August 2013: camping in Kent: marshmallows, cornfields, and near-death experiences – part 2

The next day we fuelled up on coffee and baked beans, in preparation for our renewed mission to find a shop. While washing the dishes, the sunshine was suddenly disappeared, and out came an intense downpour of huge hailstones. Poor Paul was caught in this and had to hurriedly rush for shelter, much to our amusement. The weather continued in this unpredictable manner for the rest of the day.

Armed with sunblock and raincoats, off we headed optimistically in search of the next village along. Data on our phones was pretty much non-existent, and the only map we had to work from was severely lacking in detail, so we relied on this and rough directions given to us at the pub. Keen to avoid a repeat of yesterday’s hair-raising walks along busy roads, we were pleased to find several ‘public walkways’ signposted.

These public walkways however were often not particularly helpful however, with no idea of where the walkway led, we often discovered ourselves in the opposite direction to what we intended. We also ended up crunching our way through a farmer’s cornfields, gaining a few cuts and scratches in the process.

What we were promised was a mere half an hour’s stroll from the first village soon turned into a few hours. We were getting increasingly hungry and fed up with our ridiculous situation. Finally we found our way to civilisation and were keen to have a hearty lunch, which ended up being in yet another pub.

We asked the waiter about the village shop, explaining that we needed some groceries. Perhaps by the word ‘groceries’ meant something grander to him as he said that there was only a very small shop and he didn’t think it would have what we needed. He explained that there was a bus which left from just down the road every hour or so and could take us into the metropolis of Tunbridge Wells where we could get everything we needed.

Suitably sated, we rolled our eyes and headed off to wait for the bus. Finally off we rolled. Two minutes later we saw the infamous shop, which looked like it would have had everything we needed to feed ourselves for the next few meals.

Nevertheless, we found ourselves in Tunbridge Wells and walked around a cute little centre before finding the huge Morrisons. We started stocking up, and then realised that we still had to figure out how to make our way back to camp. By this time we had had plenty enough of trekking our way through paddocks, cornfields, over stiles, and turning ourselves around in circles, and so we decided we would taxi back to the campsite. Fearing an outrageous sum, we enquired with a driver as to the estimated fare, and he guessed a mere £10. Not having to worry about lugging our supplies back over countless miles, we added some cold beers into the trolley.

Our chatty taxi driver was amused by our story, and keen to check out what the camping area was like, drove us all the way to our tent. 

The journey was only twenty minutes.