Golf Driver (okay, so that’s going to be a bad pun)

Good day one and all. Glad tidings of joy from across the pond, in the good ol’ US of A.

This week has been a brilliant week for me. ‘Even better than hand gun shooting?’ I hear you cry. Of course not, but I have still had an absolute hoot this week. The weekend was also full of surprisingly good fun.

On Tuesday, the staff finally got out on our first staff trip of the year. I’m in America, 5 and a half thousand miles away from home, with 30 Americans. What would you do for a typical American night out? That’s right… CRAZY (miniature) GOLF!

Not all of the staff could leave of course, people still have activities to run, and the camp to look after. So about 30 of us packed into a convoy of cars, bound for the Pine Creek Miniature Golf Course in New Jersey. The course claims to be the biggest in America, and has two 18 hole mini-golf courses.

I had a good time. Although many of my American friends are now convinced that we don’t have Golf in the UK, as I managed to really suck (that’s an Americanism) at the game. I’m sorry Britain, I have shamed us in the art of crazy golf.

But my Tuesday night did not end there. When we got back to camp, at around 10.30pm, several staff members were feeling ‘thirsty’. So we decided to go to a local… how can I put this subtly… beverage retailer. But better than this, was the fact that the most amazing man alive (Tod Warner is the only man I know that can slam a revolving door) let me drive his car.
The Amazing-Mobile - Todd Warner's (the only man that can beat both rock and scissors in a game of rock paper scissors) 3 litre Honda.

That’s right, I was allowed to drive a 3 litre Honda Accord (and it went like poo poo of a shovel). Tod (who’s calendar goes from April 2nd to March 31st – no one fool’s Todd Warner) has a great car. Not only because it is powerful, fast, and well kitted out, but it has a manual gear box!!! Only Todd Warner (who selects one lucky child every year on his birthday to be hurled into the sun) could drive a manual in the US.

We arrived at the bar, and the bar maid asked to see our idea. As Des of course, I was not going to drink anything more than coke, but in the US, many places don’t let under age youths in after 11. Furthermore, the age limit over here is 21. Oh dear, I hear you say (as I am only 20). So I handed over my British driving license, she gave it a confused look, and I told here that it was UK. She smiled at me, and carried on. As Pat Toye has said some weeks previously when he read my license ‘Oh excellent! It’s written in British’.

But why is Todd Warner (who never sleeps, he waits…) so amazing. Well this is the story. On a trip somewhere, he single handed paddled across a lake, during a thunderstorm, in an aluminium canoe. (Okay, so maybe he’s mad.) He did this to get to an island to save three kids. He then paddled back with three unconscious kids, whilst performing CPR as needed. On dry land, he then carried all three (including CPR) to safety. Two of the three kids lived.

And that kids, is why Todd Warner (who is so amazing, he can win noughts and crosses [tic-tac-toe for US citizens] in one move) is so amazing.

But it turns out, that some of that amazing is rubbing off on me. Although I am only the (Assistant) Sailing Director, I believe I may have helped influence the following: Last week nobody signed up to take Sailing merit badge, yet 4 people achieved the badge (persuasion); Despite the fact that the merit badge programme has a maximum of 6 Scouts each week, our current average is 6.83 Scouts taking the badge per week. I know, my boss does a good job…

So, the Boy Scouts of America (BSA) salute their flag just like the NTC salute the Union Flag. Now, as an Assistant Scoutmaster, I have a BSA uniform, but every other day, I wear my NTC uniform. When I’m wearing this uniform, I try and enter the parade field subtly, by coming around behind the Troops, and join the end of the staff line. This Friday, the normal parade marshal (Joe) wanted to Bugle, and we were short of people to give orders.

Anyways, I turn up, and Asst. Camp Director says ‘Hey Andy! You’re Parade Marshal.’ Okay… So I did. Although I am a little out of practice though. I was actually a little nervous giving orders to 500 American Scouts. That would be another tick in the book then…

Lastly, this weekend, I travelled through three states (Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Maryland) to go to the St. Michael’s Bay area of the Chesapeake Bay. It was a beautiful fishing town, and walking around the marina of the harbour reminded me very much of trips to Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight on beautiful summer evenings (although apparently, since I left, Blighty hasn’t had many of them…). Crab-Fest 2007: (from left to right) Bill Mischke [Camp Director], Tom Leitz [Asst. Camp Director], and me [Asst. Sailing Director, Commissioner].

