Another dawn, another frost

Remember building secret camps as a child and wishing you could spend all night, all the holidays there? Our mums were right; it's not quite the same after dark, when you are cold, tired and dirty and there are strange noises in the woods. Actually, it's more fun! The feeling of triumph of another day survived! Forget all those TV buckaroos, helicoptored into the Brazilian jungle with nothing but a penknife and a film crew. This is the real thing! Endurance in the home counties! Must start brewing my own intoxicating beverages! (Anyone have a recipe for primrose wine? Or bluebell vodka?)

It's lonely, though. Maid Marion had Robin Hood. And his merry men. The closest I'll get to that is the travellers' mobile home park away across the fields, ferociously guarded by cross-bred bull terriers with torn ears and attitude. I long to be a conversation. My voice is a sad murmur in my skull. Hence the blog! A bit one-sided at the moment but perhaps someone will stumble across it and post a nice comment (or wine recipe!).

Actually, the real problem with living in the woods is not the lack of intelligent conversation but water. The lack of it. Whilst in many respects my camp is ideal, there's no source of clean water for a weary portage.

Discreetly tucked into a pine plantation, the trees are tall enough to hide the flame and absorb the scented smoke of my night time fire. There's a house, fortunately bull terrier free, about half a mile away, whose unsuspecting inhabitants have an unsecured wifi. They must feel they are too remote to be troubled by hackers and freeloaders! It doesn't take long to slip out under the darkness and from the shadows of their rhododendrons, upload the day's blog. Off it goes into the darkness like a space craft launched towards the stars. Is there anyone out there, listening? Can you hear me?

Water.

Everyday I will have to go in search of clean water for drinking, cooking, washing. It hasn't rained so flysheet collector is touched with dust, not liquid. The water supply to the animal troughs in the fields has been turned off, probably to avoid frost damage. I've tried several of the  galvanised troughs filled with stagnant green slime, but pressing the ballcock down does not release a gush of clean water and I am left dirtier for my efforts. At last, trespassing round isolated cottages, I found an outside tap on the garage of what seems to be a weekend cottage. I'll use it occasionally but its a long walk back to camp carrying 10 litres of water.

Nothing in the news about LRI. Just endless chatter about G20...