A la carte, a la tente.

I've been on a lot of camps. So I feel I am qualified to write this skit. I must hasten to add that at my most recent camp, the food was lovely. Thanks to Dave, Cath and the team. This is most definitely NOT aimed at you, but at the numerous other camps I have been on since I was very young.


Waiter: Good evening Sir, Madam, welcome to Dinner At Camp. Table for two this evening?
Him: Yes thankyou.
Waiter: Would you like to be seated in the Sun In Your Eyes section, or the Cold Food Served Last section?
Her: Mmm, they both sound good. We'll choose the Sun In Your Eyes section this evening.
Waiter: An excellent choice. Aerogard or Non-Aerogard?
Him: Aerogard.
Waiter: No problem. Please follow me. Now, would you like a drink to start with?
Him: Yes, please. We'll both have a Tank Water With Wrigglers.
Waiter: I'm terribly sorry Sir, due to Health Regulations the Water's been taken off the menu tonight. But I can offer a particularly good Weak Yellow Cordial if you'd be interested?
Her: That sounds lovely. Thankyou. (Waiter leaves.) Wonderful service here, isn't it?
Him: Yes, it is. I've never been seated in this section before. For lunch I was in the Downwind From The Barbecue Smoke section, and for breakfast I was in the Sitting At The Card Table Because I Was Too Late From The Cold Showers section.
Waiter (returns): Are you ready to order, Sir?
Him: Yes thankyou. I'll have the Gluggy Rice with Sloppy Meat ... incidentally, what meat is it?
Waiter: The chef said he's not entirely certain, as it simply says "tinned meat" on the side of the -er- tin.
Him: Never mind, it's just a minor detail. And can I have the Camp Toast with that?
Waiter: Certainly sir. How would you like it done?
Him: Tonight I'll have it cold, moist and leathery thanks.
Waiter: Very good sir, and for Madam?
Her: A very tempting menu. I'll choose the Gristly Chicken with Grey Watery Vegetables, that sounds nice.
Waiter: An excellent choice. And for dessert?
Her: We'll both have the Puddle of Melted Ice-Cream with the Children's Sprinkles, please.
Waiter: Certainly. Will you be having any other drinks with your meal?
Him: Yes, I will have the Lukewarm Tea with a Milk Arrowroot biscuit, and my lovely wife will have - what will you have dear? A Tepid Grey Coffee, thanks. International Roast would be perfect. And two anti-nausea tablets to finish thanks.
Waiter: Lovely. Now do you have any requests for music while you wait?
Him: How about the Superman Grace?
Her: Oh no dear, I cannot bear the Superman Grace. Could we have Thank You God For Giving Us Food instead please?
Waiter: Absolutely, I'll go and tell the musicians directly. Enjoy your Weak Yellow Cordials. (Waiter leaves.)
Her: What a lovely evening. Pass the Aerogard? Thankyou. Could you please spray the back of my nec-
Musicians: THANK you God for giving us food! THANK you God for giving us food! THANK you God for giving us food! Ri-ight where we are!
Him: Oh, I've been meaning to mention how the lovely the decor in the amenities bloc-
Musicians: HAL-lelujah praise the Lord! HAL-lelujah praise the Lord! HAL-lelujah praise the Lord! Ri-ight where we are!
Him: Never mind.

I Must Have Broken A Mirror Ball

I don't believe in karma or bad luck. But if I did, I would be wondering what offense I might have committed. The last three days have been filled with frustration after difficulty after annoyance, and the smile on the face I keep in the jar by the door is wearing thin.


It all started in the morning with the dead bird. I was sitting in the living room when I heard a very loud SCHMACK! on the kitchen window. It was so loud that I immediately assumed that it was a tennis ball thrown with force by Chubbity Bubbitty or his Dad who were in the back yard. But when I looked up I saw a puff of feathers and realised it must have been a bird doing crash-tests on our windows. It was. The poor thing was hurt quite badly and took five minutes to die. I was glad it didn't linger but the sudden violent death of a small creature on your property early in the morning seems to colour your day, somehow.

Your Birthday Cake - by Rosemary Wells

Your birthday cake is made of mud
Because I cannot cook.
I cannot read a recipe or follow in a book.
I'm not allowed to use the stove
To simmer, roast or bake.
I have no money of my own to buy a birthday cake.
I'm sure to get in trouble if I mess around with dough.
But I've made your birthday cake of mud
Because I love you so.

Gingerbread Salutations and Wasps

I did this in gingerbread cookies. I am tremendously proud of myself.

Initially, I bought these wonderful alphabet cookie cutters so that each time one of my nieces or nephews had a birthday, I could make them a set of little "Happy Birthday" cookies with their names as well. I thought that it would be nice. But of course, as yet I haven't done it at all.

On Christmas Eve, I stayed up late making a giant batch of gingerbread cookie dough in the vain assumption that I could help some of the little cousins make "Happy Christmas" cookies and put icing on them on Christmas Day and Boxing Day.

This was crazy. In practice, I:

• travelled with a giant ball of dough to another town
• put it in the fridge
• proceeded to forget all about it as I had fun with my two children along with their two cousins
• put the dough back in the car for the travel to the other family's Christmas party
• left the dough out of the fridge for most of the day while I proceeded to forget all about it as I had fun with with my two children along with their thirteen cousins
• put the dough back in the car the next day and came home.

Once we were home, I thought it was time to make some gingerbread men with this poor dough. Sonny Ma-Jiminy and I made some of those along with stars, Christmas trees and hearts (which Sonny Ma-Jiminy calls "loves"), and then we started on the letters. It was much easier after he lost interest and walked away. I made a few copies of each child's name and then I made this lovely Merry Christmas message. Rolling, cutting and cooking the dough was soothing, somehow. I think I'll make the whole New Testament in gingerbread cookies as a ministry to gluttons.

And now after the wonder and joy and excitement of Christmas, there's New Years Eve to celebrate. I've never really understood the celebrations on New Years Eve. Tomorrow's just another day, but people seem to think that the calendar clicking over into another YEAR might just mean that there will be better luck, happier times and more prosperity over the next 12 months.

How so? This New Year's Eve has reminded me that there's a real world out there and it will bring similar joys and sorrows as previous years have. This New Years Eve I took the ultimate Reality Pill and tried to do some work in the yard.

The mowing really needed to be done, so I thought I'd get into that. The mower has been recently serviced so that I could actually start the recalcitrant thing, but my little girly muscles couldn't do it.

Disconsolately I put the mower away and decided to try some yard work. Many weeds have sprung up after the recent rain, so I tried pulling them out. I was quickly bitten on the hand by ants, so I tried pruning a wild rambling rose with seccateurs instead. This started with me jabbing my finger on a thorn (a piece of which is still in my finger) and ended when I upset a wasps nest and was stung on the back by one of the wasps.

Initially the sting was bright red and the size of a pea. Now it is white, the size of a pea, and surrounded by a bright red patch the size of a cricket ball.

That, my revelrous friends, is the reality of a New Year - any New Year. There will be good and there will be bad. For example: Gingerbread Salutations and Wasps. Happy New Year, whatever it brings.