Today I have been to Glasgow, more specifically to Loch Lomond, because I am going to be on the cover of a magazine. Don’t worry I haven’t sold out and gone all Vogue on you dear readers… I am to be the cover girl of the November issue (naturally, printed in September) of… Practical Caravan Magazine.
Oh yeah!
Do you need a cara that is both a van and practical? To you need a van with some pre cara that is practical? Are you practical but homeless? Because, as of today… I can help you.
It turns out being a model is slightly less glamorous than being a comedian if I’m honest. I spent a large portion of my day sitting with my faux husband pretending to eat breakfast with him. We ate a lot of breakfast. Dry breakfast because the milk bottle was too big for the picture and looked weird apparently… this worries me that caravan users might get a little bunged up due to eating large amounts of dry cereal. We also poured much coffee from an empty caffetiere and looked entirely happy about it.
It has been entirely important to look happy all day. Even when just staring into the distance I had to smile as though this was the happiest I’d ever been. For me, this is the most basic flaw in the Practical Caravan approach to photography. I’ve seen a lot of campers and caravanners in my life and they rarely, if ever, beam at you incessantly as though there was nowhere else they would like to be. In fact, they often look a little glum. And damp. Today, we were all damp.
In case I had any aspirations to be the next Kidd sister, it turns out I probably don’t have the stature to be a proper model. I can hear the shocked tone in which you are reading. My fake husband was so much taller than me that we actually had to cart the steps to the caravan around with me to stand on so that I didn’t look like a midget that had been kidnapped and taken to Scotland. It was rather embarrassing to have to keep climbing off and moving my little steps every time the camera man asked us to shuffle a little to the left or the right.
I love the ethos of camping… it’s like a little two fingers up to the rest of civilisation. “I like shit.” That’s basically what you’re saying if you go camping… you’re saying, “Yes, we can have all the mod cons and whistles and bells and etcs etcs but I would rather sit under a large coat in the rain with my loved ones.”
Camping forces you to interact, it forces people to make do with each other and the world badly needs this. No problem couldn’t be solved by putting the instigators into a tent and leaving them next to a lake for 2 weeks with a camping stove and no tin opener for the ravioli. I know for a fact Paul Gascoigne agrees with me on this point.
Back in Edinburgh, the forces of the Fringe have been rumbling on without me… we are no only 36 hours away (ish) from our first show of Ink. It’s all coming together nicely and I am insanely excited. In fact, I’m so excited that I’m off to sew some crosswords into a jacket. Intrigued? You should be…
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