I should point out, that the area is ludicrously expensive to live in (the Vice President of the US lives there), and we were staying at the Camp Director’s holiday home with him, and his wife. The other Asst. Camp Director, Tom, drove us down there. Our main reason for visiting was to go to ‘Crab-Fest’. Basically an all you can eat crab eating event. I’m not a great fan of seafood, but they had other stuff there, and I was happy. Until know, I could have said that I have never had crabs, but now I shall have to live on in shame that I had this STD. Oh no, sorry, I mean I have eaten Chesapeake Blue Crab.

They may have fooled the Britsh 200 years ago, but apparenty we still managed to invade!

St. Michaels is known well for being the town that fooled the British. When we tried to invade, they hung lanterns in the trees above, so that the Royal Navy, shot over the town. Well, my response is that it just goes to show how deathly accurate our Navy was, that the down was vertually undamaged.

Well, I am doing marvellously. I suppose we should start a count down to my illustrious return to the UK. From Tuesday at 0600, it will be less than three week, until I am once again in the British Empire! I hope all is well back home, and that the Montacat and the world heritage site Ford Escort that is Ernie is doing well.

If you think that this blog was cra-b, why not leave a comment and tell me.

If you think that this blog was back to it’s normal drive and determination, why not leave a comment and tell me.

Quote of the Week: [Okay, so rarely do I say something stupid enough to get here, but I admit, it was me] ‘So, which cost more: the blue crabs, or the red ones’ said a bemused Andy as he looked at a cooked Blue Crab. I know, I’m a dumb ass.

Am I turning into an American?

Good day all my faithful readers old and new. Apologies for last week’s late and substandard post. It was rushed to get something up. As I mentioned last week, I have been given a promotion to ‘Commissioner’ which is basically a bit like a customer services job. And it never ends!

But hey, there you go.

So this week has been an interesting one. I finally found a set of scales to weigh myself. I am mortally aware that food in the US is tasty and plentiful. So I decided it was quite important to see how much weight I had gained (especially with the whole inactivity due to the broken ankle business). It would appear that I know weigh 170 pounds (which is 12st 2lb). When I left Britain, I only used to weigh 11st 5lb! I’ve gained 11 pounds!!!!

I am now resisting the urge to eat all of their tasty food, although I am failing miserably at the moment…

For some bizarre reason our sail boat (yacht) stopped working last week. Management felt that they knew what the problem is, and ordered the part. Well, delivery being what it is, it took the part the whole week to arrive, which put the yacht out of action for the entire week. But I guess that makes me and my boss Sam, the most amazing sailing instructors ever…

With our usual 22ft sloop out of action, we had to instruct a sailing merit badge, armed only with one small dinghy (a SunFish), and a small lake/ puddle with no wind. By Thursday, we had covered all of the theory, and done all of the stuff that we could physically do without any wind. I told the kids and adults to pray to whoever or whatever they believed in that either the part came early Friday morning, or that Great Buck Lake somehow had wind in the morning.

Well our prayers were answered. Somehow, through nothing more than luck, the Great Buck Lake had wind for just long enough for the kids to get the requirements done to get their merit badge. Just as the last pair were coming in, the wind died! Now, don’t get me wrong, it was not the high level of quality instruction, or experience that I wanted the kids to have, but they all left with a smile.

We scraped something together, the kids had a fun time (doing other stuff other than sailing, and ice cream may have been involved), and blow me down of the kids didn’t complete their badge. Even now, I’m not sure how they did it.

Of course, we also have to have my interesting injury of the week. The running total at the moment is: poison ivy, broken and sprained ankle, NORO virus, and now… (drum roll please)

Some sort of bite!!!

Overnight I was bitten by something. God knows what, but it blew up immensely. I have only one theory. It must have been my tent mate that bit me: Jordan Kivitz, the climbing director… Ironic really, as you will never meet a nicer human being than Jordan. He is just marijuana away from being a full time proper hippy.

As I said earlier, I now commission. And with this job, I meet lots of interesting people, and get to know most of the Adult Leaders (although I am still useless with names). You may remember some weeks ago that an American gentleman left a comment/ complaint on CATCOUK, and I was forced to make an apology. Well this week, I met him in person (I think). Either way, he has defiantly read CATCOUK before, and was originally (and coincidentally) from Chiswick in the UK. Small world, eh?

