Little Treasures

Ah, ‘tis nearly the Summer Holidays.  The youth group is increasingly giddy as the school term enters its death throes.  I am reasonably sure the children are on drugs already so this is not a calming experience.  It is rather like a coach-load of whirling dervishes commandeering the Waltzers for the afternoon.  Then screaming because they want to go faster.

Normally, I have a relatively sedate time with the older group of children.  Older being ten-plus.  That puts me in the same age bracket as the diplodocus.  And by ‘relatively sedate,’ I mean, of course, bedlam.  Tonight, though, was something even more special: we were joined by the young ones.  They came in like a shotgun blast.

They tore through the hall like tiny tornados.  Even the ‘older ones’ started to cower.  Suddenly a treasure hunt around the village didn’t seem quite such a brilliant idea.

The other adults looked at me.  It was my turn to lead this week.  They hadn’t warned me about tonight’s particular feature.  They smiled.  I smiled back.  I knew I would be visiting them later.  Much later.  In the middle of the night.  When everything was quiet.  When everything was peaceful.  With horse’s heads. 

A ginger haired seven-year old kicked a chair and tugged my arm.

“Can I say ‘piss’?”

‘It looks like it.’ I replied, missing the point entirely.

He was crestfallen.

He sought new ways of getting attention.  I can’t tell you how relieved I was not to be a small Jack Russell tonight.

“Is that your girlfriend?” asked a small collective of urchins pointing at a random grown up.  They pointed at every other person in the room, repeating the question each time.  In the end I agreed.  Yes, the old man in a hat gardening across the road was my girlfriend.

Three small girls decided to follow me like sheep.  And only communicate through bleating.  They thought this was absolutely hilarious.  Soon I had a flock.  But no abattoir in sight.

The boys, bored of trying to ignite a curtain with a magnifying glass, started a farting competition.  This turned out to be the funniest game ever.

Still, I survived the night.  And the treasure hunt proved an interesting distraction.  If you know of anyone who has lost both number plates, a pair of spectacles or last month’s copy of Razzle magazine, please let me know.

Comments

[Mrs RW]

I'm assuming you took this on voluntarily? I suppose this is good practice for when S joins the Girl Guides. Let me know when that happens...I've saved my campfire songbook and also the campfire cookbook.