I used have a tent called Henry. It slept (or drank would be more correct) four and I had Henry painted on the flysheet in Gothic script. Myself and whoever would get out on the road on a Friday and just stick out our sign which read anywhere please. Which, as you can guess, is where we ended up. Usually it was some kip like Leighlinbridge or Urlingford but now and again we managed to get somewhere interesting like Achill or Black Sod. The strangest was when we pitched Henry in the sitting room of a rented house in Naas. Rented by six nurses. A tent and a six-pack. Heaven.