Attack of the Killer Mosquitoes

The glory of a motorhome is that you are free to go wherever you want. This was evident today as we changed our minds about our destination four times as we drove along. (Or five, if you include the fact that we were actually thinking about completely different places when we eventually agreed to go to "that campsite"). But to a campsite we went, thinking of a few days in one place so that Jemima could play with her garden toys; we could barbecue and sit outside (forbidden on an Aire); and I could do some washing. 

We had been recommended one by our very experienced neighbour in Les Andelys, so had high hopes; and it seemed good as we arrived: on a headland, across the road from a beach, nice hedged pitches. We parked up and Kevin started to enthusiastically unload the camping stuff and toys from the garage. Then, "there's a lot of midges" says Kevin. No, these were not midges. These were the biggest, baddest mosquitoes I've seen in many a day. After Kevin pulled one from his arm, leaving a trail of blood, we retreated inside, barbecue cancelled. For the first time, I see the point of the fly screens fitted at every entry point...  Still, we had a tasty caprese salad for dinner (intended as a side dish to the planned steaks); and Kevin and Jemima played Thomas the Tank Engine and Octonauts, so all was not lost.

A postscript: while Kevin was doing the washing up at the sanitary block, lukewarm water in the dark, a cloud of mossies round his head, thinking this was pretty hardcore, a family arrived to set up camp. On bikes, pitching a tent in the dark - a couple, a young boy, a toddler in a trailer, and a baby. Us in our cosy motorhome - we have no idea what hardcore is.

Hope:

Disappointment: