At last I reached the bottom of the ironing basket.
All weekend I have been washing, pegging and ironing.
Five of us in a civilised cottage in Cornwall for seven days produced far more washing than four in a tent for nine days.
There was bread to be baked, the cake tin to be filled and name tapes to be sewn.
We still have a couple of days left before school starts, time enough to go in search of damsons.