Last year I wrote this about my first experience of the joys of ‘camp’. Like a moth drawn to a flame I returned this year and once more surprised myself by loving it all over again. This year Husbandface and I got to see each other more and, with the lovely Phil, enjoyed leading a lovely small team of assistant leaders in washing up, helping out with the kids games and reading through Ephesians together each morning.  I’m still formulating thoughts about the joys of being with one set of people, doing one job and being told where to go every moment of the day. I’m sure it would wear thin very quickly but it was kind of good to be cut off from the rest of the world and dwell with one set of people for a week.  This either makes me cut out for being involved in a scary cult or an ideal candidate for prison life… Hmm.

As for now I’m slowly adjusting to life beyond a kitchen and enjoying the peace created by a lack of 70 teenagers excitably rushing around the place and no industrial dishwashers whiring in the background. I still expect to recognise everyone I walk past and am confused that there isn’t a bell ringing every so often to tell me I need to be somewhere else. I don’t have to mop our floor after every meal and it takes 2 minutes to wash up rather than an hour. Camp is over and we’ve got a couple of days to readjust to normality before heading off on a road trip to Dublin and Belfast, on which I’ll pretend we live in America and it’s just a small drive up the road.