The title suggests a picture of tidy, brightly coloured tents flapping gently in the breeze. The sun is shining, towels and swimsuits hanging on guy-ropes to dry, the smell of frying sausages and mushrooms drifting on to the beach where two campers are basking in the heat and the third is whistling as she watches over the food…

Sounds like a dream! Well, this was the picture my two friends and I imagined when preparing for our two-week Coll holiday. We arrived on the most beautiful day (to be found out later it was the only one!) and, as we got off the boat, the old feeling of freedom swept over us. The long cycle-ride to Ballyhough lay ahead, but what was a few miles when we were on holiday? When we finally reached Ballyhough (after an unfortunate encounter with a Fierce Dog on route!) Allan Brodie, the gallant knight on a shining tractor came to our rescue - we loaded all our stuff onto his trailer and set off through the fields to the beach.

Then the arguments began: which way to face the tent? Who slept on which side? (The Bump - always to be found when camping - was in the middle of the sleeping compartment). Who was to cook the first meal? Finally we agreed that the tent was to face the beach ( to be found out later that not only the strongest wind but also sand and seaweed came from there!) The first cup of sandy, cold tea the cook-of-the-day brewed was certainly not remembered for its refreshing taste hut because of the fact it was our last one.

For, the next morning, when we arrived 'home' from a shopping spree, we found we'd had unexpected visitors. The cows had managed to open the zips to both outside and sleeping compartment flaps to investigate their new neighbours. They'd eaten all our tea bags, leaving the rest of the food untouched, and, having no pen and paper handy, decided to leave a trademark from the heart of their bottoms. Two sleeping bags spent the rest of the holiday pegged to a nearby fence!

The next disaster (or maybe it was to the good for our prepared food was inedible anyway) was that our canister of gas ran out - and the kind of cylinder needed for our stove was unobtainable on the island. We'd just got used to living off tinned fruit and cold custard when the worst thing that could happen, happened - the Gale Force Ten!

Returning tired and hungry to Ballyhough after a trip to the village, one of us went on down to the tent to fetch a tin of soup. A while later she returned with a plastic bag full of food supplies and the news that the tent 'had had problems' battling against the storm. What an understatement! What we actually found, after struggling against the wind (and gloating cows) was a scene of wreckage: the framework was the only remaining clue that a tent had once been pitched there; the canvas had travelled halfway up a sand-dune, and bedding, clothes and rubbish were littered everywhere! The cooker and gas-cylinder remained in their solitary positions - ironically, the only completely useless bits of equipment we had! We managed to clear the site - unbending the frame, scampering after floating debris and trying to pack the ripped canvas into it’s positively shrunken cover. And all this in a Force Ten wind! The rest of the holiday we spent in Ballyhough house, thanks to the kindness of Val Conway.

The holiday was not as bad as it sounds. In fact it was a howling (?) success and we will be returning this year for another two weeks of "interrupted bliss"!