Well it gets smaller still. Over the weekend, we have some younger kids and families inn camping. I was told that a lady from the UK was camping, and that she was from Sussex. I went to meet her, and find out where in Sussex she was from. As it turns out she grew up in West Sussex, near Brighton. Well I told her that I live near Littlehampton, and she said that she actually came from a village near Worthing called Lancing! Well beggar me silly if she didn’t live less than a mile from where I grew up.

She did kind of prove my old saying though: ‘You can take the girl out if Lancing, but you can’t take the Lancing out of the girl…’. It was fantastic to talk to her. Although she had an American twinge to her voice, she still spoke with typical Lancing dialects. Most stereotypically, instead of saying South, she said Souf. I hadn’t heard my home dialect for a while…

The Amazing GMC Suburban - statistically the only car big enough to eat another car - whole.

But I suppose I should try and cover my title for this week. As I said above, I am putting on weight, at nearly two pounds a week (as if my self-esteem didn’t need any more knocking). Furthermore, I am taking a liking to the big American cars (particularly the legend that is the GMC/ Chevrolet Suburban). And this weekend, the Asst. Camp Director, Terry, and his brother took me hand gun shooting!

Furthermore, I loved it! We fired three hand guns: a Smith & Wesson 357, and two semi-automatic hand guns. I always thought that I would prefer to shoot a semi-automatic, but having shot both, I really enjoyed the old school revolver. At this point, I should point out that I didn’t enjoy it for the violent banging. I enjoyed the skill and accuracy afforded by the Smith & Wesson.

But I will admit that after that, I couldn’t get the Dirty Harry theme tune out of my head…

I was also surprisingly good. Below are some pictures of targets that I shot at from 7 yards, and 25 yards. With the Smith & Wesson 357, we had two types of round. Some 38 Special rounds, which are less violent, and some 357 rounds, which had one hell of a back draft to them. I fired 6 shots at the plate from 25 yards, 4 were the more gentle 38 special, and the first two were the 357’s. Unsuprisingly, the 357’s missed wildly, but I got 3 and a half of the 38’s on target. After this, the camp are considering me for shooting sports director...

Standard target from 7 yards, 18 shots.

A plate from 25 yards. 3 and half hits. Dirty Harry eat your heart out.

So I now live in real fear that I maybe turning into an American. Gaining weight, like big cars, like shooting hand guns. What does that say to you.

Once again, highest regards to everyone back home, especially Montycat, and Ernie.

If you think that I am turning into an American, why not leave a comment telling me how fat you think I am.

If you think I may be over-reacting a little, why not leave a comment calling me back to Blighty!

Quote of the Week: (alright so it was last week, but it’s good) ‘The [work] chip in my head switched off on Tuesday, when I was singing ‘moo moo here, and moo moo there’ said a disgruntled Scout Master when someone got him talking about work on Friday evening.

Half way already?

Apologies for the late blog this week. I hope that you all enjoyed getting paid to actually do your job for a change…

First of all, I would like to set of another set of imaginary CATCOUK fireworks. The camp has made it to the end of another week, but more importantly, every Scout that took the Sailing merit badge completed it!!!! We’re starting to make a habit of this!

Well, I’ve had a pretty good week. More mornings of relaxing sailing, and afternoons of… well nothing actually. So Administration have seen to that. I have been ‘promoted’! I know hold the position of ‘commissioner’, which basically means that I go around Scout Troops, and listen to their problems, before going and kicking the relevant people to sort out their problems. But I’m sure this will all be in next week’s post, as I have just been given the position.

So why, oh why was this week’s CATCOUK fest so late? I suppose you’re all expecting a long winded post to explain myself. Well tough luck. I don’t have that sort of time anymore. I have to go and listen to some Scoutmasters moan (or sometimes just have a nice conversation, I am the unofficial director of happiness after all)…

But the abridged version goes like this.

My sponsor troop (T29 Dunellen, N.J.) are on their summer camp this week. They were unable to book into Ockanickon, so they went to our archrival camp, Resical Falls. Of course when I say archrival, I just mean that they are one of the closest camps to us. We’re in no danger at the moment. We see 500 Scouts in a week, and they see nearer to 300.

