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.
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.
Posted by: Mrs RW | Saturday, 11 August 2007 at 02:42 AM