True story time.
A long time ago, a certain young irish-canuck inveigled a young woman of his acquaintance, who had a pronounced interest in the outoors, on a camping trip. (Let it be stipulated, that said young mick had prurient designs upon the person of said young woman.)
Said young mick, who had not camped much cobbled together a variety of equipment from friends, and gathering young woman, headed off for a weekend of what he hoped would be lustful bliss in the semi-wilderness.
Upon arriving at their destination, said mick and his female companion unpacked his vehicle (an MGB sports car. This is important, so remember it for later) They discovered, alas, that a tent was not among the equipment, but given that it was early summer, and not a cloud dented the heavens, no particular concern was evinced.
The happy young couple hiked, and made a camp, and a fire, ate, and sipped at wine (which fortunately had not remained behind with the tent) indulged in some mild somewhat illegal pharmaceuticals, and became increasingly closely acquainted.
This idyllic scene was interrupted, alas, by the sudden arrival of God's own thunderstorm, complete with icy rain, and nearby lightning strikes. Drenched in an instant, our formerly happy young couple fled back to the young Mick's car, where they huddled miserably against the pouring rain, dealing pathetically with the suddenly appearing minor leaks in the convertible roof.
Needless to say, the prurient designs of our young hero were thwarted, as much by the sudden sogginess of the evening as by the gymnastic contortions required to consummate any kind of intimacy in an MGB.
