After a night lying in our tents listening to the wild wind (and, wilder still, Ian's snoring) we got up and breakfasted with a tad less enthusiasm than one might expect from a pack of adventure-hungry paddlers. Our new friend Colin turned up as promised in his van and transported us back to our boats and kit. As soon as we got out of the van and regarded the sea it was clear to each of us that we wouldn't be paddling but, being blokes, it still took a good 30 minutes before someone finally cracked and was the first to actually say it! Once we'd decided not to paddle for the day, I took the opportunity to come down with a 24 hour flu and lay pathetically on the grass hoping for a swift end while the others put their gear away again.Colin, who had a bit of a maritime background of his own, had waited patiently all this time and yet again spirited us away in his van and back to the campsite. By this time I was feeling truly horrible and my comrades very kindly put my tent up for me and I crawled off to bed with drugs from Ian's large stash (what exactly is Rohipnol, I wonder?) and my emergency Soreen loaf. The rest of the day must have passed (as days tend to) and I awoke feeling a bit better late in the afteroon. Everyone else was catnapping in their tents to I went to the pub for a remedial pint of lager and a chunky kit kat. One of these must have reacted with the tablets as I don't remember much else about the day except that we played cards again and Tom won.
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