Things were already descending into chaos. We quickly joined the rest of the group, trying to pitch the first of the three tents Hester had borrowed from other members of the church. Accompanying the canvas sheet were a bag of long, flexible poles that needed assembling, a load of tent pegs, and a distinct lack of instructions. The slots for the poles were colour-coded, and it all seemed straightforward enough, except that the late April wind roared through the trees, whipping our hair in front of our faces and causing the tent to flap about like a wild bird entangled in a net. It took half of us to keep the tent from taking off, someone else to push an unsettled Pete and Nancy up and down in their pushchair, someone to poke a pole through the right hole in the canvas, someone else to pull the other end, another person to tell them they had got the wrong pole or the wrong hole, someone to push the tent pegs into the mud, two of us to try and start a fire, one of us to keep her hair from getting messed up, another to try to find a mobile phone signal, and all of us to yell suggestions into the wind, most of which didn’t make any sense and none of which helped.
What do You think about The Name I Call Myself (2016)?
