Wet wet wet

With side orders of cold, damp and soggy. English camping weather at its finest. Little Fish is delighted; I told her if it rained we could eat at the campsite cafe. And then the heavens opened and the weather forecast predicts more of the same for the rest of the week. Joy. Mog is less impressed; her new preferred horizontal position doesn't work quite as well in the driving rain.

I didn't want to come away this week for many reasons, one smallish one amongst many being the fact that I put my tent away dry after New Wine, and I didn't want to get it wet again. And now I'm hunched in one corner of that same tent, wedging the groundsheet over the sod cloths with anything heavy and non-electrical, mopping up a large annoying puddle in the non-sleeping room (and very thankful it isn't the sleeping one), wishing I hadn't upset the many men on site who didn't help put our tent up. Mainly because they arrived after us so couldn't.

Still, we're here, and we've spent a beautiful day catching up with friends we only see one year to the next. We've met new friends, seen children we've only met through photos, and eaten chips. That was about the plan for the week anyway; can we come home now?

Tia