Challenge 15 - Scout Camp: Night of the Zombies

SATURDAY

5am start. No time for coffee - must pack stuff I didn't pack the night before. Shove toast toward bleary-eyed Miss Eight and manage to get out the door only 5mins late.

Forgot Miss Eight's sleeping bag! Do I have time to go back? Does she really need sleeping bag? Will ascetic child reflect badly on parenting skills? Do I really need to answer that?

Scout den: Packing by committee takes as long as you'd expect. People getting grumpy. Finally have three boys in our vehicle and we're off. Very excited!

Confiscate iPod so boys stop shouting at each other. Kid in the middle slaps me in the head with a book and then slaps driver. Whack whack! Tug o' war ensues as I skillfully attempt to confiscate book. Have uncharitable thought about kittens and burlap sacks. Wonder what possessed me to volunteer to look after Other People's Children then I remember - I've never done this before.

Look over shoulder and see Head-slapper doing bubbly spits onto carpet. 'Hey!' I shout. 'What do you think you're-' Head-slapper vomits noisily onto floor. And my bag. And driver's only jacket. Van screeches to halt and we go into damage control. I draw short straw and have to clean up vomit with wet wipes. Boys (like puppies) are facinated by vomit.

Back on the road the smell is palpable. Spend rest of trip with head out window and trying not to touch anything with spew-ey fingers.

Arrive at camp ground and throw bag into bin. Scrub hands til pink and can still smell spew. Amputation becomes viable option.

Erection time! Tents look like origami nightmare. I begin threading a pole through some holes and bending it into upright position. 'That doesn't go there,' says small child. 'Good work,' I say. 'That's one point towards your tent-putting-up badge. Pass me that hammer.'

Stinking hot day: Swim time!

River the colour of mud. Bottom covered in tennis ball sized, slippery rocks. Can there be negative visibility under water? If not this place has set a new benchmark. Kids don't mind at all. Notice a few of them aren't confident swimmers. I call for their attention and give lecture about submerged dangers. 'Don't yawn at me Missy! This is serious!' I jump for a ball and right knee locates the only submerged danger in entire swimming hole. Spend next hour limping around, counting heads and having small panic attacks. The weight of responsibility in a place like this is overwhelming.

That night the children perform Zombie Skit. Kids lurch around in the dark groaning and looking for brains. (Don't look at me kid.) Zombies are picked off one by one by brave little protagonist. He breaks their legs, sets them on fire and brains them with an imaginary rolling pin. Excellent work. Zombie badge for you.

Adults perform skit that has us on our creaky knees shouting, 'Allah akbar! Pray for rain!' about 15 sodding times. I wait to be shot by sniper or struck by lightning - either one is fine by me. Children have no clue what we're doing and lose interest. Someone asks for their money back.

I take my growing sense of dread to bed. Listen to possums raping and pillaging until sleep finally takes me.