Where was Bertie? He spent a night on a hardstanding pitch at a certified (5-van) campsite at Bryars Farm, Lea, where it cost £15 including electricity and access to a toilet.
Weather: Sunny intervals and warm, but with rain overnight into Thursday.
I didn't feel too bad after finishing my 24-hour race on Sunday. We went home, I had a couple of hours of kip, sent Mick out to get me a pizza for tea (not something I usually consider to be an evening meal; pizza is a lunch item in our house, but it's what I fancied), then had a good night's sleep. My expectations for Monday were that I would be refreshed, muscularly sore from the excess of exercise, and ravenously hungry.
Surprisingly, I wasn't very sore at all, with no issue walking up or down stairs, but, my goodness, I felt poorly, suffering from what I can only describe as the worst hangover of my life, even though not a drop of alcohol had been consumed (in the last decade, never mind on Sunday night). I was also a kilo and a half lighter than I had been on Friday morning, so I think we can safely say that there was some dehydration involved.
Eating and drinking was a struggle and even though I had a long to-do list, nothing got done (by me; Mick did lots on my behalf).
Monday night's sleep was poor. My mind was on unfocussed overdrive, so it took me a good hour and a half to drop off, only to wake up at 0230. I never did get back to sleep, but lay there listening to my audiobook, then a few sleep meditations that, on this occasion, failed to perform their service, whilst simulatenously fixating on the left-over pizza that was in the fridge (Mick had been sent on another pizza mission for Monday lunch and came back with huge ones; it seems that after a long run, pizza is what I need). Not wanting to disturb Mick, who needs sleep ahead of his race this weekend, it was just gone 0630 by the time I gave in to the pizza:
First breakfast at 0638
It was soon apparent that I hadn't made a miraculous recovery overnight and Tuesday was again spent feeling horribly hungover, although I did manage to stir myself to pull my weight in the repacking of Bertie.
All hangovers must eventually come to an end, and by Tuesday evening I was feeling perkier. I slept like the deadest of dead people and on Wednesday initial signs were good when I managed two breakfasts.
Even better, I could think coherently again and communicate other than in groans, so, after a drive up to Lancashire, we had a good day visiting Al & Nicky, before going out for a meal with them in the evening.
Bertie meanwhile spent most of the day on Al & Nicky's driveway, before being moved at around 7pm to Bryar's Farm, where they have a commercial campsite (looked full) and the CL (empty, bar Bertie).
Previously when visiting this area we have stayed at the Aire at Lytham St Annes, and that had been our intention this time too. Then we saw the price had risen to £15, which in my world is too steep just for a space in a car park. Scouring resources for options, I happened upon Bryar's Farm, where the same price bought us not just a pitch, but electricity, use of a toilet, a tap and a waste point.
Weather: Sunny intervals and warm, but with rain overnight into Thursday.
I didn't feel too bad after finishing my 24-hour race on Sunday. We went home, I had a couple of hours of kip, sent Mick out to get me a pizza for tea (not something I usually consider to be an evening meal; pizza is a lunch item in our house, but it's what I fancied), then had a good night's sleep. My expectations for Monday were that I would be refreshed, muscularly sore from the excess of exercise, and ravenously hungry.
Surprisingly, I wasn't very sore at all, with no issue walking up or down stairs, but, my goodness, I felt poorly, suffering from what I can only describe as the worst hangover of my life, even though not a drop of alcohol had been consumed (in the last decade, never mind on Sunday night). I was also a kilo and a half lighter than I had been on Friday morning, so I think we can safely say that there was some dehydration involved.
Eating and drinking was a struggle and even though I had a long to-do list, nothing got done (by me; Mick did lots on my behalf).
Monday night's sleep was poor. My mind was on unfocussed overdrive, so it took me a good hour and a half to drop off, only to wake up at 0230. I never did get back to sleep, but lay there listening to my audiobook, then a few sleep meditations that, on this occasion, failed to perform their service, whilst simulatenously fixating on the left-over pizza that was in the fridge (Mick had been sent on another pizza mission for Monday lunch and came back with huge ones; it seems that after a long run, pizza is what I need). Not wanting to disturb Mick, who needs sleep ahead of his race this weekend, it was just gone 0630 by the time I gave in to the pizza:
It was soon apparent that I hadn't made a miraculous recovery overnight and Tuesday was again spent feeling horribly hungover, although I did manage to stir myself to pull my weight in the repacking of Bertie.
All hangovers must eventually come to an end, and by Tuesday evening I was feeling perkier. I slept like the deadest of dead people and on Wednesday initial signs were good when I managed two breakfasts.
Even better, I could think coherently again and communicate other than in groans, so, after a drive up to Lancashire, we had a good day visiting Al & Nicky, before going out for a meal with them in the evening.
Bertie meanwhile spent most of the day on Al & Nicky's driveway, before being moved at around 7pm to Bryar's Farm, where they have a commercial campsite (looked full) and the CL (empty, bar Bertie).
Previously when visiting this area we have stayed at the Aire at Lytham St Annes, and that had been our intention this time too. Then we saw the price had risen to £15, which in my world is too steep just for a space in a car park. Scouring resources for options, I happened upon Bryar's Farm, where the same price bought us not just a pitch, but electricity, use of a toilet, a tap and a waste point.
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