Weeknotes 034: Where’s the cookie? In my tummy.
As with the last time we camped by Hadrian’s Wall, the scenery is more reliable than the network coverage. Which is to say, sorry these are late.
Piglet’s week got off to a storming start when she rode the metro for the first time since sentience. The Chef sent a video of her singing “On a choo-choo train” to herself. To be fair, the Metro is pretty cool.
And it stayed storming through Bank Holiday camping—2 nights was too short.
We set off, car laden—new airbed, sleeping bag and chair for Piglet; a foldable cabinet; pillows—we’re glampers now. Piglet chose a sprinkle covered cookie for her bakery snack and we heard delightedly about it for the rest of the weekend.
It wasn’t sunny enough to crack out the BBQ, so we headed pubwards instead. A pint and a meal. Just like the before times. Woof.
And it still turned out to be sunny enough to burn an under-creamed Piglet. Parenting fail.
That night I had a caffeine-withdrawal headache. Which may explain why I had a nightmare that Piglet had suffocated. It doesn’t explain why I got out of the sleeping bag at 2 am to check on her, leading to 2 hours on a cold floor patting and singing her back to sleep. The downhill neighbours were very complementary of The Chef’s singing voice when we sheepishly offered our morning greeting. Does it mean I’ll cut out caffeine now I’m back in a city? Betteridge answers that.
Wearily we set off for an outdoor swimming pool. A heated learner pool in the sun is an excellent way to wake up. Piglet laid claim to a penny floater and refused to relinquish it, until we took her on the big slide. Tens of kids queuing up and me stuck halfway down it trying to regain momentum.
Frazzled, tired and hot, we trooped around Chesters. Nerves were fraying when Piglet was forced into the sling to sleep and we could set off for shade and calmer moods. A feat we repeated on the hike to sycamore gap the next day. A stranger used The Chef’s phone and it wasn’t scary to hand over a possession to be touched by a potential disease vector.
Piglet is obsessed with “driving the car” and we could use it as a climbing frame when we needed peace to get the BBQ going. She’s sussed the control panel though and did her best charva impression, banging out the tunes at full blast. An effect ruined only by her choice of Radio 3.
More pub food and pints on the way home, before that sweet cleanse of the first post-camping shower, Piglet running around the garden chanting “we’re home”.
Too tired to write these straight away I skived online. Only knowing him for brutal teardowns, I was worried to see a review of Bryter Layter by Neil Kulkarni. But he loves it too. And I relistened. Which is the second Richard Thompson appearance in as many weeks.