It was interesting to see another camp in action. It would be unfair to compare the campsites, as the programs offered by each camp are different. So lets do it anyway!

Resica Falls defiantly has a better check in process than us. It was very smooth, although our guide was a little inexperienced. They also have a far better swimming pool than us (but it is brand new). Also, Resica has a huge amount of land (a leaflet I read said nearly 5 000 acres!), so you can explore the grounds at length. They also have some cool water falls.

However, we appear to have a more experienced staff (mainly owing to the fact that we steal all of their good staff every year). Our program is also far better organised. One of their comments at a leaders meeting really made me laugh. The Dan Beard (a small kid starter program) director was taking numbers of his program. He’s counting up the numbers from Scout Masters, and his face drops. “Er… guys. I have 51 Scouts here. I can’t take this many.” Now this seems a reasonable statement to make. 51 children sound like a lot. Except for the fact that our amazing Dan Beard director Kevin ‘Karen Sugarpie’ Ott (Otter) had nearly 150 Scouts last week.

That’s just one small example. The other big issue that Resica have, is that their boating lake is a mile’s walk up ‘Heart Attack Ridge’ (a huge hill). Whoever built the campsite should be shot. Everything else in their main programming was close to the site, and well thought out. So why not build the campsite closer to the friggin’ boating lake?!?!? Sigh.

But it was a really good weekend.

At this point, I should point out that I am now half way through my US experience. And I feel the need to thank the people responsible for this. You could all thank them too, as they got rid of me out of the country for three months. Bill Mischke, the camp director (taking very good care of me, and has the driest wit known to man), Chris Quinn (Troop 29 Scout Master, and coordinates my moving about in the US), Cindy Quinn (Chris’ wife, and my adopted Mum), Bill Vincent (and family, who have taken me home twice), Ian Jones (NTC guy that organises things from the UK), and all the staff at Ockanickon. Special mention also to Ken Riley, who liased the whole American exchange program in the first place, with Troop 29 with the NTC. Without all of whom, none of this.

Well I hope things are still holding together in Britain. Missing you all (and by all, I mean Ernie, and Monty).

Hopefully next week will be on time.

If you can think of something to write right now, why not leave a comment and extend this incredibly short blog.

If you can’t think of something to write about right now, why not leave a comment saying so, and extend this incredibly short blog.

Quote of the Week: ‘Thank God for that. I wasn’t sure if it was hot in here, or if I was having a Heart Attack!’ said my sponsor troop Scout Master (Chris Quinn), as he inquired if the car’s Air Conditioning was on.

Late Announcement

Who knows if announcement is spelled correctly, but never the less, this weeks thrilling (ha ha) installment of CATCOUK will be a few days late (might even be Wednesday). Apologies to all, but I guess you'll just have to do some work at work on Monday.

Check back on Tuesday/ Wednesday to see why this was late!

Independance!

I would like to start off by saying that I have had a brilliant week. As you read this, please imagine me grinning like a Cheshire Cat, that’s how happy I am!

So why, I hear you ask, am I so happy. Well, primarily I am no longer on crutches (please imagine fireworks, and crowds of people cheering). But that’s not all that’s happened this week. Feel the suspense, and read on…

On Tuesday, I had my appointment with an Orthopaedic doctor. The American health care system is full of paperwork! I was asked to arrive 15 minutes before my appointment, just so that I had time to fill out the 4000 sheets of paper (I might be exaggerating slightly). I then had to wait half an hour to see the doctor (almost made me homesick, reminds me of the NHS).

So anyway, the doctor prodded and poked my ankle, and nothing really hurt. I have one sore spot, and that’s about it. He said that I may as well walk on it, to help mobilise the damaged ligament. Thanks to this, it now only takes me 10 minutes to walk across the campsite instead of 40. I have some independence again.

The doctor’s practice was located about a 30 minute drive away, and unfortunately I don’t have Ernie with me (he wouldn’t fit in my luggage, despite all the American’s insisting he would…). The health officer, Pat, drove me there in one of the camp’s 4x4s. But not just any 4x4. It is the car, that if I lived in America, I would defiantly drive.

The car is well known throughout the US, as being the only car big enough to eat other cars whole! They are awesome. This particular ‘burb (as they’re called) is a 6.5 ltr V8, and gets an incredible 8 miles to the gallon on a good day. Being as big as they are (even bigger than Volvo estates), it is inevitable that they will hit something. Unfortunatly for Pat, we hit an American mailbox (which stick out a little).

