Strange, I distinctly remembered I went to bed at 3:46pm, and it’s now… 3:46.
Oh man, great sleep. Sleep was one of the things in abject scarcity during Council Camp, along with food, bathing time and dignity – but it’s one of those things you look back on with a vague warm fond feeling. After my half-day catnap, it’s hard to believe that something so impossibly horrific could have happened at all, except for a few striking clues:
1) I Haven’t Touched My Homework (though I’m not too sure if Council Camp’s the real reason for that, as opposed to sloth-related key personality disorders)
2) The Bottom Of My Palm Is Raw And Red (Like Salmon Sashimi)
3) I Have Strange Unexplainable Aches In My Calves
4) I Squeal Instinctively Whenever I Hear A Whistle
5) I Have The Freaking Council Oath Drilled Into My Head (partly because it preceded the awesome finale)
My grand-buddy Ali (at lunch): “I remember I got the word ‘Raffles’ and I would shout it really loudly! What was your word?”
Me: “Uh… ‘both’.” (which was an exaggeration, I think I got ‘of’ much more)
I shan’t bore you with details. If I had a friend who went to Council Camp, I wouldn’t want to be briefed about his mosquito bites or state of his sleeping bag (replete with illicitly taken photographs). Instead, I would want him to sleep the rest of his weekend away because he deserves it and because he’s been a great friend.
I foresee much shit coming my way but I shall take it in my stride and let out manly grunts!