A summer swell
Camp Bestival, garden woes & a special birthday
August. The final surge of summer has arrived, and with it, mercifully, the pitter patter of rain. The garden is slowly crumpling in brown leaf-shaped shards, delicate as glass; I felt it sighing with the relief of a heavy downpour, droplets splashing heavily on the paving stones as the sky grew dark and foreboding.
Truthfully, dear reader, I haven’t properly watered my poor garden in weeks. We don’t have water butts or any way to collect and store used water, and it feels criminally wasteful to use the outdoor tap when so many people are struggling with low supply in this hot weather. The established plants are just about managing to survive, but the pots? Not so much. Never mind.
In this first week of August, I’m back at my desk after a weekend under canvas at Camp Bestival in Dorset. It was technically a working weekend (my sister and I were hired to capture social media content for The Teen Commandments Podcast show) but also the most brilliant fun. We danced with the swell of the crowd to Billy Ocean and Self Esteem and Bastille, ate pizza and drank ice cold rosé, the castle silhouetted against a deepening lilac sky. It was glorious and special and so nostalgic.
There’s just something about the sound of tent flaps being unzipped, the smell of canvas and cut grass, that reminds me so fondly of the summers we spent on campsites as young girls. We would share a double mattress, huddled under the duvet reading our books, cosy and warm as the rain lashed against the tent poles outside. We didn’t yet know who we would become, but we were happy simply because we were together, in the middle of a soggy field in Cornwall.
On our way home, we stopped off at Durdle Door, making the perilous journey down steep pathways littered with loose limestone until finally, the arch came into view. A perfect, blustery, suncream-scented end to our weekend.
In other news, my darling dad turned 60 this week. We celebrated with presents (a shiny new pair of Crocs, complete with football-themed jibbitz, plus a bottle of very nice red wine) and dinner by the sea, my father’s favourite place.
Strange, parents aging, isn’t it? 60 feels different to all the other milestone ages, somehow. I remember the big blowout party we had for my parents’ 50th birthdays; I was 22, freshly graduated and working in London. I got the most ridiculous glittery acrylic nails done for the occasion and danced the night away to ABBA.
Later this month, we’ll head to France by train (my favourite way to travel) for the annual Rayment family holiday. We rent a big house, take plenty of playing cards and peanuts with us and spend one special week together, eating, drinking, sleeping, swimming, reading & not worrying about anything beyond what’s for lunch.
Simple pleasures, always. These are the joys that keep us warm through winter: a toasted crumpet dripping with salted butter and the merest swipe of marmite; the condensation that gathers on a cold, crisp glass of white wine in a hot place; a post-beach everything shower.
We only have August, for now, and maybe it will be everything we wanted it to be and maybe it won’t, but it will always exist. September will soon be here. Leaves will start to burnish. Blackberries will ripen in big, glossy bunches. The seasons will turn. This is only the beginning.
How is your August looking? Tell me in the comments, I’d love to hear from you.
Until next time,
Lauren x
I can remember the party we had for mum’s 50th, then suddenly it was the 60th, then before we knew it, it was the 70th, then unimaginably, two years ago it was then the 80th! 😮🙌🌱
Sounds lovely! And seeing Self Esteem live is a dream 😍 we‘re still waiting for the rain over here, which makes me slightly anxious. Apart from that, it‘s been a good August so far, with plenty of ice cream and some swimming. Next week I‘ll head to Sweden, and I can‘t wait!