Pat + Suburban = ?. No Algebra involved here, just one very Suburbaned mailbox. And this was after Pat stood the pole up from it's 30 to 40 degree lean.

Pat being the good American Eagle Boy Scout that he is (a Scout is honest…) stopped to check the damage, and tell the owner. I think it’s fair to say that the mailbox was well and truly Suburban’d (that’s right, it’s the only US car to have a verb). Also unfortunately for Pat, the mailbox is/was customised, and on a very expensive looking wooden plinth.

The driveway that lead to the house is about the same length as the M1, and to get to the house, you had to pass their tennis court, their swimming pool, their fleet of expensive looking cars… you get the idea. The place was so big it could have been a country club (although it definitely wasn’t). Poor Pat, it was probably a $600 mailbox, but we haven’t heard from the gentleman yet.

As much fun as Suburbaning a mailbox is, that was not the extent of my great week. Now that I am walking on my broken ankle again (which, by the way, has multiple fractures…), I am cleared to go sailing again. I can think of no better way of spending my day, than by relaxing on a sail boat, sailing in the sunshine. Marvellous.

The next day was Wednesday the 4th of July. The Americans were really nice, as they held a day all about me. Clearly everyone was so pleased that the orthopaedic doctor had given me my independence back, they had a day to celebrate it. They even called it ‘Independence Day’…

Of course not! This was the day that the US celebrate their independence from the evil empire of the dark side and the Darth Vader and his Death Star (or was that Star Wars?). Anyways, down with the Empire and all that. To celebrate, the camp had a giant flag folding ceremony. The flag was big enough to make a tent, yet there was no wind. It was more a flag draping ceremony.

Also this week, we didn’t have an attack of the death. We had no confirmed cases, and one and a half possible cases. Anyone that started to be ill were sent home. At check in, Scouts were asked if they had been ill in the last 24 hours. If they had, they were sent home. Every time someone was sent home, staff members bleached the hell out of their tents, camping areas, and latrines. It was only just possible for people to live this week, let alone any viruses.

Also this week, the programme manager (like a Chief of Staff) told me to fill out an application form for next year. So I did, and just for laughs, under desired salary, I put plane ticket. I left it in my tent, and went off. Later that day (bearing in mind, my application is still sitting in my tent), the boss came up to me and said, ‘So Andy, what would it take to get you to repeat this year?’ To which I replied, ‘A plane ticket Bill’. So he said yes.

The next day, I was in the office doing some ‘paperwork’ on my laptop, and another friend, Dylan, asked if I would be coming back next year. I said it was looking fairly likely, at which point a deep voice came form Bill’s (the boss) direction saying ‘Yes, he’ll be here next year’. Look’s like I’ll be coming back to the states again next year! How cool is that! Yes, it will cause NTC problems again, and yes, I’ll miss Summer in Britain again. But hey ho. I love it out here, and if I could, I’d probably do this for years. Why can’t we have America in Sussex?

But what really topped my week off though, was this week’s leader evaluations. On the forms, there is a section to identify particular members of staff that are good. This week, one troop singled me out for excellence, another troop listed me as a member of staff that was ‘most knowledgeable’ and another troop listed me as ‘most helpful’. What really took the cookie (notice the American-ism there) was that one troop listed me as the member of staff with the most Scout spirit. Well there’s irony for you, I’m not even really a Scout!

Over the weekend, a friend (Anthony) took me to a super large flea market (a car boot sale by any other name) called Q-mart. This is in the kind of town where everybody is either related to everybody else, of are sons and daughters of someone, and they just don’t know it. But the market was amazing. So much junk, like you have never seen. My friend picked up a compound archery bow for $5!

Well I hope Blighty is going well. Has Gordon Brown broken the country yet? I hope my car is okay, and Monty has avoided our neighbours cat trap (apparently we have a few stays at the mo – can you imagine the look on my cat’s face if he got caught in the cat trap… lol). I’d like to finish by saying that I am missing you all, but I can’t lie. A Scout is honest!

Lastly, if you haven’t already, please read the apology below. Apparently British wit is lost on the American people. Read right to the end, and you’ll find a surprise especially for YOU (not all the other readers, just for you).

