A magical night was spent feasting and camping in and just outside of Brockenhurst, in the New Forest.  Crooked because my fellow micro-adventurer’s much beloved and travelled tent had seen better, more sturdy days.  It did the job though, and we were awoken up by (a near asbo-deserving chorus of) bird song at dawn!

Preparing for our epic river crossing.  Aside from being scorchio, it was a bit ouch.