Early morning: Wake up, start complaining about having no motivation to pack and go away for just one night. Husband says, 'Too bad'. Start packing.
Late morning: Arrive. Pretend to be very, very busy looking after child while husband sets up the tent. Feel silly when I realise child is actually helping husband. Whatever, they're happy.
Afternoon: Sit back and chat while the menfolk go on a wood-collecting outing (which inevitably gets them stuck on a side track) (and lost, even though they pretend they weren't). Child still playing in the mud. When she's not playing in the mud, she's fascinated with the drop toilet, ignores my pleas to 'Don't look down!' and tries to rope me into playing near the toilet. Not. Going. To. Happen.
Morning: Eat breakfast, another feast, and laugh at the hungover members of our party. Feel smug at having been in bed early, even if I didn't sleep at all. Child eats approximately two dozen rashers of bacon for breakfast.
Late morning: Pretend to be very, very busy looking after child while husband packs up the tent. In fact, child is perfectly happy jumping in puddles and playing in the mud with her friends. Very happy I didn't pack any toys, and pretend this was a planned decision rather than forgetfulness. Head off for our day's drive.
Afternoon: Make our way up four-wheel-driving tracks to our lunch destination. Not expecting much from the name of the place, but am pleasantly surprised.
Late afternoon: After more driving, arrive at our next destination. A country pub. Menfolk drink beer and then we head home.
Evening: Arrive home. Race around washing child, feeding child, washing self, feeding self, unpacking and washing clothes. Collapse, happy after a good weekend.