A-camping we will go
9:30 a.m.
My children have never had the sleep-over camp experience. It was something I would have liked for them to have, seeing as how I was a camper from age 10 to 14 myself and loved it, but my husband’s one attempt at the genre resulted in disaster. As a result, it was not to be.
However, Buddy Boy is, as we speak, performing his duties as a camp counselor at an ESL camp: 11- to 14-year-old francophones speaking only English for three weeks. He is 18. The job was described in rather idyllic terms to him: trips to water slides, amusements parks, basically having fun. I warned him that this was not likely to be the case; it’s supposed to be fun for the paying customers, the help isn’t likely to enjoy it nearly as much.
Last night I got this email from him:
Camp is a lot of fun and the kids are really great but it’s a lot more work than I thought it was going to be. I go to bed at night exhausted. Tonight we had a scavenger hunt which was fun but the evening was marred by the foul deeds of some kid(s). Someone went into a kid’s room when he wasn’t there and covered a whole bunch of his stuff with his stick of deodorant. The kids got a really big talking to but ultimatiely, nothing was done though because of a lack of any evidence. Oh well, shit happens.Yep, shit happens.
I spent more hours at the computer yesterday than I really wanted to, my eyes got tired, and as a result I made a mistake. Hubby, Buddy Boy and I are flying to the UK at the end of the month for two weeks of fun and frolic, as well as chasing down the ancestors of my husband’s paternal side. We start off the trip, though, with a visit to the Isle of Man to visit my good buddy darkomen, who I’m afraid has no idea what he’s in for. We had planned to spend three nights on the island, and I’d already booked accommodation at a B&B down the road from him. Yesterday I had to book our flights to and from the island, from London, to Glasgow.
The outbound flight was no problem, well, not much of a problem. It’s a pain trying to get the best price and then find that you’re being charged on top of that for taxes that equal almost the quoted fee, and then per piece of luggage too. By the time I got to the inbound flight though, I was getting weary. You know those little calendars you click on when you’re picking your travel dates? I’m used to seeing Sunday as the first day of the week. This particular calendar had Monday in that position, and I clicked on what I thought was Monday. It turned out to be Tuesday, and when I realized my mistake, the offices of the airline were closed and I couldn’t talk to a real person to reverse my error, which means we are on the island for an extra day. I’m not complaining per se, but it does shorten the rest of our trip by a day.
Kevin O is coming over to tune our piano this morning, so I cannot linger.
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