In the afternoon we went back into Robin Hoods Bay to the museums. Tilly then finally understood what smuggling was and spent some time smuggling stuff in and out of the tent.
So the end of the holiday was nigh and Paul had sourced cava from a more orthodox route. I imagined another evening watching the sunset sipping cava.
In actuality I spent most of the evening swigging cava out of a red plastic mug on my own while Paul joined in a game of 3andahalf-a-side football...with three boys age 3 to 6 and two other dads (one with a limp so Paul fitted right in). I wasn't sure that football on an uneven field with long grass whilst wearing crocs was wise but he didn't sustain further injury.
It was a classic jumpers for goal posts pitch. Apparently you can still have offside in this kind of environment. And Paul is the Hooks House Farm Peter Crouch. I confirmed that, just like Peter, Paul can't dance either.
The goalie on Paul's side was three and was reminded every four minutes not to bite his nails. He was still giggling despite being 8-2 down. This was my kind of football match. Towards the end he lay down in the goal and went to sleep.
I let Paul have one mug of cava before we called it a night. Paul says he gets what the fuss about camping is about now. And I remember the whole point of it all.
As if all this positivity wasn't enough we managed to get up early and pack the last bag in the car as the torrential rain just began. We drove home without getting stuck or lost and made it back in time for a farm birthday party. Sometimes it just works. I am glad I've written all this out so I can remind myself in years to come that summer holidays aren't always damp.