Kathy knew I was English, she explained, because I’d said "Brilliant" and "Cheers" on the phone. Mostly my response to news that she’d a washing machine I could use. It was her own as the campground she managed didn’t have a Laundromat and the site was a little out of town. And she hadn’t asked if I was Australian.
Reaching the campground at dusk, I’d met Kathy at the site office. Actually her trailer. Greeted by two friendly Boston terriers and her husband, heading out for work. There were, she explained, options. I’d guessed as much on the phone. Perhaps something she’d said, her tone maybe. But I just knew there’d be more to it than a simple pitch for the night.
It was, she said, hexagonal, but everyone called it the Roundhouse. A fair approximation I replied, smiling. Set up on stilts, it had lights inside and out, somewhere to roll out your sleeping mat, and the washroom was close by. Kept it for her passing cyclists. Of course, I could camp where I liked. But the building was there if I wanted it. Explaining I was never one to make life difficult for myself, I accepted enthusiastically.
