The Winds of Change

... Or was that my flatulent father? That wind does smell a little fragrant.

"The winds of change" seems to me a very apt piece of expresssion. Wind is pretty much an embodiment of change itself - heck knows it doesn't like sitting still, and the things it throws at you can range from wonderful to serendipitous to saddening to just plain strange. Or any combination of the three, if the breeze in question is a good multitasker.

Change has been a massive part of my life - not in the least as the British military seem to have trusted me with a quest involving the collection of stamps from every English-speaking country on the planet. While people look at me strangely and wonder why I'm not multi-lingual, I look back at them and think how strange it must be to stay in one place for more than three or so years. Change comes pretty naturally to me, and for the most part I'm rather good at taking it in my stride.

Which is odd, given that, personality-wise, I'm not all that fond of change. Call me craven, but as much as I love sticking my noses into strange places and rambling off on ridiculous tasks that often turn into dirty great adventures in their own right, I do like having a safe, stable place to come back to. Hence why I'm so attached to my boarding school - it's been my home for longer than anywhere else I've ever lived, and it's nice to be able to walk around a place without worrying you'll get lost, or forget your new address, or accidentally give the well-meaning policeman the number of the national radio station when you get lost (true story, actually. Don't ask.)

Of course, that's not the only sort of change in the world. There are lots of little changes happening around us all the time, with varying degrees of effect. The age of the milk in the fridge, the length of your toenails, the deadline for that deadly-dull essay, the time until that birthday of that cousin you haven't seen since she was two ... at least, you think she was two. And a she.

And then there are the big changes. Marriages, births, deaths, loves, accidents, miracles, Facebook features* ... and journeys.

* - please excuse me while I laugh myself to death 

Journeys can be the biggest changes of all. They're scary things - odds are you'll have a goal in mind, and you might get there, but the exact method of  getting there is likely to be as changeable as the sea when she's having caffiene withdrawals. There's nothing like a potentially life-threatening, world-shattering journey to teach you how to toughen up, scrape the mud off your bottom and watch out for the bogs better next time. Tolerance for mosquitos, even, comes with time.

But there's something even more about journeys that makes them even more special from all the other change in the world. No matter how hard, or boring, or difficult, or nerf-herding frustrating it is, you're going to learn things. What things, you don't know - about places, about people, about priorities, about the advisability of trusting the directions of men searching the moor for misplaced hunting hounds. And they can teach you about yourself. You might not like the lesson - at least Higher Mathematics doesn't try and shred your face with thorns, and even Biology doesn't stink as much as that marsh you just tumbled into. 

It might be hard. It might be frustrating. It might win the Supreme Suck award for supreme suckiness out of all the sucky sucks in this sucky world.

Don't give up, though. You might just be braver than you think. Or smarter. Or stronger. Or kinder. Or more determined.

Unfortunately, there's no guarantee you'll be cleaner. In fact, that's pretty much out of the question.

You can't have everything, though.

- Charley R

Camping, Cooking and Caterwauling

It's that time of year again. It's nearly the end of the school year (we break up on the 1st of July, next Friday), and the final stages of all our extra curricular activities are coming up. I'm awaiting the results of my London Acadamy of Music and Drama exam (an acting qualification), and I've finished my time for my Skill (LAMDA), Sport (swimming, if it counts) and Community Service (Combined Cadet Force).

Now, it's time for the final expedition. Three days of walking, carrying all our food, tents and supplies, covering over 16km a day on Exmoor - one of the most unpredictable microclimates in England.

I have no idea whether to be excited or terrified.

Don't get me wrong, D of E is good fun. Thanks to lots of long walks with my family, I've got strong legs, and I love long walks. I love looking around at the scenery, and my part in our group project is to sit down and write poetry at the intervals in our plan that allow us to take a break (we put them in specially, haha!). So, two of my great loves; walking and writing. There's always lots of singing in our group - from badly out of tune Bohemian Rhapsodies to high-pitched, tuneless versions of The Climb - and we can happily laugh along and munch our way through our impromptu lunch. Never mind that one of our four team-mates is a little bit of a slow walker, we've arranged our food and supplies so that she's carrying most of the light stuff, so hopefully she won't be too bogged down by the whole affair. We're even prepared for wet weather, which we suspect will be coming (light showers predicted for Thursday, which is our first day of walking, and nothing yet on the other two).

There's only one part of D of E I really dislike. Camping. It's not that the tent smells, it's not that the roll mats have to be lain on for ten minutes before they'll stop springing back up and hitting you in the face, it's not that the food takes ages to cook and you have to sit there in the cold with your toes freezing off. It's not even the fact that I'm such a compulsive sleep-wriggler that I'll doubtless wake up half-strangled by my sleeping bag. I can cope with these quite easily.

It's just all of them together, on top of group exhaustion, that worries me. Sleeping well is not an aspect of D of E that comes easily to most, and the fact that we're heading off on Wednesday evening and sleeping overnight means we'll hardly be bright-eyed and busy-tailed on Thursday morning. I'm just worried that we'll all be so grouchy and tired that we'll start snapping at each other, and that will make life very painful for everyone involved.

Still, hopefully that won't be an issue as we'll all be on our END OF GCSE high - my last exam is just before we set off - and our mood will be good enough to combat the weather.

Besides, there's nothing a well-placed biscuit can't resolve, right?

Wish me luck - I'll be back sometime late on Saturday, and hopefully I'll have the energy to do you a couple of posts about it on Sunday. That is, if I'm not in A and E with castle-sized feet and a headache like a gale-force headache.

- Spook (The Intrepid .... ish)