One of the things we've done this year is to hang loads of tyres on the trees in the camping field creating a swing city. In our egocentric way we imagine that everyone's dream weekend is to sit in the sun reading the papers, eating freshly made scrambled eggs from eggs laid five minutes before, drinking freshly ground hot coffee and hearing the sounds of the children playing happily somewhere. Somewhere. Somewhere, over there. Not here. Somewhere where you know they're going to be relatively safe (as long as they don't fall off... or get knocked over). Just an hour of peace and country quiet, that's the dream. Well our dream anyway, don't know about anyone else... but we've made the swing centre in the hope.
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