Wednesday 7th July 2010

As I was retreating from a nature hike with a group, I submitted myself to a game of ‘I spy’ with an upset girl in order to cheer her up. I started with the usual straightforward objects (P for Plants, U for Udi) and it wasn’t long until the girl joined in. As we were hoisting ourselves up the hill to the basketball courts the girl states ‘I spy with my little eye, something beginning with S’. I try all the obvious guesses (sky, sun, sister) but all of them failed to render success.

‘Are you sure you can see this thing?’ I asked the girl
‘Yes, it’s a boy’s name. I can see him now’.

I cast about despairingly since all the boys are away at activities- no boys are about- before giving in.

‘That’s it, I give in, who on earth can you see?’
‘Uncle Scott, silly!’

I look about and think good lord this child is demented. There wasn’t an adult insight, let alone a man! Yet when I stated this, the girl merely remarked ‘oh, but Scott is dead’.

Now, this takes me off guard and I’m thinking ‘hot Aunt Madge, what the blinkin’ Stevens is this lass on about? Is there a ghoulish geezer creeping in the shrubbery or is she actually mad as 6 mad things?’

‘He died here at camp after a branch fell on him’ continues the girl. ‘He was 30 when it happened and I’m the only one in my family that can see him’.

There are not many times in my life that I can truly say I’m stumped but in this moment I truly was. Half of me wanted to caw out, clutching my splitting sides at the sheer ridiculousness of what had just tumbled out of this little girl's mouth, the other half wanted to pour a tub of salt around the girl, run off in the other direction and get Yvette and Karl from Most Haunted to come and exorcise her.

Instead, I think the words ‘oooh, that must be nice’ stumbled out of my mouth (nice one Chelsea) before shunting her towards Athletics and letting the mystification set in.

Hours later when I’d forgotten about my bizarre encounter, the girl’s sister strides in and asserts that her sister has been lying about her Dad and Granddad hurting animals and breaking rabbit’s legs for fun. I make the connection instantly and ask ‘have you got an Uncle Scott by any chance?’. The girl shakes her head in confusion and I exasperate ‘oh my life’ before trying to smother my chuckles in my pillow.

Even later I bump into the raconteur’s counsellors, share the stories and they say ‘Ah yes, she’s just told us that she killed a dog. I think we’ve got a pathological liar on our hands’.

I’ve never believed in pathological liars before, I mean, surely they’re just lying when they say they don’t know they’re lying, right? But hark at this, I believe it now. This girl finds it completely necessary to fabricate these intricate lies and thread them through her everyday activities. I’m not complaining, it currently keeps me from stabbing my eyeballs out with grass reeds from the usual monotony of ‘Look at me swim! Look at me cartwheel! Push me! She hit me! He bit my chin!’ but I am starting to worry that she came up to me last week and whispered ‘I really like you Chelsea’.

Blimey oh reily, what the bloody hell does that mean?!?

Kids say the funniest things

Girl 1: Chelsea, where was William Shakespeare from?
Chelsea: England!
Girl 2: Ohhhhh, I thought he was from Kansas… Oh hang on, that’s the Wizard of Oz isn’t it?!

Girl: I eat fabric softener and carpet cleaner.
The same girl was later asked what the worst thing she had ever eaten was. She answered ‘My Mom’s meatloaf’.
Damn. That must be godawful meatloaf.

Counsellors say the funniest things

Chelsea: Urchkkkkk
Emma: What?
Chelsea: I think I definitely just ate a stick instead of chocolate.
Ricky (in a dazed voice): Yes, the British do like to eat sticks.

Total bug bites to date:
27. Yes, you can say ‘well done Chelsea, you’ve cracked it’ but now my blog url and title seems slightly pointless. Must remember to roll in grass for 20 minutes tomorrow evening. Note to brain: ticks are worth 10 each.