I am such a bad Blogger

These last two weeks have been busy and I have to apologise for not spending enough time commenting on Blogs. I promise that I am reading you but just struggling to leave comments as well. At least, my brain can come up with nothing better than platitudes and I hate doing that. I have two days off this week so I will play catch up then.

So, if you haven't deserted me for being so awful yet, here's the story of our recent, partially disastrous, camping trip.

Two cars loaded, yes two cars, we don't travel light you know! Actually, Himself's car was filled with logs for the bonfire and most of the camping gear and mine was packed with The Lurchers (Brodie was in kennels for the weekend, safest option all round), the rest of the camping gear and Himself's mother and all her stuff.

Did I say all the camping gear? We arrived at our camping ground and as we pulled up, I opened the window of the car and asked Himself if he'd remembered to pack the airbed. His face told me the answer and it was an emphatic no. And neither had I. So the Lurchers got their lovely, padded camping dog-beds and we got the bedrolls. Strike 1.

We got the tent up, without argument, and as I unloaded the car I spotted the spare pair of socks I always keep in the boot. Oh shit. The sight of them had struck a chord. Had I remembered to pack any clean underwear? Another emphatic no. Strike 2.

So the rest of the afternoon was spent in a mad dash trying to find somewhere to buy underwear. I rang my friend Ali who only lives 15 minutes away for advice. Oh come here she said, I have some brand new ones you can have. Ali, you are a star and I loves you lots!!

Knicker problem solved, the rest of the afternoon passed relatively calmly. Once night fell, we lit the bonfire and sat around chatting. As I had to be up at 6am to head off to the show I was attending with Greyhound Gap, I turned in for an early night. Jimjams. Did I pack any jimjams. Oh, guess what, another resounding no. Strike 3. One t-shirt and spare socks from the boot later and I was snuggled up in my duvet.

6am my alarm buzzed in my ear and even the Lurchers told me to bugger off, there was no way they were getting up for a pee. I headed for the shower and turned it on. Cold. No, ice bloody cold. Strike 4. I grabbed my gear, jumped in the car and headed for Ali's house where we were all meeting to head off to the show together. She opened the door to be greeted by a dishevelled me pleading for a shower. When you have a friend that will give you their brand new knickers and not be fazed by you standing on their doorstep at 6.30am asking to have a shower, you know you have a very good friend! Ali, I loves you even more!!

Saturday passed and I headed back to the campsite around 8pm. When I got back, Himself asked me if I'd tried to call him. I had, but hadn't been surprised when the phone went to voicemail as the reception there is dire. Umm, he said, I dropped my phone in the fire and it's burnt to a cinder. My first thought was "that was your damn Christmas present" and then shook my head at how unsurprised I was. Strike 5.

Saturday night was more of the same, sat around the bonfire chatting and again I turned in early.

Sunday morning I didn't even bother with the shower, just jumped in the car and headed straight to Ali's. She was at least expecting me this time!

As we left Ali's the thunder rumbled in and the rain started. And it kept raining most of the day. Strike 6. All of us on the stall were miserable and fed up, although the situation was improved by the fact that the mad lurcher and greyhound people turned up in droves. They kept us busy snogging their hounds all day!

When I arrived home on Sunday evening, I was greeted by Himself with his hands strapped in bandages. What on earth have you done I asked. Burnt my hands was the reply. How? Firesurfing. Strike 7. I think the withering look I gave him made him realise he was not going to get much sympathy. Apparently he'd done it on Friday night but he didn't realise the extent of the burns until the skin started blistering on Sunday. Fortunately for him, the burns are not deep and have only blistered the top layer of skin. And, being the cruel woman I am, I've told all the boys at work and they will rib him mercilessly next time they see him.

And he deserves nothing less.