The camp was usual enough: it had
A mud run that made you mucky, a fast flowing river, a pond full of duckweed, paddocks and blackberry bushes that I never ate. Me and my mates did what boys do best, went white water rafting, shot air pistols hit bullseyes with bow and arrows, manued off rocks into rapids, had midnight feasts, stayed up all night, collected wood to cook dinner on.
Doing nothing important
Written by Hamish Hutchinson
Inspired by James K. Baxter