by edmund burke
The space underneath my house is fitted out like a low-rent nuclear shelter or an Anaconda store a few months into the zombie apocalypse.
A six-man canvas tent, a two-man ‘pop-up’ tent and an ensuite tent snuggle up to a chemical toilet and assorted inflatable mattresses. A butane stove rusts alongside a fold-up table and a wind-up LCD light. Fishing rods lean against my canoe, supporting each other in their redundancy. It’s all there, a coiled spring of stuff, ready and waiting for the annual Burke family one-day camping trip!
I love
