I have watched a lot of “Hunted” of late. I think I would be amazing at it. The trick is to not phone anyone. So, that’s me. It’s a win.
I imagine I would love it. All I need to do is to wait ….. (parallel universe)…. and then go to Tiso, buy myself some wild camping kit, apply to go on the show and then … go on the show.
I would run, run, run off grid to places I had never heard of and hunker in bushes for a month, then pop up, get on a helicopter and win.
What makes me the perfect contestant for this show? Well, I am hardly likely to phone anyone, am I? I hate phones. Then there’s that achilles’ heel they always look for – that someone can’t go a month without touching base with a spouse or a kid…. Then there’s that thing where in the last week of the show they all start homing like daft pigeons.
Just don’t go home….
So, as you can imagine, when the daughters suggested we camp out in the garden, this was right up my street. In my garden, in fact. Anything to break up the lockdown monotony. We could kid on we were away the weekend or indeed on the run.
We had just watched a Toff and Stanley on the run episode and then we piled out into the tent to avoid the Hunters.
Birdsong, traffic and a light breeze. Toff and Stanley flickering through my subconscious with my shopping list for Tiso. Me, not phoning anyone. Running to the extraction point. I’m going to win…
After not very long, I wake up needing the toilet. But I don’t want to wake the daughters. I go back to sleep. I wake up again. My right hip is aching like I am in the third trimester. It’s weird though – I am on an actual mattress. I shift about a bit, careful not to annoy my bladder. With hip and bladder out of harm’s way, I drift off again.
A wee draught gets into my sleeping bag. The zip is broken. Don’t know why I picked this sleeping bag – after all, this is the one that nearly killed me by being sadly inadequate in sub zero temperatures at the Grand Canyon in 2001… I shiver and drag myself back to the present with my regrettable sleeping bag, my aching hips, my aching back and my aching legs. How rubbish is this mattress?
At 5.30, everything was in pain. Aching from head to foot, I gave up and rolled out of the tent and into the house, got myself some tea, toast’n’chocolate spread and settled down to some BBC News 24.
My whole wild-camping strategy is now somewhat in tatters. I am arguably too old and decrepit to sleep in a tent. Maybe even Stanley Johnson could give me a run for the money. Unless the key is to go to Tiso with a bigger budget than I imagined, for a hip-friendly belter of a Therma-rest Self-Inflating mat.
So, we finished all of the “Hunted” and “Celebrity Hunted” shows last night. One star of the show is the psychologist Donna Youngs, who can read the competitors’minds and predict their strategy and reactions, just by scrolling their social media.
My daughter has pointed out, that by writing this post, I have become very easy to catch.
But then, just like the most predictable contestants, I am, of course, at home.