It was raining lightly when we woke, Mike produced his rusty camping gaz stove and a dented kettle and got a cuppa going. Michelle looked like she’d rather be anywhere else than this wet, muddy, chilly field and told Mike as much, quite a few times. It was about now that Mike pointed out that he had been bitten numerous times all over his legs. little red bumps covered his shins, mine were the same and upsettingly, so was my whole forehead.It looked like I hadCIMG4522.JPG a bad case of chicken pox. I was rapidly going off the New Forest.
After gamely frying up some rather sad looking hotdog sausages under a brolly, Mike and Michelle kindly gave us the rest of the booze and breakfast supplies, stuffed their tent in the boot of the car and drove off squishily with a wave and a pitying glance at Kez.
Kez and I looked at each other. The rain was getting harder, Kez’s jacket was still hanging on aCIMG4516.JPG fence post, soaking wet. We decided to zip back into the tent and wait to see if it would stop. And waited, and waited. We had a long snooze, and still it rained. We considered heading for the pub which we’d passed a mile up the road, but neither of us could really be bothered. We had wine, beer, food and coffee. So we stayed in the tent for the entire day, relaxing to the constant pitter patter of torrential rain, nibbling flapjack and dangerously cooking up a dinner of sausage and egg in the tent porch. As far as I’m aware it didn’t didn’t stop at any point during the night.