It's not going to be a relaxing week.

This is my bed. It's warm, cosy and dry. As one should be when one sleeps.

Hold that thought for a moment, if you will.

My eldest boy, my firstborn, my precious wee babe, is here for a week. If you follow that link you'll see what a spectacular place it is. It's also very very far away. It takes fifteen hours on a bus to get there. It's in the desert which means it is bitterly cold at night. He has no tent.

Can I just repeat that? He has no tent.

At his school, when the class goes on camp, the children break up into pairs or trios to share food, tent, equipment and so on. So he and two friends joined forces, and the planning between the three families began. One had a tent and we offered to purchase a little camping stove and the planning for a week's worth of shared meals began. The children had to be at school at 6:00am on Sunday so you can imagine what Saturday was like. Cooking, washing, packing, repacking, airing of sleeping bags, boot shopping, organising, sewing of name labels, the measuring out and packing into ziplock bags of portions of rice, milk powder, cereal, etc. One final phone call to confirm that yes we had the stove, yes we had the cooler for their milk, cheese, butter and sausages, they had the tent, yes. Yes yes yes. Yes.

We rose at 5:00am, dressed and packed the last few frozen items into the cooler, and Mr Soup drove him to school in the predawn light. The bus was loaded and the gaggle of overexcited teenagers boarded. Just as the teachers were about to board, the mother of the other child said ...

Oh my god I forgot the tent.