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 well sheltered by hedges so I would have been fine if the wind had come alone. Unfortunately for me, it brought its 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 break camp.
I carefully packed within the shelter of the tent but eventually I had to put my bags outside and take the tent down. In the 5 or so minutes that took, my bags became sodden with rain. Then, as I shook rain off the empty tent, more fell onto it. In consequence I had to stuff the dripping wet canvas into the top of my pack where its moisture can trickle down over all my stuff. My clothes are in a placcy-bag of course but I hate to think what’s happening to my newly purchased 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.