To celebrate my birthday this year, Rich booked us a weekend in a yurt in the Cotswolds. We’re slightly obsessed with yurts. Rich grew up wanting to be a pig farmer in Mongolia, and we had our wedding party in this one:
This wasn’t any old yurt however. It came with it’s own woodland, compost loo, and already established guests. As we were staying at the end of the season, several little mice had had plenty of time to make themselves at home, and had obviously established a routine for driving human guests nuts!
They stayed quiet until we’d gone to bed, and then started running around inside the felt lining of the yurt, and peaking into any bags which we’d left on the floor. Even when we got savvy and moved everything up onto pegs, they still insisted on exploring, nibbling, and generally just trying to drive me round the bed. Even though Rich couldn’t hear a thing without his hearing device on, he was still worried about things nibbling at said device, or leaving droppings close by or even on him – a genuine fear when we’re trying to avoid infection, what with chemo n’all.
Even with two disturbed nights however, we still had fun. And to be fair, the mice will have made their home there long before we came along. Rich was in his element chopping and preparing fire wood for the open fire, and we’ve always loved cooking outside. It was so peaceful that we dragged the mattresses outside for a nap in the sun on the second day. Hell it was so quiet that you could quite easily have run around naked and not scared anyone. We didn’t, well apart from night time runs to the loo in our pants.