Our Own Private Thunderstorm.

By this morning yesterday's winds seem to have dropped completely. As I drive to work the traffic is not bad at all. I think all the lorries must be off the road after getting turned over yesterday.

Never really thought about this thinking about sex seven times a day before but suppose its right. In fact seven is definitely on the low side. I decide I must start counting; it could be a whole new blog. I'm up to four already and I've only just got to work.

First I woke up next to the gorgeous L. Very tempting. I have time as I'm in the car today but she looks knackered, I let her rest.

Second and I wouldn't have given this a thought had I not been counting but there's that women on breakfast TV, the one who's not particularly attractive but has that through-a-hedge-backwards look that makes you think that she must have had one hell of an orgasm that morning, possibly seconds before she came on set.

Three, as I stop at a pedestrian crossing and a young girl walks across, I try and guess what (or who) would set off her five thoughts for the day and what those thoughts would be.

Four. Stop for petrol and as I watch the girl opposite filling up her car, I realise now that trying to count now that I'm aware I'm trying to count is impossible.

Relief to get to work. L says she had a great time running with the dog in the remains of the woodland around Martins Pond. They had to crawl under some trees and over others. All sounds like quite an assault course and of course Doggo would have had to spray up every tree/bush thing that had come down.

Went to Sainsbury's for some shopping and some lunch. Lunch wise it was a disaster. They had no sandwiches. Apparently the lorries could not get through due to the extreme weather. I had to make do with Chinese spring rolls and chicken pakoras that were reduced in price. Nice but not healthy.

In the queue at the checkout in front of me was a lad who was obviously planning a wild night. I didn't wish to be nosey but he was buying eight packs of mints, a pot noodle, a cheesecake, two snickers bars, a bottle of vodka and a three pack of condoms. Quite a seduction kit.

The checkout girl stopped him dead in his tracks when she asked him if he had any id. From the look on his face he was thinking what I was thinking - the condoms! Then it dawned on him, the vodka. He did have id, turned out he was 20 but didn't look it.

What's worrying for the girl he's planning on seducing this weekend is why does he need eight packs of mints. Is his breath that bad? Suppose that's why he only went for a three pack of condoms.

Drive home. Hurriedly pack car. We have to practically crowbar Daughter away from the TV. The next gap in her TV schedule is 7.30; we need to be away by 6.00.

Once we have dropped the kids off at their father's, we tear up the M6 to the Lake District. This is a routine we used to go through once a month September through May each year but the kid's social lives and their unpredictable father have meant it's been 15 months since we last did this.

We arrive at out usual haunt, the campsite at Great Langdale and thrown up the tent in a howling gale, it's 9.20. A personal best. We are in the bar of the Old Dungeon Ghyll for 9.45. Hawkshead Red 4.1%, Yates Bitter 3.7% and Old Peculiar 5.6%. Excellent stuff.

Regrettably the bar closes at 11.00 and we go back to the tent for coffee and dark chocolate. The wind seems to be getting stronger and is soon ominously battering against the sides of tent. It's also starts raining quite heavily. It all adds to the romance of the situation. Rain. Wind. Under canvas. We couldn't have picked a more perfect setting. It's our own private thunderstorm.

L's strips down to her vest which hopefully means that my seduction technique is working. It is, despite the late hour, we indulge in some tumultuous sex and there's no need to worry about disturbing any of the other campers as the wind and the rain will surely drown us out. Then again I'm sure every couple on the campsite will be doing the same thing.

My 'Trusty' Collie

Again we ought to be up early this morning because we are planning to orienteer for the first time since Christmas. We've opted to miss out on what would most probably be an excellent street event in Lincoln in order to run round a muddy wood somewhere near Barnsley. All for Doggo's sake. That's not to say he wouldn’t love a street event, because he would. All those lampposts etc to sniff out and wee up but it would simply be a nightmare and also understandably dogs are not allowed.

As we lay in bed, none of us look keen, least of all Doggo and it's all supposed to be for his benefit. Sod it, it's Sunday morning, so we shag first, we'll just have to be late for the orienteering.

A while later we are finally heading up the M1, late but not disastrously so. This rules me out of a brown (the longest course), not that I'm going to get too upset about that, but I should have time for my usual blue.

Get there and it doesn't look terribly dog friendly, lots of roads surround the woodland. Then we have a string of disasters on the start line. First Doggo gets tangled up in the start line, but there's nothing unusual in that. Then they hand us a map which seems to be a blank piece of paper, all white with just a few dashes on it. All white in orienteering means widely spaced trees with no variation, e.g. featureless = I get lost. The dashes correspond to paths but as usual there are more paths than dashes, it takes a while for me to discover what they regard as a path and what they don't.

Then to cap it all, just as we set off, Doggo snaps his collar. Too much excitement, too much pulling. He doesn't look fussed. He was expecting to be let off anyway so he can't see what the problem is. Who needs a collar anyway? I take 5 minutes or so fixing his collar, I'm determined not to have him off the lead until he's calmed down a bit.

The course is a bit of a stinker, although I've done worse. I even have to climb down a cliff face to punch one control. Doggo rubs it in by sitting at the bottom of said cliff face next to the control, smiling, smug, as he watches me clamber down. If only he could punch it for me.

Things go from bad to worse. I twist my ankle on one of the many broken branches. I sit down until the pain subsides and the world stop spinning. I realise that I have lost my 'trusty' collie. Then I see him, miles away, running with another group of orienteers. I call him back. He comes reluctantly, looking well pissed off, he'd much rather be up front with the 'proper' runners. He gives me a 'I didn't realise you were injured look' but it's not convincing. I hobble round the rest of the course.

We come well down the bottom of the results, which is disappointing after some mid table finishes recently.

On the way home we decide to cook a family meal, so we drop in at Sainsbury's and get all the stuff to do a three course Chinese. Soup, platter and three main courses. It all goes down very well and even keeps Son in our company for twenty minutes or so, which is a rare treat. After quite a good alcohol week we even treat ourselves to a glass of white wine, leftovers from New Year you understand.

Just to spoil the day we embark on another Catherine Cookson, this time 'The Man Who Cried'. We make it to the end of part one, without committing suicide, just. L offers an early night. I'm not convinced its sex she's after though, she's just trying to get out of watching part two. I hope it's only in two parts.