Figuring that a doctor would only poke at the tender bits and ask if it hurt, I woke and gingerly did the same. When nothing hurt as much as it did yesterday we took that as a bit of a sign that we should move on so we set about doing the little things that should have been done when we first arrived, like installing the spare gas bottle. A smart person, having lain about for a few days doing not much may have taken a little more care when moving a thirty kilogram bottle at full stretch, but as it turns out all remaining stomach tenderness disappeared with the tiniest little twitch of the lower back.
It didn’t matter. We were leaving no matter what.
So biting firmly on a bit of old shoe just as they did in the cowboy movies, we gently nudged Mr P awake and drifted down to Parroy (confusingly perhaps pronounced pa-wah) and moored right next to the playground at the camping ground, where the skies clouded over, just enough rain came to keep anyone intent on using the see-saw indoors and the tractors away from their harvest, leaving us in complete tranquilty. Under the circumstances there was nothing we could do but while away the afternoon leisurely, reading, swatting flies and snacking on paracetamol.