is what Ms M adorned the carpet with at 7.30 this morning as she crawled in from the annual mud fest at Reading. She then crawled off to bed, and was still there snoozing away when I got back from the last lap of our church weekend. A good time was had by all; she’s learned how to wash her hair in a bucket of cold water, and is the proud owner of a pair of green wellies. We’re hoping that the rain will hold off long enough for her to dry her tent out in the garden. Having sat unaired and undried in the loft since Reading 2003, its likely to sprout mushrooms if we’re not careful.
Meanwhile I’m recovering from our annual church weekend. Strange beasts, these… In the past I’ve found them to be a bit of a mixed blessing. There are similarities to Reading and its ilk, I’d guess. You end up panda eyed through lack of sleep, plus have a splitting headache from a hangover or three, There seems so often to be this hothouse atmosphere – a sort of general consensus that if there aren’t spritual fireworks the weekend hasn’t succeeded. I find this hard to cope with, being a quiet, retiring (and cynical) sort of bunny. This appears to be changing, now, or maybe it’s just me that’s changed. (Actually, it’s more likely due to the fact that this year I decided that the call of my own nice, comfy bed was too strong, and booked to travel in each day. Hence a happy absence of panda eyes, hangovers etc). Instead, I had the delights of how shall we put it, waterworks problems, due to overenthusiastic consumption of tea and coffee. I reckon you can learn far more in those conversations over a cuppa, than ever you can in the offical ‘sessions’ however good they might be. (And they were good – just in case anyone I know is reading this! :D)
I also learned that my British Trampoline Federation bronze jumps do NOT work on a bouncy castle (ouch), and will be checking my life insurance before next I take part in a barn dance. I shall however, be seeking counselling for the trauma inflicted by compulsory participation in kiddies’ worship songs. Come back, ‘If I were a butterfly,’ all is forgiven!