Today, I am hopping on one leg packing the house up for our imminent move. I have snarled up and down the chain at solicitors who feign full stops with the activity and all blame each other, and collective estate agents who I would like to stuff in a barrel of venomous biting snakes and roll down the nearest mountain range. I am extra dreadful today, no sympathy please. I have done it to myself. I got so excited on my camping music and dance holiday that I forgot not to drink endless Gin and Tonics, and last night I awoke with a bit toe resembling something from the Beano, I have given myself Gout. Mind you it did involve ten days of naughty fun with Dithers and and another friend of ours called Phillipa. However from now on I must behave with more ladylike decorum. For starters I can't kick all the annoying boxes anymore. My house is totally foul now, and has been this way since April, when we had a false start with another house. If I sit on another piece of lego or an upturned plug again there will be something resembling the re eruption of Mount Vesuvius. I have been infuriated more times today than humanly possible
As the holiday started, we were a motley crew, off we trundled, a convey involving a huge horsebox loaded with all things modern and enough building equipment to out man any man. My friend Pippa is not one for getting a man in for any situation, and does the work of several blokes at once if necessary. Once we arrived at Glastonbury Festival, and my friend Hairy Legs had forgotten part of his tent frame. Within minutes she had produced some bolt cutters and fashioned something suitable out of wire and coat hangers etc. The horsebox was stuffed with a variety of relatives from age ten up to seventy nine, the back free of horses and instead full of double beds. The front loaded up with suitcases of steaks, sausages and bacon, and cases of gin, wine and other such naughties. as she had heard it was a mainly a vegetarian gathering. Also on board every tool known to man and several types of rope and also generators and chargers. We followed along behind in our car groaning with teenagers pulling a caravan which contained far too many accordions and a large drum kit, plus of course further crates of naughtiness. Various other relatives followed along in rather a sporty looking Mini. My daughter turned vegetarian two weeks ago, and we mainly are, so my car boot was with crammed with nuts, lentils, cheese and things that take a long time to chew etc. Also large bowls of fresh vine tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers and crates of peaches.
We only traveled for an hour, we have camped in the same fields for around 11 years now, but still proceeded to go around and around in circles driving the occupants in the horse box made due to the problems of going into reverse. At one point we were asked if we had attended this particular festival in a previous life or recently! Having eventually negotiated winding lanes no wider than our actual vehicle we arrived. As our various cars and vans started shedding junk and our folding caravan popped up, right on cue Dithers rang from the nearest station. My husband rushed off to meet her and she made an entrance Mary Poppins style. A flurry of hilarious hellos, a giant spotty shopping trolley and umbrella and enough luggage to frighten even a seasoned pack horse. Within minutes her artists easel was up and painting commenced.
Our area of the camp was in charge of recycling and immediately a table was set up for unwanted possessions - we have all come home with lots of new trousers, several dresses, coats, flip flops, coffee makers, candles and jars of exotic food. Dithers has many new dresses which all have that floaty perhaps hinting towards exotic flamenco look, and I have acquired some shimmering satin things which can't currently be applied to my person due to my temporarily gin and tonic induced extra fat stomach and my red throbbing toe. A very nice lady who camped with us, was in charge or recycling for 300 people and gave us some very intense lectures on what to do and what to not do, this was said over and over again until we understood how to not go of the boil and pass on the knowledge to others. Any temporary irritation about her traffic warden styled discipline evaporated when I realized that she was passionate about it, very funny and of course right. If I ever have to wash a margarine, hummus or peanut butter container again or sort milk cartons I may have to start a separate forum due to the language which would not be tolerated by Louise Warvill on here!
During most days and evenings lots of music went on, some just played guitars, or in my case I joined several bands either with my violin, or if too tired, a bright yellow tambourine.
I have of course on my return, owned up to my main doctor in London, about how very naughty I have been, as I have an appointment coming up very soon so that I can be told of in person about Gout. I also have had a week of feeling extra muddled. I am used to my husband wandering about in lurid shorts playing wild tunes on an accordion, and can always catch him in the distance both by sound and sight. However my youngest son decided to teach himself the accordion the week before this latest camping expedition and was similarly attired in shorts, sporting a similar walk and playing very like his Dad and often the same tunes, so my head was swiveling in all directions for nearly ten days trying to work out which was which. My mate Pippa had similar confusions but mainly as at times she did not bother to go to bed. I was awoken by her distinctive cackling laugh on a couple of mornings and commented to my husband how early she must have got up, and his reply in a knowing tone - 'actually she has not been to bed yet'. She actually remedied this situation by buying us all ear plugs. A great discovery for me. I normally loath ear plugs, they pop out, or don't work etc. This latest useful present are made of silicone and once in place let no noise in whatsoever. I might wear them at the next village event, having missed the Village Fete worse than death, I may have to attend one last dreadful thing before we move, for nostalgia's sake.
I am as brown as a nut despite the sun cream and did lots of cooking with a large cauldron on the fire, this comes so naturally that broom sticks are really only around the corner again. I particularly enjoyed making endless garlic bread in the fire embers, wrapped in foil. My husband was banned from this activity due to my ferocious temper a few years back. Having been promised a lift to the nearest town to buy things for dinner, I was cooking for nearly 60 people. I eventually set off on a rickety folding bicycle with two balloons attached and arrived back and made a marathon amount of garlic and parsley butter in french sticks wrapped in foil. A friend had been asked to build the fire twice the size and then rake out the embers to enable me to slow cook the bread turning it once in a while. Having set this up perfectly, I then disappeared for a quick shower. He as in my husband, then decided to help, he gathered all the foiled wrapped bread up and proceeded to stack them on the fire as if Bonfire Night itself. I arrived back to lumps of charcoal for everybody which could not be eaten. He of course said it was fine and made a point of eating neat charcoal and then proceeded to vomit violently into my best pink heart shaped bucket all night. This last week my current round of bread making was a success with not a lump of carbon in sight. He was kept at bay and monitored constantly until it was ready.
On a more sensible subject, once I have moved, I shall do another round of Dr Barry diaries, (eventually) and some more Genova Diagnostics to see where I stand on all things Thyroid. I am doing fairly well with the five things and LDN suits me, but an enforced cleanse has commenced.
I promise to be fairly well behaved for the rest of the summer.