Bell tents and Buckfast

After a lot of 'shall we, shan't we' we finally got to try out our new tent last weekend.

I spent the journey whingeing about not wanting the new tent to get wet and muddy, the kids moaned about there not being a constant supply of Hula Hoops, and Tom said he was feeling ill.

We drove deep into Wales through dismal greyness, hit a horrendous rain storm, and spirits were very low indeed.

But, on arrival at our campsite, the rain seemed to miraculously stop, the clouds moved away, and our friends were there to greet us with Buckfast and chilli.

And what followed was a truly wonderful weekend.  The sun shone, the kids played out of our way, the company was fantastic, the food delicious, and all was happy.  We even managed a swim in the sea.

However, unfortunately by Sunday morning Tom had kindly passed his illness onto me, and I felt awful.  And while everyone else went off to the beach, I stayed behind on my own and got progressively worse.  

Tom arrived back at the tent that afternoon looking truly awful.  The girls were asleep in the back of the car still in their wet swimming costumes, and covered in sand and snot.  And I felt so weak and dizzy and sick that I just wanted to curl up under a gorse bush.

Now raining, we hastily got our stuff together, and haphazardly shoved it into the car any which way, with half my beloved tent hanging out of the roof pod and caked in mud - I didn't care.

We looked a real state as we left the campsite that afternoon, and it was a long and torturous journey home, with bunting and guy ropes flapping in the wind as we went.  

Although Tom momentarily felt happy when he stopped briefly in Llandeilo to eat a kebab.

A fantastic weekend, with an unfortunate ending.