Frozen Feet

Having a wood-burner at home, we were a little sad to see this much timber ready for the sacrifice, in the field next to the campsite. Such sentiments were soon consumed though, along with the chicken-legs and chilli, the flapjacks and treacle toffee, once the night decended and the icy squalls approached on cue. Burning faces and freezing feet were a topic of mutual understanding, balancing above the bog on pallets and forging new friendships in the showers of orange snow-sparks.

The serious rain and driving wind held off until we had made our retreat. The short walk back to our little haven soon saw us with hot chocolates and memory-foam, with folded teatowels blocking the invasive westerlies successfully entering through the oven vents.

Sadly this was our final night at the coast until the Spring. I back-blip as soon as possible!