for the supposed 2 people on this expedition. What are they cooking in that pot anyway? A ready-made luxury casserole from Waitrose, I expect. Anna makes no mention in her article of bravely slaying a tasty unicorn in the forest or catching a trout or anything. All we are told is that she gathered a few sorrel leaves and a roasted (sic) dandelion root.
 |
| Picture A |
 |
| Picture B |
Later that day, an elated Anna goes home convinced that she has proved herself capable of joining an Expedition to the Borneo Jungle. I can't say I'd expect her to be an asset. Her Gucci clogs might be useful for firewood and the £50 notes would do for kindling, but apart from that she will contribute only trouble.
