Long Story Short

Ok, so camping was amazing - out in the woods - acrobatic nets in the trees, glorious gourmet 3 squares a day cooked by the utterly devoted Alan, Josh and their teamsters. Hikes in the forest around the lake. Skinny dippers dipping (too cold was my excuse. I stand by it). Auuuggghhh. It was simply dreamy. One small hitch that turned out to be not such a big deal, but at the time seemed pretty dealy:

Stu and I arrive at the campsite, having lugged in our gear, and a few other bits and pieces for the group. I was exhausted, and REALLY hungover from the wedding party. So the first thing we decide we need is the tent up and a couple of hours of crashing. My tent. My pride. My joy. Arrived the night before we left, knick of time. I glowed, I crowed - "see Stu, I TOLD you it was awesome" as I pull the fly from it's bag. "See Stu, all pegs and poles accounted for, I KNOW how to look after my equipment!". "See Stu ..................................................".

No tent. Fly - check. Pegs - check. Poles - check. Tent, actual tent, main part of design structure TENT. Ah. Not check. Not not not check. Where is tent? Don't know.

Fly tied to trees hanging listless in the nearly-wind. No good. So many bugs, so many bitey bugs. We can't even get the fly to stay above us to protect from rain (80 inches anually people). We bicker. Stu is very VERY good not to remind me that he had a perfectly good (not as perfect as MINE I said over and over and over) tent in the flat in Musselburgh.

Turns out ok, apparently other people envisaged the hopelessness of the few and brought spare tents. Spare tent was very nice and perfect for us. I put it up and promptly fell asleep for several hours.

The next few nights were jammed with food, drinks, guitars and many an inspired solo. Thankfully everyone was spared my caterwauling on accounts of me having lost my voice very early on in the festivities (like on the plane over from Scotland. Damn those free plane drinks!). It was incredible, and I only wish I could have shared it with all you folks out there who love a great camping trip.

The days after camping (and a night in a cabin nearby) Stu and I did downtime at the seaside where we went on day trips to farmers markets, went hiking, and generally lazed about taking in the cheesy surroundings. Seaside the town wasn't that special, but just a few miles down the road was Cannon Beach, which was lovely, and further north was Astoria, picturesque. No swimming - this is the North Pacific and only the hardy survive. I am palpably wussy when it comes to cold water. Stu, though he would never admit it, is a bit the same. So we cooked for ourselves in out little itty kitchen, and just enjoyed the late rise in the morning and the fresh crab for supper. Ideal.

That's it, that was the holiday, albeit slightly abridged. Count yourselves fortunate that I can't be bothered with details right now, but I'm on my second glass of wine and I'm contemplating a 3rd ...

Love youse all.