Weekword: Desiderata

Desiderata means things that are desired, wanted or needed.

This is a short story I wrote, about a cub scout who really really wants to be back home

Where the heck is Tipperary anyway? You’d think it was on Mars the way this lot are going on about it. I hate cub scouts. Mum made me join, she said it builds character, well I’m no good at building anything else. They tried to teach us how to build campfires the other week, I only turned my back for a few seconds and they all blamed me for letting the fire go out.

I dread the days they let us loose on the obstacle course, I’m covered in plasters and that’s just from getting out me own front door. My Grandad says I’d trip over my own laces even if my shoes were buckled. I’m just not an outdoorsy kind of person. I’d much rather hang out in my room playing my video games.

My dad says I’m more of a sedentary boy which mum usually replies with ‘Downright lazy more like’. It’s not that I don’t like going outside, it’s just that I feel so awkward and I’m useless at footy. I tried once, scored an own goal and swore from then on I wouldn’t put myself up for being humiliated like that again. A few months later and mum reads an article in the paper about a new scout group forming. Well she never got off my back about it since, I couldn’t take anymore of her whinging at me so I caved in. Plus dad is sneaking me extra pocket money behind her back.

So yeah, I “proudly” wear my woggle under duress and bribery. I’ve got one or two badges including my looking after animals badge. I tried to get away with writing a quick paragraph about how I feed my dog pedigree chum twice a day but my dad turned it into a “fun” project. We pretty much documented his every shit. I do love my dog, I’ve had him since I was four, he stinks when he’s ran off down the pond and tried to catch fifty goldfish. It’s pretty funny how he barks back at my mum when she shouts at him, he don’t take no nonsense from her. I do catch them cuddling on the sofa though so I think they get on really.

Now I’m stuck in this crammed minibus on the way to scout camp. I tried to get my dog to eat the permission slip but when I put it in his mouth he just took it straight over to mum so I couldn’t wriggle out of it. Dad promised he’d pay me double for the next month if I made the effort so that’s a pretty big incentive especially as I’ve got my eye on a new game. It’s aliens, cowboys and zombies and looks way cool, technically it’s a 15 rated game but mum never pays any attention to my hobbies anyway.

I think we’re nearly there now, I really want to get off this bus, it stinks of vomit. Scott chucked up despite sitting at the front , blamed it on a dodgy sandwich but he really can’t handle his travel. Oh bloody hell we’re here, there’s stacks of em, all fiddling with their woggles and attempting to put tents up. Ah well, here we go.