Or whatever it is stereotypical Sussex country people are supposed to say.
This weekend has been distinctly short on glamorous frocks and cocktails and disturbingly high on the stinging nettles and crawling things scale.
We own a small patch of woodland in Sussex. There is an old hut on it, that Mr Chick is trying to maintain and he works, looking after the woodland while I lounge and read a book. It’s useless to anyone for anything else, and therefore worth nothing, but we can go camping in it and generally do as we please, so we like it. Then we were offered a static caravan, for free, to put on it.
Far more comfortable than a tent for our occasional visits I’m sure you’ll agree, and also far more secure in the event that we need to use it to hide when the Zombie Apocalypse starts. The only downside is that before we moved it we had to spend several hours cleaning it. So on Saturday we did this…..
The caravan dates from the 70s and is therefore technically vintage, but that’s irrelevant and really an attempt to crowbar my weeekend into a vintage context. I have no intention of restoring it to it’s former glory as it’s former glory includes these cushions.
Manual labour prompted me to do something not seen on this blog or in real life for a very long time. Wear jeans.
I hate jeans. I find them really uncomfortable and restrictive and every pair I have ever found makes my thighs look hideous. It makes other people more comfortable to see you in jeans as they are the very definition of “casual wear” and people who are “dressed up” without a party to go to make people nervous. I pretty much stopped wearing jeans completely when I realised that I didn’t care if they made other people more comfortable when I wore them to the pub, I would rather *I* was comfortable and I would therefore wear a pencil skirt if I darn well pleased.
They do, however, have the advantage of being bramble, thorn and stinging nettle proof, and I can also roll them up (short legs = all my trousers need wearing with heels) so jeans it was. Plus, of course, a headscarf to protect my curls.
On Sunday some big burly country folk helped us move said caravan from the farm to the woodland. (for “helped” read, “did all the work while we looked on nervously”) and it now lives here.
It’s also not that the weekend wasn’t without it’s upsides either. It’s nice to get away and do something a bit different and Sussex is full of lovely views. I also got to stay in a gorgeous B&B and some wildlife is quite cute, mostly those with less than 6 legs.
Here are some of the weekends highlights…..