We have come 7 miles north of Bury, to a tiny village called Wordwell, and a farm campsite adjoining the King’s Forest (the Southern end of Norfolk’s massive Thetford Forest). Five weeks after returning from Aberdeen I was going slightly crazy being stuck at home, especially in the last few really hot days and nights. Post-adventure blues seems to be a common problem; I must admit to feeling low at the moment. So a mini adventure was called for.
After supper and extensive balley a profusion of insects drove us into the tent, with flying ants imitating the sound of rain on canvas by landing heavily, and in big numbers, on the outer sheet.
Despite the heat, Raisin decided to share my pillow, which is much too small for two, and set about puffing loudly into my ear. She always exhales rather forcefully when falling asleep. Once it was dark and the anty dive bombers had gone, I opened up the tent to the cool night air and nodded off looking at the stars. And felt much better.