Into The Sort of Wild

Last week marked another little milestone for me and the Lish Losh.  We are officially one fifth of the way into her first year at secondary school and I can’t tell you how much life has changed for us both.  From walking herself to and from school to fending for herself after school for those few hours that mummy is still at work – it’s like we're different people living in another world.  

I had what is known as a 'moment' the first morning she left the flat before me.  For a second I finally understood what people mean when they say: "Enjoy them while they are young." The feeling of loss lasted one full second.  No more manic mornings! No more arriving at work and feeling like I’d already put in a full day.  Yay! Bless Lishy.  

She too is enjoying her newfound independence:  Have Bus Pass - Will Travel.  It is truly remarkable.  A vertical learning curve you might say for all involved but one that I hope is setting her up for later life in this frenzied world.

I decided then, on that basis, to make the very most of half term seeing as we’re now in that phase of life where holidays are the only time you get to bond in any meaningful way as a family.

In my quest to push bonding and quality bonding at that, to the top of the criteria, I knew I had to choose the location carefully.  A week in Portugal, much as we love, love, love it was just not going to cut it this time.  It had to be somewhere removed, somewhere where pleasures were simple and electric outlets in short supply.  I settled on the idea of glamping and booked this place on the Hampshire/West Sussex border: Adhurst Yurts.

All Inclusive Party Centrale

In my head I imagined a magical, enchanted elfin-like existence where courteous male faun creatures gingerly approach doorways and windows full of delicate curiosity.    Yeah, it was nothing like that.  But it was still enchanting.  How could it not be when presented with this view every morning to sip your coffee to?

People Watching

And you needed this mental respite to prepare for a shower under the canopy of Sycamore and Oak trees.  No roof.  It barely had a door.  This was the time to put all your pernickertiness into a plastic bag, hang it on a branch and hope the Monkjack deer and foxes were all otherwise occupied.

The ensuite

I would think of all the brown fat I was using just to keep my core body temperature at minimum survival level and went for it.  Amazingly Mayalicious loved the whole malarkey of open air ablutions and it was the one thing she didn't ever quibble about - which just goes to show the kind of monster I've created.  Who in their right mind likes showering outdoors?

So after the UHT morning special, we'd all set off for a long hike in the woods.  I should point out that I never travel alone with Lishy if I can help it.  To do so would be demented and most likely only lead to a custodial sentence.  No, I need a mate to diffuse and distract.  Lishy is afterall entering 'the difficult age' where I've discovered I'm unable to spend more than 3 minutes with her before thoughts of self evisceration begin to creep in.

Meet the Three Muskateers.  I'm sure the farm owners thought we were New Age lesbians with a child we got through a donation from a 'family friend'.  We're not.

Lesbians

We'd all set off then in search of the sort of peace and calm that only nature brings and you know what?  for the most part we found them (apart from the day we decided to walk down the A272 for 45 minutes instead of through fields and woods).   And when we'd had our fill of tranquil quiet, we'd march on down to any number of pubs that were to be found at the end of our hikes.  Like homing pigeons, we always found a pub.   But I'm making us out to be some kind of feathered yogic George Bests; I'll have you know we also did foraging - we picked wild raspberries and carrots at a nearby farm one afternoon with no pub in sight - mind you that night it was G&Ts all round at the cabin.

Combine Harvester not required

Monty Don's got nothing on me

Oh it all felt very wholesome.  The days were filled easily with "The Good Life' activities but we were always very wary to ensure we were back at camp a good hour before dusk for there were fires that needed building with which to cook and keep warm.  I became a proper little firestarter.

No Fire, No Food

There after as the night time spread its gossamer cover of darkness, thoughts would turn to survival.  Not the kind Bear Grylls teaches - more the sort that involves deciding whether to have one or two bottles of prosecco when it's 10:30 pm and the nearest loo is a long drop privy a good 5 metres from the cabin; Or knowing there were 5 hours before legitimate bedtime with only a pack of cards to keep us from braying at eachother.  But by the 3rd evening,  something wonderful happened.  We started talking; storytelling; playing out scenarios or having conversations about things that were on our minds starting with what we all thought of my ex-husband's new young Eastern European girlfriend, to talking about what to expect from puberty and most importantly which grossly overpriced branded beauty advent calendar we each wanted for Christmas (Charlotte Tilsbury for me and Libertys for Jane, my travel companion.) Maya just wanted slime.  Don't ask.  It's the new thing.

And so the hours would slowly peel away during what grew to become our favourite part of each day.

By the end we had exhausted all topics and played more Gin Rummy than anyone under the age of 55 should ever admit to.  Not once was a mobile phone taken out in the evenings other than to check whether time was standing still.  It was.

As with all good things, this too had to end.  We eeked out the last day by taking the scenic route home via the Jane Austen Museum (that's us in costume earlier on...honest) in Chawton where surprise surprise, we also found a super pub.

Not what it looks like  - just crouching!