Rain

The rain came at last. Of course it did – it’s cubs’ camp this weekend. And I have a car-boot sale in Malmesbury.

“When d’you think it’s going to rain,” asked Bernard as I passed him in the allotments on Friday.
“About six o’clock.” I didn’t even need to look up at the gathering grey cumulo-nimbus clouds overhead. The cubs would just be arriving at the camp site in Bristol then. The rain came at 5.55.

I am not a happy camper – I hate cub camp. The only thing worse than being at cub camp under the endless rain, wind and drizzle, baked beans and billy cans and compulsory activities, is not being there and worrying about my 10-year-old boy who’s been looking forward to it for weeks. I’ve had two sleepless nights and made at least five phone calls, just to check he’s ok. He is – apparently he’s having a whale of a time, but I send over an extra blanket with Georgina’s husband Jeremy, just to be on the safe side.

To take my mind off it, I’m doing the car boot sale. My car is stuffed to the gunnels with what can only be described as a load of old cr*p. Unfortunately, there’s no room for a gazebo or an umbrella – I’ll just have to hope the rain eases off. Of course it doesn’t – it’s cub camp, isn’t it.

My pile of old cr*p looks less appealing than ever under the rain. A woman in a raincoat meanders over and picks up a digital camera.
“How much?” she asks.
“£4?” I suggest, without much conviction.
“I’ll give you two.”
I haven’t the energy to haggle.

Simon, who has the stall next to mine – ingeniously covered by an oblong of tarpaulin perched on two canes – takes pity on me and offers to buy me a coffee. I feel I need to reciprocate and fish in my purse for 50p to buy a bag of home-made biscuits from his stall. There's an ominous rumble of thunder, then a Cluedo game catches my eye.
“How much?” I ask.
“£4.” It’s noticeable there is no question mark after his answer. By 10.30 I’m 50p down.

I sell a stuffed sheep for 20p, and manage to somehow wangle 30p for some lipglosses disguised as cup cakes, and things at long last are looking up. Then I spot another woman selling plates, and it’s downhill all the way.

Back home, my husband asks how I got on.
"Umm, well - you know," I shrug.