Yurt holiday success, were you there?
Yes to yurts.
I went on an actual holiday, took very little with me and integrated with a totally open minded group of strangers who were well-versed in arboriculture, Welsh literature and organic wool weaving practices since the Stone Age. Seven random adults and one teen altogether in a yurt for the long weekend.
My booking for the single yurt had been mixed up with the Yurt Singles, a hobbyist group of assorted enthusiasts keen on outdoor life and avoiding deoderant by first impressions. After finding out they had yomped from the nearest big town eight miles away rather than hire a taxi to lower their carbon footprint I had to respect their dedication. Especially on a diet of cardboard and berries.
There was some serious haggling over the menu once it was realised that the farm we were on expected us to eat the produce which included Doris the sheep and the gorgeously long eyleashed Phyllis the calf. They also raise rare breed pigs at the farm next door, no need to name them in that case.
As the token male who knew the difference between a crankshaft and a pencil they united as one turned to me and elected me the bacon hauler-inner and dead animal bringer.
As a joke I then said, "Well ,that would make me the head of the tribe, and I claim droit de seigneur with any newlyweds in the village." Fully expecting this to cause a row and thus get all the adults present to go back to the original idea of everybody taking their turn to walk three miles in the freezing wonderful mud to get the milk and the fresh stuff each day, I was gobsmacked when they agreed. Utterly. Then I quietly had an inspiration. I whipped out the old mobile, phoned up the farmer owners of the Yurt haven and put in a delivery list for all the days we were to be there. I got a round of applause and some interestingly long lasting hugs.
The chess set had four pieces missing, so I suggested carving spares out of potatoes and again rapturous applause without even a trace of irony. I wowed them with my astronomical knowledge and the amount of pop-songs I could recall. The singsongs around the log-fired stove were therefore epic.
The easter egg hunt went well and the whole weekend I never went without a drink or a sandwich or anything. It was brilliant. Strange and lovely people all of them. Shame to arrest them the next time they're on the wrong type of demo or protest. Well, you know what they say; you can't choose your parents.
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