The weather gods don’t like to be mocked. They sent me a wind which, if it wasn’t the Mistral, could totally kick the Mistral’s ass.
My little camp was totally sheltered by hedges so it would have been fine if the wind had come alone. Sadly, it brought it’s chum Pouring Rain along too. I was okay in the night, though the wind woke me several times, but this morning i had to get up and pack – or break camp as i like to call it.
I carefully packed within the shelter of the tent but eventually i had to put my bags outside so i could take the tent down. In the 5 or so minutes that took my bags became sodden in the rain. Then, even better, as soon as i shook rain off the tent, more fell onto it. In consequence i had to stuff a dripping wet tent into the top of my pack where it’s moisture can trickle down amongst all my stuff. My clothes are in a placcy-bag of course but i hate to think what’s happening to my new wilkie collins novel.
I’m currently on a bus heading for cavaillion cold, grumpy and smelling like a damp dog. So, my little ones, be careful what you wish for. You might be unlucky enough to get it.