Did I say at the end of my last entry that I'd next see my dear girls on Monday? How wrong was I?
Last night (Thursday) we had a call from daughter 2 at around 8pm saying she wasn't well and wanted to come home. Mrs DW suggested she give it a bit of thought and call us back later. At 10pm she suggested that DW hop into the car and drive down to Reading to pick her up.
Having established from her older sister that she wasn't in danger of imminent demise, I declined the offer, suggesting instead that I come down in the morning. She reluctantly accepted that I wouldn't be spending Thursday night/Friday morning on the road.
At 4am she decided to give us an early morning wake up call which, I'm ashamed to say I let Mrs DW deal with. At 7am she rang again to ask where I was on the road - wrong, I was about to get up to take first the hound out for a walk and then Olive, daughter 2's puppy. (I tried walking them both at the same time the other evening but, because both of them have to stay on the lead, it was a bit of a nightmare).
I eventually left at around 9am and, having established they would be at the Orange gate, warned them to be ready there at 11.45am.
The trip down was okay and I followed the (well-signposted) route to the Orange gate, which it turned out was miles from where I originally left them - down small country lanes and farm tracks. I was quite proud that I pulled into the car park spot on at 11.45am. But it seemed to be just that, a car park - well a recently harvested cornfield to be precise.
A phone call to the daughters quickly established that I was in completely the wrong place - in fact, on the wrong side of the river. Orange gate, according to the eldest DW daughter, was at one of the other coloured gates, the original Orange gate being too muddy to open. The trouble was, she wasn't sure which one.
So it was back into Reading, across the field which almost took off the bottom of my car, along the farm tracks, country lanes etc and through all the festival traffic and throngs of youths (the only redeeming feature being the 'uniform' of most of the young women - very short shorts and wellies!).
After numerous phone calls and wrong turns I eventually found the girls at Yellow gate (near orange in the spectrum, I suppose) and daughter 2 left Reading just as the first band went on stage!
Daughter 1, will be home on Monday by coach - I hope!
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Friday, 24 August 2007
Thursday, 23 August 2007
Rock on . . .
On Wednesday I took the two DW daughters to the Reading Festival, the preparation for which has been planned with military precision.
While most teenagers were busy revising, mine were checking out the tent, purchasing rucksacks and sleeping bags and logging on to the internet almost hourly to check out which bands would be playing.
Tickets were booked almost as soon last last year's festival had finished. Apparently it's cheaper that way, the only drawback being that you don't know which bands will be playing.
Then as A-level and GCSE results approached, the preparations reached fever-pitch - almost daily shopping trips for camping stoves, shampoo, wellies. Hourly phone calls to friends to check on travel arrangements - one of them had the festival tickets, another had the early passes (allowing them to set up camp on Wednesday instead of Thursday or Friday).
Then, on Monday and Tuesday there were checks on the website to see which campsites were the least wet (the site is next to the Thames and was flooded after the last lot of heavy rain).
So, on Wednesday it was finally D-day. I was transporting my two plus two others. The back of the car was packed solid with three tents, rucksacks, sleeping bags and other paraphernalia (all of which they had to carry themselves once they arrived in Reading).
The journey to Reading was fairly uneventful, but in the town itself it was like bees round a honeypot - thousands of teenagers converging on the festival site, all trying to look cool while lugging heavy bags and tents along the road. They all looked fairly pristine in their newly-acquired festival garb (lots of flowery wellies) but I suspect that come Monday morning when they're all heading home, they won't look quite so clean.
The road leading to the festival was also something to behold - every few yards there was a beer stall - beer was available off the back off lorries, out of vans, from tents and gazebos. Some youngsters had decided to stock up on their way in and were thus doubly loaded down with camping equipment and beer. This brought snorts of derision from the eldest DW daughter (a veteran of two previous Reading Festivals). 'Oh God, don't they know you need to set up your tent first and then go and get your beer!).' I prefer not to think of my two little angels quaffing cans of lager, but I suppose they have to grow up at some time.
Today (Thursday), we were ordered to pick up GCSE results. The youngest DW daughter had initially said she wasn't that bothered about her results - 'they'll put them in the post'. Then it was 'can you collect them, I'll open them when I get home'. Finally, it was 'open them, read them to me . . .' Luckily, they were very good and we didn't have her snivelling down the phone. (For the record and to be fair to the elder DW daughter, she also did v.well in her A-levels and got her place to do teacher training in York after a gap year).
I've been spared the return trip to Reading on Monday - they're all coming home by coach . . . poor coach driver, I can't imagine what 50 unwashed teenagers trapped in a small, enclosed space smell like!
While most teenagers were busy revising, mine were checking out the tent, purchasing rucksacks and sleeping bags and logging on to the internet almost hourly to check out which bands would be playing.
Tickets were booked almost as soon last last year's festival had finished. Apparently it's cheaper that way, the only drawback being that you don't know which bands will be playing.
Then as A-level and GCSE results approached, the preparations reached fever-pitch - almost daily shopping trips for camping stoves, shampoo, wellies. Hourly phone calls to friends to check on travel arrangements - one of them had the festival tickets, another had the early passes (allowing them to set up camp on Wednesday instead of Thursday or Friday).
Then, on Monday and Tuesday there were checks on the website to see which campsites were the least wet (the site is next to the Thames and was flooded after the last lot of heavy rain).
So, on Wednesday it was finally D-day. I was transporting my two plus two others. The back of the car was packed solid with three tents, rucksacks, sleeping bags and other paraphernalia (all of which they had to carry themselves once they arrived in Reading).
The journey to Reading was fairly uneventful, but in the town itself it was like bees round a honeypot - thousands of teenagers converging on the festival site, all trying to look cool while lugging heavy bags and tents along the road. They all looked fairly pristine in their newly-acquired festival garb (lots of flowery wellies) but I suspect that come Monday morning when they're all heading home, they won't look quite so clean.
The road leading to the festival was also something to behold - every few yards there was a beer stall - beer was available off the back off lorries, out of vans, from tents and gazebos. Some youngsters had decided to stock up on their way in and were thus doubly loaded down with camping equipment and beer. This brought snorts of derision from the eldest DW daughter (a veteran of two previous Reading Festivals). 'Oh God, don't they know you need to set up your tent first and then go and get your beer!).' I prefer not to think of my two little angels quaffing cans of lager, but I suppose they have to grow up at some time.
Today (Thursday), we were ordered to pick up GCSE results. The youngest DW daughter had initially said she wasn't that bothered about her results - 'they'll put them in the post'. Then it was 'can you collect them, I'll open them when I get home'. Finally, it was 'open them, read them to me . . .' Luckily, they were very good and we didn't have her snivelling down the phone. (For the record and to be fair to the elder DW daughter, she also did v.well in her A-levels and got her place to do teacher training in York after a gap year).
I've been spared the return trip to Reading on Monday - they're all coming home by coach . . . poor coach driver, I can't imagine what 50 unwashed teenagers trapped in a small, enclosed space smell like!
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