Paddy Pallins
I come from a long line of fairly intrepid people. My family includes explorers, mountaineers, pioneering missionaries, winter olympics competitors, high achievers in the military, hunters, fisherfolk, kayakers and sailors. And yet somehow I’ve ended up being about the least intrepid person I know. I respect but cannot fathom people’s decisions to spend their precious holiday time on horrors such as white water rafting or bungee jumping when they could be in a nice cosy cafe with a book or a friend or both (or neither).
All that said, a curious yearning has been pulling at my heart strings lately, associated with images like this one:
The yearning has been rubbed much sorer by recent visits to camping shops like Paddy Pallins and Kathmandu. It might just be the aesthetic appeal of those brightly coloured fleecy goretexy fabrics and matt stainless steel water bottles. Maybe the multitasker in me is made glad by the very thought of having an object that is a knife, fork and spoon all in one. Perhaps I’m imagining freedom from the weight of the trappings of adulthood when I am delighted by the impossible lightness and smallness of high-end tents and sleeping bags. And even though I’ve no real intention of ever hovering about in sub-zero temperatures, or insanely high altitudes, or dangerously low ocean depths, how very nice to think that an energy efficient torch no bigger than my finger could function perfectly in all of them.
I wonder if this longing means that there is a hint of family intrepidness in my blood after all and perhaps I am being called to some sort of adventure in Antarctica or the Himalayas? If this past year has taught me anything, it’s that even the wildest of dreams are worth a shot.
Dreaming aside, the realist in me can’t help suspecting that (in my case at least) the experience of ascending Everest with a backpack and tent might best be appreciated in fantasy, leafing through Paddy Pallins catalogues in a lovely warm cafe.
