Kids slept outside in the rain. I locked the door on them at 10pm and said No Way was I leaving a warm bed at 2am just because they were banging on the back door howling.
By the morning their bivouac looked like this.
Three people slept in there. Three! Well, until 1am, when I am told that a slug woke up Fizz by making sucking sounds, at which point they decided to decamp to the little wooden house at the bottom of the garden. On the minus side they get spiders, but on the plus side, it's dry.
By the way, just in case Social Services are inquiring, I didn't force the children to sleep outside. You can blame a natural madness of childhood, which my grown up rationalities simply fail to curb. Reasonings like The forecast is for it to chuck down have no impact when you have a fantasy of perfection in your mind.
But from then on, I did have things my way. I imposed a three-line whip to join the Buddhists and all their chums in the field for their multi-faith peace festival. It manages to be both anarchic but culturally affirming; fringe but mainstream; bizarre yet normal. The sort of thing that could happen if you let the Pagans take over Thought for Today.
For me, the event is as essential as sleeping in the garden under a wet plastic sheet. My year turns about such moments as these.