RHODE ISLAND - Eight down...

And so the final week of camp rolls around faster than a really fat person rolling down a steep hill. Or something. The wrist is still immobilised, which has continued to prove a challenge (note to makers of child proof caps for medicines: you're discriminating against people who can't use both their hands! And children who really wanna take drugs) but I've had two very excellent weeks:

1) Soccer Camp
... Was great. As predicted ominously some weeks ago, we only had six kids with which to experiment with the art which is football. So out went all the carefully designed full team drills and in came a lot of shooting practice and trying to arrange for other camps to play us. Our kids were, however, awesome and managed to demolish nine strong Waterskills Camp and, most impressivly, our reduced team of five then successfully took on sixteen person Hogan Camp (yes, another one. And, yes, I was very glad not to be directing *them* again...) before soundly thrashing Waterskills in a canoe race. Much credit belongs to my counselor partner in crime Emma Beckman (who, get this football irony fans, has a father called David) who on top of returning to counsel with me after the horrors of Hogan Camp is also a football player extrodinaire with a mighty right foot. We all had a lot of fun, and I was most gratified that Emma and I soundly thrashed all our kids in penalty shooting competitions. So what if they're all nine years old? I revel in small victories.


The wonderful Soccer Camp. How all good camps should be.

2) Living Arts camp
We followed up with Living Arts. A strange blend of tie dying, music, creative expression and glassy eyed puppets all served up with an incomprehensible schedule (Laura was driven to the very brink of insanity) However, for me the week meant the excitement of actually becoming a creative writing tutor for the week. My loyal band of devoted girls (and John) constructed many a clam and cheese obsessed excercise. And particular credit goes to the version of Pirates of the Carribean reconstituted as a self help book. That's the kind of randomness I thrive for. I also got scheduled to lead a session on improvisational comedy. Cue the 'Whose Line is it Anyway?' playbook of games and a thoroughly entertaining hour of Party Quirks, Questions Only and Press Conference. You've never realised the joy of teaching until you're getting nine year olds to improvise pretending to be the first man ever to give birth, or the first woman to have surgery to become an elephant.


Creative writing Camp Aldersgate style, and not a beret in sight. Eat your heart out, Paul Magrs.

So next week I depart ickle Rhode Island and discover the joys of Cincinatti, California and North Carolina. It's been a pleasure to be here and an awesome camp, but it feels time for me to be able to eat a meal without being forced to sing songs afterwards, and reincoporate swear words back into my vocabulary. So, watch out America. I'm coming to get ya...





A couple of the more spectacular sunsets over Camp Aldersgate this summer.