There’s something nice about sitting in your own sweat. Grim, I know, but still.
My girls and I have just trotted around the camp twice with quick intermissions of star jumps, squats and sit-ups. We finished it all off with 5 laps around the swings before splashing ourselves cool in the water fountain (2 girls looked like they’d drowned) and scrabbling into bed.
Why this sudden urge to be fit and healthy? I put it all down to the Olympics yesterday. Joined with a boys cabin, we formed the formidable country (or ‘non-country’ as my snooty peers like to call it) of WALES. I made some rather excellent signs that nobody got including:
‘WALES. Dwi’n hoffi coffi’
‘Charles, The Prince of Wales, isn’t Welsh,
BUT HE WISHES HE WAS!’
‘Tom Jones is my homeboy. Innit la’
and
‘WALES. The kind that don’t need saving.’
It took everything in my being to not write one declaring:
‘WALES. We’ve got the biggest dick in the ocean’
However, that whole I-like-having-a-job-and-don’t-want-to-be-stranded thing stopped me. Darn my respectable priorities.
After an abysmal morning of volleyball and tug of war -which may I add is NOT a sport destined for small children, thought we’d killed off half of them- we were feeling slightly downhearted. However, after our fierce Welsh chant stirred the throng of eager athletes, we were game for the afternoon activities.
So, teaming with positivity, we sliced through the pool (freestyle and sweater race) and nimbly manipulated the track events and today, were awarded with a shiny 3rd place. Okay, so there were only 4 teams but the fact we didn’t sludge in at last place (sorry Ireland) was a galactic achievement in itself. Bravo Wales, bravo.
Sunday was and always is a slow day. However, Sunday is also my mega break sit about on Facebook day. This evening, I spent my extra hour off looking at 56 million pictures of my co-counsellor Rickey on his flickr page. Blimey, that sounds awfully pervy. He was there though and gave me a commentary of every single one that went like this: ‘Ray, he’s a nice boy’, ‘Katie, she’s a nice girl’, ‘my bike, it’s nice’ and ‘that’s Ray again, he’s a nice boy’.
In my head, Sunday also means that the session is almost over. I have but 4 whole days left before extreme coffee relaxation time begins. Coffee relaxation is almost an oxymoron but I don’t bloody care. All I know is that I want, want, want. However, I’m definitely going to miss this session’s kids. They have been the closest to being friends if I’m allowed to issue that word to campers. Yet, and I can’t help feel that I’m jinxing myself here, but due to the small numbers, I’m finding myself bored. This blog (which can I just point out is way over 10,000 words now. Wow) has been increasingly more about me this past week than about the kids and camp and this makes me sad. This was not the aim and I promise that if you keep with me, I’ll try and rummage about for some top notch stories.
TOP NOTCH STORIES!!! I just remembered one. A camper put a grasshopper into Emma’s welly today which she proceeded to squish when putting on and thus killing the poor blighter. The child would have easily got away with it had she not been so smug with her ploy, the balmy bugger.
Bugs life is playing in the background and I’m going to attempt to write some of this novel of mine. I wrote the first 34 words before which have absolutely no relevance to anything. Ah, bit like this blog, eh?!
Kids say the funniest things
Chelsea: Did you enjoy your tacos, Taco?
Taco: (face of disgust) NO! I don’t eat my own kind.
The words of one of our meal time graces are: Thank you kitchen, for giving us foooood! Alas, I heard the older boys singing:
‘Fuck you kitchennnnn, for making us fattttt!’
Definitely one of those times you have to turn away and laugh.
Counsellors say the funniest things
Udi: I interviewed Bill Clinton once in Sri Lanka. I think he was coming onto me. I’d shaved my beard, you know, so I looked feminine.
Bug bites to date
56. I've been told that the 2 humungous ones on my ankle and back look like spider bites. Nice.
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