With less than an hour to
go, one of those supposed to be coming away for the weekend with us
cried off. So with no need for a pick-up, once the Folkestone
contingent arrived we made really good time to Brighton. As we drove
I listened to a memory stick of dire music; I got as far as "B".
We made our way to our
usual place up the hill at Stanmer Park; some of those staying the
weekend in their caravans were already there. Despite being a bod
down we got our campsite up in very good time, and were soon having a
bottle of ale with (for) lunch.
There was talk of going
for a crafty geo-stroll. As I had already found most of the local
geo-stuff I stayed at camp and had a little kip until Terry and Irene
arrived.
Soon the geo-contingent
returned, and being at a kite festival we played kites. We got the
parachute out and played silly beggars with it. And then we played
with Jimbo's NASA. It is ages since we last played with the big
kites. We really should get them out more often.
We had a rather good
goulash for tea, and in a novel break with tradition I wasn't on
washing up duty. Dave came to visit and we drank beer, whisky, rum
and even Kazak Vodka (which is not for the faint-hearted). We
converted our multi-tasking camping table into a cheese table and
scoffed some rather good cheeses. We sat chatting; I lay down on one
of the benches. As I laid there so a fox appeared and came up and
sniffed me. He was only a few inches away; as I turned round so foxy
wandered off.
We moved all the makings
of brekkie into the back of my car before we went to bed....
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