Nessun dorma

 

 

A couple of years ago, Oliver went to a cub 'no sleepover.'  This involved his pack rocking up at the local headquarters, playing games, bit of rifle shooting, unrolling their sleeping bags and watching movies on a giant screen until their eyes bled, or they dropped dead from exhaustion - whichever was the soonest. 

On Friday, there was another no sleepover event.  This time it was different. This time I had 'volunteered' to be parent 'helper' and boy, was I not looking forward to it. 

Here is Oliver's sleeping bag:

From Millets, for life in the great outdoors.

Here's mine:

From 1985, for Toyah.


It started to go downhill from here really.

There were 42 cubs there.  I felt tired from the moment I arrived at 7pm.  I was greeted by the brother of my ex-boyfried who, rather horribly, is something to to with district scouting.  He was going to be there all night too.  I spent a lot of the evening avoiding him, dreading him revealing to all and sundry the tale of how we knew each other.  At 9pm I got sent to the chip shop for 62 portions of chips.  It was that sort of night.  Scream scream scream. 

At 11.30pm, after a multitude of teeth-gnashing activities, enduring noise levels which made my eardrums buzz and screeching 'shush' at countless cubs, they were finally laid out in a looonnnnnng room end to end in their sleeping bags to watch films.  But it wasn't over there, ooohhh no.  It became apparent that the leaders were going to push through til dawn, and not sleep at all.  I wanted to cry.  In fact, I think my voice broke a little when I whimpered 'seriously, all night - not sleep???  We sat in the very brightly lit  IT suite on Very Upright chairs with the computer server humming away in the background.  It was like being trapped on a bloody ferry.  In the wee hours, a  couple of the ladies gave up and went 'to bed', so I gladly followed them, crawling into my cold, hard sleeping bag in a grateful daze.  Where I dozed fitfully and shiveringly until 5.45am when they turned on the lights for the commencement of more brain-frying will-sapping activities.  Everyone looked like death warmed up.  I sulkily gamely joined in until we were summarily dismissed at 9am.  I practically ran to the car, and my screeching tyres and getaway speed rivalled that of a bank heist.

By 10am I felt so tired, I felt ill.  By 1pm, both Oliver and I were crashed out asleep on the sofa until he woke up declaring 'I'm hungry, can I have my tea' at 3pm.  Ghastly.  It was like suffering the worst jet lag.  Horrible, horrible, horrible.  And it wasn't even for charity. 

Enough tales of shitty nights away.  I have finished this:

 

 

This pattern was originally seen here.

It clearly has a right and wrong side though.  Let's not dwell on the dark side.

Laters.