"Stop comparing everything to the O.C"

I can hear Phantom Planet already.

Second dossy weekend, second camping trip. However, unlike the alcohol-fuelled spontaneity of the Withnail adventure, our little jaunt to the Northumbrian coast was led by a true pro of seaside camping, and I subsequently lost my 'OC moment' virginity.
I've never really lived near the coast. Actually, I've never lived anywhere near the coast, so the seaside is still as massive novelty for me, especially that belonging to Blighty. Subsequently, British seaside activities such as beach cricket, tent-pitching and shivering all fill me with glee.
As the camping god was clearly looking down on us kindly, the predicted monsoon held off and there was beautiful sunshine all day, allowing a load of epic photos to be taken which anyone who has subsequently admitted to stalking my facebook has commented on.
From plunging to what I was convinced was a certain death or shin-splintering off the top of a sand dune, to rolling down one, lugging drift wood to make a megafire, cooking more meat than we could ever eat, having deep conversations and watching the sunset, I was filled with the glee of the first-time young person obligatory experience.
Yes, I know I kept comparing it to the O.C, but when you're toasting marshmallows on a campfire and listening to a combination of Imogen Heap and rolling waves, whilst discussing Bob Dylan, could it really be anything else?