Night is falling, it's cold and the rain clouds are are rushing busily. About two miles away, Boy Two is hopefully happy in his scout camp. This is his first proper camp.
There has been much preparation, including intriguingly the acquisition of a flint. I am delighted to report that, when I checked the boy's stuff before he left today, he had also taken a box of cook's matches from the kitchen, even though it wasn't on the list. I like that kind of pragmatism.
I don't suppose it matters what was in his bag, it's probably all muddy by now - and, likely, most of it will be wet. Then again, medium sized boys don't seem to register much discomfort. (Perhaps that's why they were the people chosen to go up chimneys...)
Once he'd lugged his gear to the tent and vanished inside with his compadres, Boy Three and I stood around wondering what to do with ourselves. We were certainly surplus to his requirements with adventure in the offing.
As we left, the dramatic sky gave way to spiteful hailstones. Boy One started wailing: "I miss my brother."
Me too.
Two sleeps seems like a very, very long time.
