Last of the Summer Whine

So it's the end of another camping trip for the Millennium Housewife family, the last of the summer unless all those ridiculously optimistic friends of ours are right and we have a 'late summer' (read: few hours of sunshine which everyone desperately and idiotically takes as the summer and walks around in shorts shivering). So we packed away with more care this time, aware of the fearful moment we face each year at the beginning of the camping season when we realise that neither of us removed the old sock/squashed banana/woodlouse family/entire cast of Grease! from the ground sheet and it is about to be presented to us in all it's eight month old glory. In fact Husband and I have been known to draw straws to see who actually has to unpack the tent at this time. I tend to win, I have an extending straw. Thankyou Paul Daniels Magic Kit and my tendency to hoard decades of birthday presents.
It was fun though, the weather held (and when it didn't we held it with an umbrella), camp fires were built, games played and best of all (according to Husband) I didn't insist on cleanliness.
Normally I tend to ruin Husband's camping trips and insist everyone showers at least every other day. Yes, I know that it's all a bit basic and cold but the tendency to build up smell while camping is simply too much to bear. Between campfire smoke, dirt, grass and sleeping in a sleeping bag you have quite a potent mix, hence the insistence of showers.
I do sympathise with Husband, as he puts it he likes to look rustic and really feel the grime. Lovely of course on a campsite with other like minded individuals, but what about when we go out, say on a long walk? If we stopped in a little tea room for refreshment (which we are wont to do) the couple at the next table wouldn't sit and smile genially at Husband and say ah, smell that really smelly man, isn't he enjoying his camping trip Bill? to which Bill would reply; phew! yes, he really is feeling the grime isn't he, what fun. Let's sit here for a while and really take in the smell.
Oh no, much more likely they will look at us suspiciously, wondering why this nice woman and children have befriended the local tramp and lent him some camping gear. They'll shift away to the furthest point that their table will allow (which isn't much in a tea room I assure you) and the wife would say Careful Bill, (obviously all this depends on the lady's husband actually being called Bill, otherwise a Who's Bill? argument would ensue and Husband's odour would thankfully move down the list of Things To Be Discussed Urgently In Hushed Whispers to number nine after: if there's been a Bill how many others have there been? But before: Any other business). Anyway, she'd say: Careful Bill, the man over there really smells don't sit too close. Breathe this way you don't know where he's been. At which point, my hackles will have been raised and I would be forced to leap to the defence of my lovely (but, to be fair, very smelly) Husband and shout He's been camping and he's enjoying himself in his natural state, haven't you ever felt the grime? And stomped off out of the cafe (having left payment and a fair tip). To be honest though, my nerve would probably fail me and I'd just hunch silently at our table, blowing Husband's air down wind. Or else point to a random man and shout to the husband There's Bill, there's the man you want, he's been at it with your wife! And scarper as quickly as possible.