OK, so there are some times in your life when you just have to say it like it is, and meet difficult and somewhat embarrassing subjects head-on. So here goes… I hate cleaning my teeth next to complete strangers.
There, I’ve said it.
Much as I love 99% of the communal spirit you encounter on sites, the one aspect I struggle with is doing my ablutions in the close proximity of others. And, while I am normally fairly open-minded and un-shockable, I’m really not keen on my fellow campmates doing theirs in front of me. It’s a bit like nose pickings. You’ll tolerate yours and those of your young children, but you wouldn’t want much to do with other people’s.
I think I may have become somewhat sensitised by a couple of recent unfortunate on-site experiences. One involves shaving foam, and the other involves a man in a tutu. And both were rather unwelcome… I bet that’s got your mind racing!
Let me set the scene. There I was, one early morning, minding my own business in the washblock, when the person at the sink next to mine decided to have a shave. He began by ejecting enough shaving foam from an aerosol can to extinguish a raging factory fire, then daubed it onto his jowls as if he was auditioning for a job as Santa Claus. As he began to shave, spikey goo made up of a combination of shaving foam and shaved whiskers was flicked in all directions – including onto me. I realise that there are worst bits of bodily waste I could have been covered in, but somehow this felt really gross.
“Sorry mate,” my semi-shaven neighbour said when he realised, before wiping it off me with his – used! – face flannel. I nearly ran from the toilet block.
The following day, having partially overcome the trauma, I returned nervously to the washblock and, having checked that the coast was clear, I settled in by the sink and unpacked my toiletries. Just then, the washblock door was flung open and a middle-aged man in a ballet tutu stood silhouetted against the morning sun. I have no idea why he was dressed like that, and I had no intention of finding out. I sprinted to one of the toilet cubicles and locked myself in, emerging only after I had heard his footsteps departing.
Is it just me? Or do I have a valid reason for being slightly paranoid about visiting caravan site amenities?
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I realise that there are worst bits of bodily waste I could have been covered in, but somehow this felt really gross