The sun is blazing,my flat feels like a preheated oven, and the only thing standing between me and my impending camping triumph is aColeman Darwin 2tent currently lying in an uncooperative heap on my living room floor.
The instructions claim it’s “quick-pitch” and “intuitive to assemble”—phrases I now suspect were written by someone with a very dark sense of humour.
Dressed in my yoga pants and an old T-shirt that’s clinging to me in ways no fabric should, I wipe sweat from my forehead and give it another go.
Step One: Lay out the tent
Easy enough. I shake out the fabric, spreading it over my floor. It immediately tries to refold itself into a wrinkled mess. I flatten it again, eyeing the pieces.
Step Two: Assemble the poles and insert into the pins
I frown at the two long, bendy, black fibreglass poles that seem to have a life of their own. After a brief wrestlingmatch, I manage to slot them together, feeling vaguely accomplished.
Now, the pins.
I glance at the tent. There are no pins… although I am not sure what these pins are supposed to look like.
I consult the instructions again.Insert the poles into the external pin and ring system.
What the fuck?
I flip the paper upside down, as if that will suddenly make it clearer. It does not.
Right. Guessing it is.
I try threading a pole through the small fabric loops, but that doesn’t seem right. The whole thing flops over, nearly dragging two gnomes off my coffee table.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I shout.
After some trial and error (and only one minor trip over a stray guy rope), I realise the poles need to arch. When I finally manage to slot them into the metal pins at the base, the tent suddenly springs up, its shape coming together in a way that feels a little bit like magic.
I gasp. “Oh my God, I did it.”
Step Three: Attach the tent fly
Thank God for Google because without it, I wouldn’t have a clue what a guy rope is or a tent fly. But now I do. The tent fly is the extra layer of fabric that I somehow forgot about and is currently discarded on my sofa. It’s the waterproof bit.
I drape it over the top, securing it in place with a series of Velcro straps that seem to appear out of nowhere.
Step Four: Secure the guy lines
I find the thin white ropes hanging off the sides of the tent, “designed for stability in windy conditions,” asGoogle tried to explain to me. Not exactly necessary in my flat, but if I’m going to do this, I may as well go all in.
I try to knot one to a bookshelf. It immediately slaps me in the face.
“Brilliant.”
By the time I finish tying them off—mostly to my furniture, since I don’t fancy hammering tent pegs into my carpet—I step back and assess my work.
A fully upright, real-life tent, standing proudly in the middle of my living room.
I wipe my hands on my thighs, panting slightly. “Look at that. Queen of the great indoors.”
Sure, it takes up most of my living room. Sure, I may have knocked over a lamp in the process. And yes, my pouffe is now trapped inside the tent, but I did it.
And if I can put up a tent in my flat, then surely I can do it in an actual field.
Right?
