Our camping trip was a bit of a non event after all that. We spent all of Friday rushing round, gathering camping supplies from generous lenders, and Saturday morning was spent squeezing said camping supplies into the car, and attempting to fit AB’s new car seat (a fearsome test for any relationship). Finally we set off, 11am, raring to go. 3 hours later we had traveled about 25 miles, thanks to traffic jam after traffic jam. 2 hours later…about another 20.
By this time the party we were going to, another 150 miles away, had already been in full swing for 2 hours and we had a very disgruntled baby in the back who, quite rightly, was wondering where the hell her milk was. We pulled off the motorway at the next exit and consulted the travel reports (possibly something we ought to have done before setting off but coulda woulda shoulda etc), courtesy of Ant’s mum on the other end of the phone. Delays all the way. There was nothing else for it but to turn around and come back again.
On arrival home (a mere hour later) we discovered a hideous nappy accident in the new car seat and a leaking bottlke of milk all over the cool bag. “It isn’t a good day today, is it?” asked Ant, master of the understatement. I did what any well balanced and grown up person would do. I burst into tears. I missed a party and I’ll cry if I want to.