Sunday, August 27, 2017

Aftermath and return

I have set my face against camping ever since an unspeakable family camping holiday in Devon in 1976. Our tent was very pleasant, for a tent. After we lurched into bed we found the airbed was slightly on a slope, and after a few hours of sliding off the airbed onto our heads Lorraine had the brainwave that it might be a better idea to have our pillows at the other end. This, plus the effects of a good deal of alcohol, a cold night and all the sliding meant I barely slept at all. We did have a strangely romantic walk to the toilets through the dew sodden grass in the early morning light with the landscape looking beautiful at six in the morning.

Despite a distinct absence of bounce (which turned out to be a widespread phenomenon among co-revellers) Lorraine and I enjoyed the day very much. Down to the barn again, where restorative buns full of bacon sausages and eggs, and mugs of tea and a good deal of talking. A lull in the middle of the day, Lorraine slept and I had a lovely chat with Jax, now working with Matt. Then we sauntered over to the FB and Max's tent where a few friends had gathered. Max gave Lorraine and I inflatable seats which deflated from time to time and forced us to sprawl on the floor to general hilarity. Lovely to be hanging out with them. Lots had begun drinking again, a thing I couldn't face at all.

Then to partake of a hog roast, lovely slices of meat in a bun with stuffing and applesauce. After this Lorraine and I spent about half an hour making fond farewells to Isy and Matt and other friends old and new. It had been such a nice time, and great to see everyone.

Lorraine sufficiently repaired to make the long drive home from Barleyford Farm all the way to Brighton, with just one stop. We set off at about half five, and made it home at quarter to eleven, still listening to The Weirdstone of Brisingamen. It was a clever move driving home on Sunday night, because the next day was a bank holiday and the roads would have been murder.

Home at last, bumped into Rosie and Innis picking up their car, as they had kindly cat sit for us, and were driving home to Hove (their place is being repaired after a ghastly flood from the floor above). Lorraine and I sloped quickly to bed, oh God the joy of one's own bed is hard to convey.

Below, the view at the end of the Barnfield: hanging out with a few pals in the afternoon, Lorraine, First Matie, Ian (Matt's best man), Nicola, and Max; Max again, a man whose name I didn't learn, the bridegroom Matt, the French Bloke; the French Bloke and Jagdeep; finally one of my lovely wife Lorraine at the wheel speeding through gorgeous countryside, something we did lots of in the last few days.

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