27 August 2011 (Saturday) - BatCamp - Take Three

Up with the lark to get some ironing done. I really don’t want to have to be doing a rush-job with the laundry on Monday, so at 6.30am I was seeing to my shirts (with a vengeance). And then some last minute packing for camping. Yesterday I realised that I’d not packed a torch (dur!), and bearing in mind how muddy it was I thought I’d dig out my wellies. I couldn’t find them anywhere, so before work I popped round to B&Q for a new pair.

Work was rather dull, and then having gone home for more forgotten things I then went to the fishing shop for maggots. And then I collected Martin and set off to BatCamp – this time for keeps. We arrived shortly after mid day, and after a spot of lunch we went fishing again. (Some things never change). We bashed a few tiddlers. Or that is everyone else bashed tiddlers – I didn’t catch quite as many as I might have hoped for. And then we wandered back to camp to find more visitors.
For no adequately explored reason my chair was upside down in the sunshine, looking rather damp. Such is life…

Some of us then set off to Dering Farm where we attempted to capture one of the ghost carp – the plan is to find out exactly how long and how heavy they now are. But despite our best efforts we were unable to entice them. In retrospect it was probably a combination of their not liking bread (which they were supposed to) and their not being entirely greedy things (which they were supposed to be). Next time our plans will allow for this.

And so back to camp for a rather nice bit of Chinese for tea. Sweet and sour chicken, black bean chicken, spring rolls, rice and noodles. Very nice. And having slept through the washing up I then had a crafty beer or two. Despite having dug a fire pit, we abandoned our plans for a camp fire as the firewood had been soaked by intermittent torrential rain throughout the day. So we sat in our mess tent and exchanged insults. And after a while we swapped beer for port and stilton. There was a dubious five minutes with the port. In England we pass the port to the left. Our continental brethren pass it to the right. And so the bottle bounced between “Pish Faysh” and “Alkalott” perhaps somewhat more than it should have.

The second bottle of port – a blond port - wasn’t quite as good as the first. It lacked a certain something. As did “Pish Faysh” by this time. During a break in the clouds we popped outside and admired the beautiful night sky.
Having boastfully announced that he was in possession of the requisite arrapatus (!) “Pish Faysh” correctly identified various item of astronomical interest including “Dimdromodu” and the “Pair of Squegasus”.

To bed at 1am – which was probably for the best.

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