For more things Andy in the US, you can visit the TS Intrepid Website at www.ntc.org.uk/intrepid/ock/. Lots of photos.

If you think it’s good that I’ll be in the US again next year, and would like me to stay out here permanently, so that I stop wasting your fine British air, why not leave a comment, starting your message with ‘I hate you’.

If you think it’s good that I’ll be in the US again next year, because you think it’s a great opportunity for me, and you know I enjoy it, why not leave a comment, starting your message with ‘I’m a figment of your imagination, as only angry Americans sign your blog…’.

Quote of the Week: ‘You know, it’s incredible. You’ve been in America for four weeks, and you still don’t have an accent?’ said a very confused Moo Moo (my Mum) on the phone the other day.

An Public Message from CATCOUK

I make this public message to apologise to anyone that read either of my previous blog posts. I recieved the following comment/ complaint from an ananoymous reader:

I came upon your blog when looking on the internet to see if there was much negative publicity about the virus. I'm disppointed with what you've written. Instead of speaking so disparagingly about the camp, why don't you tell your readers about everything that makes the camp wonderful? To some kids - camp Ockanickon is like heaven. You write well for a young person - why don't you put that talent to some use by telling your friends about what being an American Boy Scout is all about?

First and foremost, I am most definatly not a Scout. I am an officer in the Nautical Training Corps on an exchange programme with the camp. However, it is fair to say that being a member of any youth organisation of this type is brilliant, and has provided me with some of my best memories. It was not my intent to portray Ockanickon Scout Reservation in a disparinging way. My actual intention was to praise the hard work in admiration of what the camp was able to achieve under such difficult circumstances. I am proud to be a member of staff at one of America's top Boy Scout camps.

Secondly, it is important to note that the camp management, my fellow colleagues and I all do the best we can for the welfare and enjoyment of the Scouts. When I am at home with the NTC, I always put the needs of the cadets first, and the same goes here. As an indicator of how much fun Ockanickon offers, the majority of troops that were here on week 1 and 2 (both of which were closed early due to illness) signed up for a week next year. Despite the illness that went around!

Lastly, regular readers of CATCOUK will know that my blog is always written in a reasonably negative aspect. I have always treated my blog as light entertainment, which usually involves telling of my misfortunes, or those of others, using a variety of sarcasm, irony, and dry wit. I take my responsibilty of writing thid blog seriously, and apologies once again for any misunderstandings.

On a lighter note, if you would like to know more, you can see the news story in video! Just go to: http://video.nbc10.com/player/?id=124585. NBC10 News. It must have been a slow news day. Ironically, 'Action News' turned up a day later. Not an awful lot of action from them eh? They're a day late!

This has been a Public Message from CATCOUK - The BlogSpot home of Andy Clarke.

Such it cracking time, it makes me sick…

Okay, so this has been a bad week.

Well, that’s an understatement. This has been a catastrophically bad week.

At the end of last week, I tripped over a log, and twisted my ankle to about 70 to 90 degrees. It hurt a bit at first, but after that my ankle was alright, I just had a slightly limited range of mobility. So I walked around on it all weekend. I should point out that I did seek medical advice at our ‘health lodge’. Unfortunately, I saw one of two health officers (one good, one pretty crap). Can you guess which one?

When the health officer returned this week after the weekend, I stopped by for a check up. And thankfully for me, Pat (the good health officer) was available to look at my ankle. He has a particular interest in ankles as it turns out, so I know I’m in good hands. He unwrapped my bandage, and took one look at my ankle, before saying two key words: X-ray, hospital. Fan-bloody-tastic.

As it turns out, Pat got it right on the nose. I have given my self an avulsion fracture (if you’re a bit squeamish, look away now). This is where I have sprained my ankle (pulled a ligament) so much, that when the ligament pulled, it ripped a bit of bone off of my foot at the same time. I hasten to add, that it still doesn’t hurt.

(If you are squeamish, you can look back again now) The quacks at the hospital decided that I shouldn’t put any weight on it, so for the first time in my life (that I can remember), I am using crutches. And what pain in the backside they are! Carleen, I can really appreciate your pain now. I am still at camp, although rather obviously, I can’t run rock-climbing any more. I believed that I could still go sailing, as all I have to do is sit in the cockpit. The boss (despite being grossly incompetent) could run around and pull ropes when everything goes wrong.

