23 August 2013 (Friday) - Duck Houses
I think it fair to say I had far too many peanuts yesterday. They have a rather dodgy effect on my innards. After a fifteen minutes sit-in at the smallest tent on the camp site (the Turdis) I discovered that during yesterday's setting up we hadn't dug a poop pit. So at 6.30am I was getting busy with a shovel. I had stuff to bury. As did Lisa - while lamping in her Foo-Foo the Bunny Rabbit costume she's trodden in something that should have been in the pit I was digging. Yuk!
With no one else emerging from their pits I wandered up to one of the ponds for a spot of fishing. The fishing started slow, but soon picked up. After an hour the Rear Admiral and "Daddies Little Angel TM" arrived with coffee for me, and we fished for another hour with varying degrees of success until the summons came for brekkie.
There was a bit of a problem with brekkie - it was all still in the freezer. So we made do with omelettes. Very good omelettes.
As I was washing up so the sun was coming out. It looked like being a bright day. Some of our party set off on a shopping trip. Others of us set off to the pub via Dering Wood where it was rumoured that there was a solitary geocache. There was, and from there we carried on to the pub. But not the pub we had originally planned. The Dering Arms was several miles away; the Mundy Bois was just down the road from where we were. So once we had got some phone signal we told the shoppers about the change of plan and they met us for a second pint before walking back to camp with us.
Once back at camp we felt we ought to earn our keep. The duck houses needed their annual maintenance so our job for today was to get the duck houses out of the water and to leave them by the pond side to drain. Regular readers of this drivel will know that I have had dealings with duck houses before. So knowing what to expect I went along wearing my swimmies, and (as I had expected) immediately slipped in the mud and was waist deep in a pond.
"Furry Face TM" excelled himself with duck houses, having swum across a pond to one and having found a three month old addled egg inside promptly broke it open and rolled in the gunge. I'd not taken my dog camping before. This is one of many reasons that taking Patagonian Tripe-Hounds camping is not a good idea. And having created one of the worst smells in the known universe, he went on to exceed the expectations of even his staunchest critics by disappearing into the last duck house and coming out a few moments later in hot pursuit of a duck which was stupid enough to still be in that house.
Some of the swimmers of our party went back to the farm house for a shower. Me and my dog got hosed down in the farm yard. And after a rather good bit of tea we sat round the camp fire drinking to excess. So much so that I fell asleep and missed out on the port...