No, not the limp-wristed, tiara-wearing, hip-sashaying camp that we're used to.
I'm talking about the filthy, outdoorsy back-to-nature camp that reeks of youthful hearty machismo. Or what I call the wild forgotten years that I spent drafted into the Scouts movement pitching tents ( no, not of that kind! ) at the local nature reserve while gorging on burnt potatoes and singing campfire songs.
Things I normally wouldn't be associated with.
Especially these days. Think most of my city slicker buddies would be astonished to contemplate the idea of me trudging neck-deep through a slow-moving river of mud and leeches. Or even ravenously digging into barely roasted corn that I hastily buried under a campfire.
But I actually did all that with little or no complaint.
Well the unsavoury pranks I played in the night did help balance out the crappier parts. With devious teenage minds at play, always some prank to play on the cabin next door. Thickened flour in your hair. Stinging toothpaste on your genitals. Underpants up on the flagpole. Back then I should have known that I was unabashedly homosexual since terribly biased me only ever picked the cuter boys to torture in their sleep.
And yes, with our sultry nights, they always slept in their skimpiest shorts. Which did make it easier for the toothpaste bit.
Bet I would have gotten a Prank Badge if they had it then.
Apart from the sophomoric high jinks above, wonder how I managed the entire camping jig especially now when I literally shudder at the very thought of group activity.
To some it might sound like a wonderful dream - but having a weekend away at the closest jungle retreat in the company of total strangers sounds like the most horrific nightmare ever. Imagine getting up bright and early in the morning for aerobics with dozens of bright-eyed young things. Or playing Capture the Flag in the sweltering heat of a tropical afternoon. And biking. And swimming. And hiking.
Let's not talk about the creepy crawlies even.
*shudder*
Even writing about it makes me wanna climb back into bed. Sure, the hot shirtless boys ( always an engaging surety during such activities ) would prove a distraction for a while but after a few days, even that particular delight wouldn't be able to stop me from running amok.
I'm talking about the filthy, outdoorsy back-to-nature camp that reeks of youthful hearty machismo. Or what I call the wild forgotten years that I spent drafted into the Scouts movement pitching tents ( no, not of that kind! ) at the local nature reserve while gorging on burnt potatoes and singing campfire songs.
Things I normally wouldn't be associated with.
Especially these days. Think most of my city slicker buddies would be astonished to contemplate the idea of me trudging neck-deep through a slow-moving river of mud and leeches. Or even ravenously digging into barely roasted corn that I hastily buried under a campfire.
But I actually did all that with little or no complaint.
 |
| Oh yeah, like you wouldn't relish the opportunity to put your hands down his pants. Albeit with the toothpaste. |
And yes, with our sultry nights, they always slept in their skimpiest shorts. Which did make it easier for the toothpaste bit.
Bet I would have gotten a Prank Badge if they had it then.
Apart from the sophomoric high jinks above, wonder how I managed the entire camping jig especially now when I literally shudder at the very thought of group activity.
To some it might sound like a wonderful dream - but having a weekend away at the closest jungle retreat in the company of total strangers sounds like the most horrific nightmare ever. Imagine getting up bright and early in the morning for aerobics with dozens of bright-eyed young things. Or playing Capture the Flag in the sweltering heat of a tropical afternoon. And biking. And swimming. And hiking.
Let's not talk about the creepy crawlies even.
*shudder*
Even writing about it makes me wanna climb back into bed. Sure, the hot shirtless boys ( always an engaging surety during such activities ) would prove a distraction for a while but after a few days, even that particular delight wouldn't be able to stop me from running amok.
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