How I ended up going out with someone who, of their own free will, chooses to wake up in a tent in Sussex in April, I don't know. But that's exactly what happened when we went camping for The Boy's birthday recently. (As he said afterwards "Would you rather I wake up in a tent on my birthday, or in the gutter from a drunken night out?" A good point, I had to admit).
For one night (and one night only), we pitched a tent at St Ives campsite near Hartfield in Sussex. I say "we" pitched - he built a tent, I watched. The campsite was very peaceful, only us and one other tent, so we had a whole field to ourselves, overlooking a lake.
|Doing manly things with fire and meat|
The following morning, which was his birthday, we decided to head to Brighton for the way, but stopped en-route in Hartfield Village, famous for being the home of Winnie the Pooh Corner. After visiting the famous shop, we decided to walk to the Pooh Sticks Bridge. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, stop. Stop right now. Get off the internet and go and read Winnie the Pooh). Can't be far away we thought. WRONG. An hour and a half later we returned to the car, after a few wrong turns and a lengthy trek up and down some of Sussex's finest hills.
|He contemplates turning *mumble* at the place childhood dreams are made of.|