Once breakfasted the
Folkestonians arrived, and we set off to Brighton. There was a minor
episode on route. I was supposed to be leading the convoy, and so I
periodically kept checking that the black car was following me.
Having been following me for twenty miles the black car suddenly
overtook and shot off. And the Folkestonians weren't in that car. It
was the wrong car. They'd stopped for a tiddle twenty miles behind
and lost me. I waited for a few minutes, but they never caught up. So
I applied logic and thought that even if they were lost they would
be more likely to find me at Stanmer park than in some obscure
country lane. Funnily enough we arrived at Stanmer park at the same
time.
We decided to camp about
half way up the slope; being up it gave us a good view of what was
going on, and it was (relatively) flat there. We got "Brown
and Smelly" (the communal mess tent) together easily
enough, but as we started putting out tents up, so the heavens
opened. We got absolutely soaked.
As we grumbled about the
weather so more of our number arrived, and once lunch was cooked we
felt drier and happier. I put the banners up, and drank half a bottle
of Dissorano for no adequately explained reason. More of our party
arrived, as did the in-laws and lots of other festival-goers. In a
spirit of joining in I even went so far as to open my kite bag and
fly a kite.
Fajitas are always
popular for tea, and they were washed down with home brew. I was
quite pleased with how my home brew had turned out. So pleased that I
had a second glass of the stuff to celebrate. I'm told there was port
and cheese. I blame starting too early on half a bottle of Dissorano.
I staggered to bed
shortly after 1am...
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