Tuesday, 13 July 2010

The simple life

Shark insists that now we have arrived to stay with Big Bro in Suffolk, she must live in a tent in the garden.

This involves mama in horror movie mode, thrashing around in the wild outside at dusk, wrestling a blow up mattress. By dark she is crawling about on hands and knees, desperately bashing grass with a mallet.

And all the time, the stormy grey clouds glower in the skies, the wind howls, and Shark stands impatiently over me demanding sleeping bags, wind-up torches, morning alarm clocks, cushions, extra blankies, books, and a sister who can interpret the many bird sounds of the dawn chorus.

1 comment:

sharon said...

Erm, under those circumstances, tell her to do it herself . . ? Worth a try hmm?

Although, come November, apparently, we will have a minimum of 4 tents in our back garden containing several large 20-somethings, visiting our home again younger son for the annual 3-day Blues Festival. However I will not be doing anything other than supplying a loo, a shower, and vast quantities of food. Probably paracetamol in the mornings too.