Hey there. Remember me? I’m back on the scene following a blast of a summer – albeit a soggy one.
We started off camping here on the banks of the River Teign. Then we hit Cornwall as we had a time limit for a Very Crucial Rendezvous (more later) and stayed in a hideous commercial site here. As soon as we could, we moved further west and pitched in a very rough field in Marazion. Just two portaloos, a tap, a couple of other tents – and us.
That was when the monsoons hit, at which point the children became totally feral like those kids you hear about who have been raised by wolves. By a miracle we survived with nothing worse than a couple of nasty cases of suspected trenchfoot ...
After a week, we (and the rain) moved here on the edge of Exmoor, before inching our way home via a few nights in a farmer’s field in Owermoigne in Dorset.
At first glance you might think we look healthy and tanned, but closer examination reveals the truth. It’s wind burn. We look weather beaten – like North Sea fishermen - with a distant focus in our eyes from cloud watching.
So what was the ultimate high point? Was it seeing the ebb and flow of the River Teign as the tide transformed the landscape from raging river to muddy swamp twice a day? Or how about watching a big fat full moon rising over the hills at Crantock? Or the kids surfing at Fistral Bay with the big guys? Could it have been star gazing at Marazion round a campfire with St Michael’s Mount floating out to sea like a fairy castle in the air? What about seal spotting at Lizard Point? Or maybe being blasted by a steaming power shower in Kentisbury after swimming round in mud for a week with only an outdoor cold tap for washing … And then there was gathering armfuls of peacock feathers and organic fruit and veg on the farm in Dorset … Coming home and making jam and crumble …
But you know already, don’t you? Undoubtedly the greatest high of all was meeting the Mighty Minxster, sweet soul sister, and spending six hours with her on Crantock Beach. G and I watched her until she disappeared over the dunes at the end of this too-little slice of Real Life and my head was full of, ‘But I never asked her about …’ and ‘Oh, I wanted to know more about …’ and ‘We never touched on …’
So, the final verdict: a damp but wonderful summer full of happy memories with a Red Hot Chilli Peppers soundtrack. If holidays are all about doing different things to the rest of the year, we scored full points. I did a brief blog surf from a launderette in Penzance where we went to dry out, and wrote nothing more creative than a shopping list. The days – and nights – were spent velcroed to the children – and I wouldn’t change that for the world.
Only now they’re at school, First Born in secondary with 1399 other kids and Little Guy in Year 4. And I’m back at the laptop.
And so we move onto the next stage of This Life. Thanks for hanging in there while I was away. Expect more. Lots more …