Wet and camping

It's raining. And that's about all I have to say about today.

However, I have completely forgotten to blog about the weekend before last. So as it was lovely and sunny then, I'll blog about that instead.

When OH and his siblings were growing up, they used to go off camping every summer to a field in West Sussex with a group of people from their local church (OH's parents being of good Catholic stock). The fathers (of the kids, not the religious "Fathers") would go down the weekend before they were due to leave to put up the big marquees and dig the holes for the toilets, and take down all the cooking equipment. Then off they would all troop in cars, for those that had them, and a removal lorry, for those that didn't.

For years I have been regaled with stories of the kids all running riot around the field and in the surrounding woods, of lying in the middle of the road to watch the stars, of freewheeling their bikes down the hills and a bell to call everyone for dinner. And so we went back. 20 of us packed up our tents and headed off to the same field for the weekend so that OH, his siblings and their mum could re-live their holidays of 40 years ago.

This can often turn out to be a disaster as things are often never as you remember them. But, apart from the old chapel now being a bunkhouse and everything seeming to be smaller than it was, a great time was had by all. The facilities were basic but there was a functional kitchen and just about functional toilets and showers. But it was private and the children could all run around free as birds, as could The Lurchers. We played silly games and had scary walks in the forest and we even had the bell to call us all to dinner.

No computers, no TVs, no childrens' playgound, nothing but ourselves to entertain ourselves. And we had the best time ever!