I’m off to Camp Bestival with the boy this weekend on a father/son bonding weekend. I think this translates to “we didn’t get enough tickets for everyone to go and wifey doesn’t fancy slumming it”. That’s okay though, she is 4 months pregnant and it was jolly kind of her and Persil to let me go in her stead.
I have a slight degree of trepidation, mostly because the boy still only gives us about a minutes warning of when an enormous poo is coming but also because I’ve not really got over our weeks holiday in Norfolk and I’m off again. That sounds ungrateful doesn’t it? It’s not meant to at any rate, I’m sure we’ll have a super time, and the uber organised Kat has already promised to bagsy us a tent pitch so we can take part in the mummy bloggers campathon. Shes great.
It’s more that I’m intellectually aware of the trip but the rest of me hasn’t got it’s arse into gear just yet. Typically I’m not worried about packing enough towels or spare underpants or bedding, I’m worried how I’ll charge my iPhone up and concerned about mobile phone reception- O2 seem to be rubbish wherever you can see greenery. We’re off ere dawn has cracked tomorrow morning, and it’s just occurred to me that it will probably be the longest time that the boy has gone without seeing his mummy. That’s got me worried now as I remember when my parents went out for the evening when we were little (upper end of primary school) and my brother cried himself into a snotty mess after bedtime when he found out they weren’t there.
Anyway since we’re going in my car and it only has a tape deck, it’s time to dig out some tapes for the ride. Considering I started buying CD’s in about 1990 in earnest, there isn’t going to be anything remotely new, which should suit the Cat Stevens loving lad down to the ground….