Camping at Hartfield - day 1

I hear our car engine ticking away outside and I sigh. Alan can’t wait to be on his way and here I am making the bed. I go through my mental list of things still to do – just the washing up and then I can put on my walking shoes, go to the loo, pick up my coat and bag and be off to the car. As I finish in the toilet, he comes in, impatience showing in his face. “I’ll be out in just a minute,” I inform him tersely, “I had things still to do”.

It is only when we are halfway there that I realise that I've forgotten my coat and have only my fleece for the next two days. This is our second camping adventure and it hasn't started right which, I think is probably down to me. Alan has planned it like a military operation. Lists have been made; items purchased; the car has been carefully packed. All I really had to do was to turn up, which I did, belatedly.

It is a relatively quiet trip up. It is only as we get closer to Hartfield that things go a bit awry. The travel instructions have been written for me, but there had been an expectation that I would also follow them on a map to check that we were heading in the right direction; what with the dog on my lap and being held, the instructions in my other hand, I don’t have any room for anything else. Inevitably, we go wrong and have to stop – much two way shouting ensues.

In the end, we find where we are going – St Ives Farm, just outside of Hartfield. The next problem is finding a space because, although there is lots of space i.e. there are no tents there, there are reserved signs strategically placed, which give the impression that the whole site is reserved. We take a deep collective breath, assume that this was for the past weekend (which we later found it was), find a level spot and pitch our tent.

Tent pitched and all the goods unloaded and put away, it then starts to rain. The idea had been to heat some soup on our new gas stove, but, by mutual agreement we go down to the local pub, The Anchor and eat a sandwich there (and very good it was too).

After exploring the village, with the rain easing off, we make our way back. It is a bit of a surprise to find we are the only ones on the site, but neither of us is too bothered. Alan heats up chicken dansak with a lovely aromatic spicy dhal. After our meal, he lights up a camp fire. The weather holds and we sit watching the ever changing shapes and colours of the flames, sometimes chatting and at other times gazing into the flames.

Finally, the events of the day get to both of us and we go into out tent together with Jessie, hopefully to sleep.

Admitting the Truth

Admitting the Truth

Imagine the awfulness of it all. For months I have denied that there was anything that I could do about my eating.'It’s the drugs I'm on at the moment', I would say, 'steroids are known to make it virtually impossible to lose weight'.

Then I read a book called Stopping by David Kundzt. Let hasten to say that it was not about weight and losing it, but about putting quiet moments in the day – maybe just a few seconds, sometimes longer. It also talked about longer periods of quiet, but advised to start small. The reasoning behind it all was that for whatever reason, we all tend to keep busy doing something and we tend to forget who we are and the warning messages that our bodies may be giving us.

It is not difficult to do. In some instances, it is just a case of taking a deep breath and remember where you are. In others, it may be taking pleasure in the mundane work you are doing. In a way, it is very like mindfulness.

I thought I would give it a try. The awful thing for me was that, in those moments of quiet, I suddenly realised in one of those Eureka moments, that I was still eating too much for my size, and making excuses for it. So, I must now consider what I now am eating (and drinking) and cut back accordingly.

The other 'revelation' that has come from it so far is that I am spending far too much time on these blessed Facebook games. Instead of resting between one activity before I do something else, I ‘reward’ myself with ‘just a couple of games’. Only it isn't just a couple. It draws you in and before you know it, half an hour has passed and all the things you intended to do cannot be done for the day. Oh, the shame of it! At my age, I should know better.

The good thing is that I've now noticed these things and can work towards improvements. It’s been going on for some time now. The struggle has been admitting it.