If you go down to the woods




As summer continues to wind down I need to reflect upon all that has been. One of the many good things to come out of blogging is the recording of moments that might otherwise have been forgotten.




I am simply dreadful at doing anything with those hundreds, no, thousands, of photographs digitally stored. So at least the blog creates a record of sorts. Enough to jog a memory. Enough to make a smile.



So it would be very remiss of me not to blog about our Yorkshire adventure.



Early in August two mummies and four children went Glamping. The mummies packed wrecklessly without the influence of their husbands. They casually flung things into their cars with no regard for creating a neat and tidy boot space, no consideration whatsoever for the science of packing the car.



One mummy packed no waterproofs or fleeces. She sensibly reasoned that it would only be more washing at the end of the day.



They brought an interesting selection of food. There were three different varieties of olive oil. Some brioche rolls. One cooked ham. One large sticky ginger cake. Four bottles of jolly good wine. A box of cocoa Shreddies. A jar of stuffed peppers. And plenty of chocolate.

The first evening's dinner was declared a great success by the five year old in particular. At the age of five life doesn't get much better than Brioche ham sandwiches and ginger cake all on the same plate.




Day two and the Mummies had grand ambitions centred around the barbeque. Two chickens, a tray of roasted vegetables and maybe a cream sauce. Several hours later they laughed together in the kitchen as they mashed assorted root vegetables and tore the half-cooked meat from the chicken carcass with the help of a bread knife. The haphazardly filleted chicken pieces were quite successfully sauted over the two ring gas burners and the Mummies agreed that barbecuing certainly should be left to men, indeed, they are most welcome to it.



Dinner was quite late that night. The twelve year old had rather overdone things through the day and one bite of creamy chicken was too much. You have never seen so much vomit.

In a tent.

One Mummy cupped her hand and the other held a saucepan out. The Mummies still laughed.

It rained every night. Heavily. But we kept the wood stove burning and rather enjoyed the noise of it. It dampened spirits not one bit. And I think the children enjoyed the outdoors all the more for the mud.

By day three the Mummies had lost track of time altogether. I know we ate chocolate and ginger cake but cannot remember much else. We all appeared to thrive on whatever meals were eaten and at whatever strange times of day. The children were completely feral now.




All refused any suggestions of bathing apart from five year old who had become quite entranced by the "funny bath".

The children were rarely seen but sometimes their war-cries could be heard in the distance, as they ran through the woods with the pack.




They could generally be rounded up late at night, the rustle of a marshmallow packet usually brought them to the fireside.




Day five. Some people ate meringues with cream and strawberries for breakfast.

It was so very hard to leave.

*We stayed at the Jolly Days Campsite in Yorkshire and I simply cannot recommend it highly enough. The sort of holiday that dreams and memories are made of.