Last Tuesday we packed the car and headed off to Rosbeg, Co. Donegal for our annual fix of sea and sand. Despite a glorious weekend previous, the forecast was for mixed sun and showers.

Sure enough we would get 5 minutes of rain followed by just enough time for the sun to dry that up before the next cloud would unleash it’s burdenous load upon us. As seasoned campers we naturally didn’t mind this, despite the drama of picking everything up and throwing all in the tent mid-barbeque (the rain actually seemed to help the sausages).

After a wonderfully relaxing thursday (which stayed for the most part sunny) we headed to bed (drunk on tea and hobnobs and a cracking game of stealth hangman) only to be woken in the middle of the night by the rasping sound of flapping tents. The wind was howling down the hill at us at some speed, raking tent pegs with ease through the sandy ground. Despite the middle of our tent being practically horizontal, I managed to utilize nearby breeze blocks to at least hold it in place before crawling back into my sleeping bag, praying that we would make it through the night.

We did, of course (death by sea-breeze isn’t on my agenda), but by morning the corners of the tent were flapping around in the still strong winds having ripped clean off the pegs. I was forced to haul my sleepy wife out of bed at an un-holiday-like hour to dismantle the tent before we lost it. It was only after we had got everything packed away in the car that we realised most of our neighbours had been forced to jump ship too, and were already gone.

And so our long-awaited camping trip was cut short in it’s prime, and we began the long journey home, before adding to it with a detour to Rostrevor to continue the holiday there. I had intended to be adding a gallery of photos from our trip in this post, but had only managed to get the camera out once before all the drama. You’ll have to make do with this one.