she who keeps this diary

16 August 2003 - 9:42 PM

War Stories

We got up and back to war safely; we just missed being part of a really nasty accident on Rte 32 on our way to I-70, and after we got home and I was heading over to Maman's to collect Orion a tyre went flat on me, but overall the travelling was uneventful. Somehow we got everything, including the scaled-down Oseberg-type waggon, into the Jeep. Of course after all of the work and hustle and worry and careful packing the Viking never actually USED the waggon to haul his armour or anything else. To be fair, he didn't have the time to work out the engineering of the wheels in the way he wanted, and it will be better overall for him to take extra time to do it, but all the same ...

I wound up spending more time in camp than I really intended; part of that was because my household decided to strike out on its own from Allied Households and have its own encampment. We are not a large group, and even with the padding of a few friendly non-household people we were hardly full of folk. Since we don't like to leave camp unattended and we were not friendly enough with our neighbours (Tuchux to the left of us, Vexatious Midrealmers to the right of us) to ask for their assistance keeping an eye on things, and also because I have an overdeveloped responsibility gland, there were plenty of longish camp-watching shifts to be held down. We arrived early Saturday morning (9 August) and I didn't really get out and walkabout until Atlantian court on Wednesday. The problem with court is that while you see people, you don't get really get to socialise with them, and while the conviviality which followed court was probably lovely, court went on so long, and so conflicted with Midnight Madness, that a lot of people left early. I cut out after the second Laurelling so that I (1) could feed the Viking and (2) go shopping.

The Viking also has an overdeveloped responsibility gland; instead of fighting in the Oldcastle Tourney as he wanted to he spent Monday afternoon helping Bright Hills people set up dayshades in various locations. I felt a little bad about that, but I didn't realise he was going to do it until he had started.

I should put in a good word for the Tuchux, who were well-behaved neighbours. Even on their loud nights, they have an elemental quality which is weirdly soothing -- like listening to waves crash on the beach. The Vexatious Midrealmers, contrariwise, would cut across our camp to get to back regions of their own (under the ribbons THEY strung up to be property lines, I will add), held loud religious services several times during the week (?!?) and also were the sponsors of what will go down in infamy as one of the worst bardic circles I have ever heard. It was as though the musicians couldn't decide on a key, so they aimed for one between B and C ...

Because we were uphill from the Serengeti, we didn't suffer as badly from the rains as some other camps did; during the Sunday downpours we had a river rolling through the drainage ditch which cut through our site, and the area under the common tent proved to be the Bog of Perpetual Inconvenience (not quite the Slough of Despond). Fortunately I was smart enough to pack rubber shower shoes for both the Viking and myself, and my rubber Birkis, which made life more pleasant.

That's enough for tonight. More war stories tomorrow.

verso - recto

The WeatherPixie

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