We have been planning to take the children away for a few days camping for quite some time. We bought a new tent, sleeping bags for the children, and did a deal with Wendy’s Dad over their camping equipment.
The deal went something like this - yes, we could borrow their camping stove on condition that we (a) didn’t take it back, and (b) took the rest of their camping equipment and put it in our loft instead.
We got away with everything except their 1960s frame tent - which we worried would risk the foundations of our house if I winched it into the loft (it’s size and weight are the stuff of legend in our family).
So - on Wednesday morning we found ourselves travelling off towards the west of England to a campsite in the mendip hills. The weather forecast was variable but we are fairly experienced at camping and didn’t forsee any great problems if the weather was bad beyond the children getting bored.
We obviously didn’t expect our tent to experience catastrophic structural failure.
We had just spent a wonderful day at Wookie Hole - a wonderful subterranean cave system in the middle of nowhere - and had a great meal at a nearby pub. We stayed for an extra drink because the weather outside looked pretty bad.
What we didn’t know was the rest of the country was being shown pictures of the area we were staying - with homes being evacuated, flash floods taking cars away, and various other armageddon type situations.
We carried the sleeping children to the car and returned to the camp site after the rain lessened a little - at perhaps 8pm. I was first into the tent, and discovered a huge puddle just inside the door. Wendy’s observational abilities were obviously better than mine - she walked in and noticed the entire roof of the tent was hanging in at a crazy angle.
Over the next 30 seconds we decided to pack everything, rip the tent down and get the children home to their beds. They had a wonderful morning playing with other children on the camp site, and a fantastic afternoon in the caves. We weren’t about to ruin it with a bad night in a cold and broken tent (or even with us all sleeping in the car).
While throwing stuff into the back of the car - stuffing it in any which way - I kept checking on the children, who were wrapped in blankets and sleeping bags - and discovered our 4 year old in tears. This is a lesson to all parents who lift the world onto their shoulders to protect their children - she thought the frantic work of her Dad, who by now was soaked to the skin was her fault… she thought we were going home because she had done something wrong.
A huge cuddle, and summoning of every bit of optimism later, she seemed to be over it, and we carried on the superhuman efforts in the rain.
In the middle of this, the rain of course got worse - and to make things worse still, after leaving the campsite I realised my wedding ring was no longer on my finger. We turned around, and I spent fruitless minutes scanning the place our tent had once been - in vain.
We set off for home with a frightened, upset and very awake little girl repeatedly making observations in the back of the car while her sisters slept. She does this - when worried or upset, she states the obvious about anything and everything. All she’s really doing is finding out if you are listening.
We arrived home just after midnight, and carried the children to their beds. They slept half clothed, with new cuddly dinosaurs from Wookey Hole. The great adventure drew to a close, and they woke the next day to a warm dry house, and chocolate stars for breakfast.
Myself and Wendy woke to mounds of washing, camping equipment, and ruined boxes of food and drink to sort out. Two days later we are getting nearer to clearing it, but it’s been a hard slog. I spent 5 hours straight ironing today as the washing machine and tumble dryer pumped out clothes. I will do the same again tomorrow.
Postscript - the wedding ring turned up in the roof box of the car the next morning. I don’t think Wendy had ever seen me so upset about losing something…