So my summer isn’t ruined. But wait! This is far too short for a CATCOUK post. That must mean that there is a ‘but’ coming here somewhere.

But… The afore mentioned good health officer won’t let me do anything, until I have seen the Orthopaedic surgeon. Well, it is the sensible thing to do, and I agree with it. It just rubs it in a bit more that I’m not the boss (or at least in position of some influence, like when I’m running an NTC camp). Oh it sucks being me at the moment.

Bill (the camp boss) said at the beginning of the week, that he was getting a golf cart ready for me to use. This is really important to me, as it is a big campsite. It took me one afternoon, 40 minute to get from the lake, to the health lodge, where it used to take me 10 to 15! Oh boy…

Of course that was not the end of my sucky week, oh no. Read the title carefully, and you’ll see that I have only covered half of my criptic title… Avid CATCOUK fans will remember that last week I spoke of the NORO virus (cruise ship virus) that had hit the camp, that we now affectionately call ‘the death’. Unsurprisingly, the camp contracted the virus again this week.

Wednesday night all hell broke loose once again, and we had to refit one of our building to become a M*A*S*H style triage ward. By this time, I had spent a hell of a lot of time in the ‘Health Lodge’ (being that I can’t do any activities), and I had proved useful, I can ask basic triage questions, do paperwork, and sort out the kids medication.

Once the ward was set up, Pat called for me, and asked me to run check in. So from 7 o’clock onwards, I checked it 30 people or so, checked out a few. At this point, we believed the sickness and dehydration was through heat exhaustion, as the effective temperature all day had been 105 F (something like 35 C), and so humid that you could practically swim through camp.

Unfortunately, it was not so. The virus had struck again, and far more quickly than last time. We ended up opening a second ward in another building, and the total number of reported cases on camp rose to 80 over night. At this point, I had still avoided catching the death.

It was about 11.30pm, and admissions were quiet. We were all chatting at one end of the hall. I had been feeling a bit funny all evening, but I assumed it was just because I had been surrounded by people throwing up (I have to digress for a second: my spell check thinks that last sentence should read because people throwing up had surrounded me. Think Shaun of the Dead…) Then without much warning, I turned to a colleague, and said. “Could you please get me a bucket”, and he looked at me blankly, half thinking I was joking, so I prompted with, “Now”.

The bucket arrived just in time. Again, we were still thinking it was just heat exhaustion. The management were leaving us with not enough people to do all the jobs, so even though I had just thrown up, I got up, and hobbled back to admissions, and checked in more people. Apparently the only reason things had quietened down, was because of rain.

Pat cleared me to work on the desk, and I admitted another 10 people or so. I worked as long as I could, until about 1am, and then I admitted myself…

The week was rounded off by what is becoming our traditional camp closure, and mass clean up. It comes to something when you can walk through a forest, and smell bleach in the air. I have to hand it to the camp, our response to the problem, and the clean up operation is very impressive. Here’s hoping for a good week three.

Everyone had to leave this weekend, even myself, and I live 5 500 miles away. Obviously I couldn’t go home, so I went to the next best place. Pat’s partner is British, and lives with her family (also, surprise surprise, British). Pat described their house as a protectorate of the British Isles, and I can see what he meant. I woke up Saturday morning, and the radio in the kitchen was on. I could swear blind that I could hear British voices. Sure enough, it was the BBC! Hurrah.

All the cars that they own are available in Britain (Ford Focus, Audi TT, VW Passat), and Molly (mum) said that they speak English. They use loos, not bathrooms to go to the toilet. It has been really nice spending the weekend in this small part of Britain. There were some complications getting in though. I left my passport with my host troop for safety, so I had trouble getting across the border…

Well, I hope you are all faring better than me, and I hope my beloved Ernie is still well.

If you think that I am the only person in the entire world that could go to America for a once in a lifetime trip, and break my ankle, and therefore am completely stupid, why not leave a comment, starting with the word ‘idiot’.

If you have a broken ankle, and think I should stop whining, why not leave a comment, starting with the word ‘wimp’.

Quote of the Week: ‘So which part of Australia are you from?’ asked Doctor Ed, who thought that I was an Oz, because I used the word ‘mate’.

Song of the Month: Jump In The Line. Harry Belafonte.