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.
Results Day!
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.
Likewise sheep.
Likewise sheep.
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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