I have just unbooked a long weekend camping in Cornwall.
Was it because the tent was in ill repair?
Was it because I feared poor weather?
Did I doubt our ability to get on as a family?
None of the above.
Before I booked it, I did ask my family whether there might be any problems with the dates. They just continued silently munching on their dinner, staring vacantly into space. (Uh-oh, I wasn’t supposed to let on how mealtimes are in our house.)
It was only later that I spotted that the break included Thursday 15th August.
Personally, I don’t want to be trying to sort out the ramifications of a dropped grade on a phone with intermittent signal while applying extra tent pegs to guy-ropes in a gale on a cliff-top.
I find that Friesian cows are of limited help in a crisis.
So we’ll stay at home, within range of phone, internet, and the support of the twins’ school.
We may fit the camping trip in later, but in the meantime, Perran and Carenza will have a more immediate reward for postponing – hopefully there’ll be a large and riotous get-together on the 15th as so many people will be around for this final fixed point in the summer.
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