It's almost the end of the year, but finally, after a very busy term, The Little Issue reaches it's fifth incarnation. It's been years in the making, but it should be a little more regular from here. You can see what sort of thing it is, now get out there and write stuff!
Well, it's been an exciting term, thankfully the society survived freshers fayre and we've actually again seen an increase in the number of active members. This term's events have ranged from the silly, jelly sandwiches anyone? to the more serious, a big thank you goes to all involved in the Indoor Scout. All of which were enjoyed by those participating in them.
We also ventured out of Durham for our first camp of the year and we'd like to think it was a success. Yes Peter B. the wall really did like you, honest!! Others of the society also ventured forth into the realm known as the Manchester SSAGO Rally and from the sounds of things had fun.
All in all I'd say that this last term was a roaring success and I've no doubt that Epihany will be just as wonderful. Mole and I both look forwards to seeing you at a DUSAGG event soon.
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Struggling with a box of food and a packed rucsack on my back I made my way along the road towards Palace Green. Mentally running through what was in my bag I was confident I had remembered everything I would need for a weekend. Then it hit me: BOOTS, I had forgotton to pick up my boots. Turning I ran, or as close as you can get to running with a box and a rucsac on, back to Chads and up to my room to grab my boots.
This time I got to Palace Green with no more problems and was soon loading my things into the back of the minibus with Dominic and Becky looking on. Picking up everyone else on the hill we set off toward Appleby in Westermorland, Cumbria for our freshers camp. Despite being a freshers camp the number of freshers (4) was less than the number of existing members (5) but that wasn't going to be a problem and soon everyone was engaged in conversation, telling jokes and having fun. All that before we had even arrived. Not that the journey took long, we were met in the village car park and carried our bags the short distance to the local scout hut that was going to be our home for the next 3 days and 2 nights.
After unpacking the food boxes and our own personal kit we decided to explore the village; coming across the local Spar we stocked up on supplies, and after a minor detor back to the scout hut we ended up in the local pub.
The pub was a bit crowded and so after a while when everyone had finished their drink we moved across the road to a quieter pub until closing, time when we made our way back to the scout hut for some well deserved rest.
Saturday morning came and everyone eventually awoke, breakfast was cooked by Ian and Laura. Saturday was on the programme as being the day for our walk so after some sandwiches were made and a route had been planned from a local walk guide, we set off through the village. Commentary on the sights of the village was provided by Becca in her best reading voice.
The hike in itself was relatively uneventful... that was, unless you were Mole, who got drop kicked in a pub car park and also had flying lesson in the same place, despite Becca's protests.
The evening meal, once we had made it back to the scout hut, was the now traditional orange stew, which everyone enjoyed, this was followed by cake which again was enjoyed by all.
The entertainment that evening was self supplied in the form of games in the hut, games that were supposed to be drinking games but with a society that consumes relatively little alcohol were just for fun. Peter B., however, deserves a special mention here though, his consumption of alcohol was greater than everyone elses and included both beer and spirits, a fact that we were all to regret a little later........
Having all gone to bed for the evening and just about settled down, Peter's alcohol decided to take its revenge. I'll save you the specific details but surfice it to say that Peter B. ended up with more alcohol on the floor, his clothes and sleeping bag than was left in his body. After being helped to the shower by myself and Becca and finally convinced to stand in the shower because, "Yes Peter, the wall really does like you, ", the water was turned on and despite protests that "the water is really rather cold" we managed to sort him out whilst his kit and the floor were being rescued by Ian.
After that we were all able to get some sleep in preparation for our last day in the scout hut. Sunday morning we awoke to be amused by the letter of apology that Peter B. had written whilst still slightly inebriated.
We had a morning activity of catapult building planned and despite threats to catapult Mole across the field we settled for a tennis ball. The result was no great surprise with a resounding win for the team I was on and second (last) place going to Ian's team. The competiton was watched with great interest by some locals who had fun trying to guess what we were actually building.
After the competition came the chores, the tidying up and packing away of our stuff which was accomplished with time to spare so that the keys could be returned. The minibus arrived to collect us and we were soon on our way back to Durham after a weekend of fun that was enjoyed by all.
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Serve with a green salad and trophy
Preparation time: 2 months
Cooking time: 1 day
Make of it what you will
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Having previously refused to contribute to this publication, when slightly merry, I volunteered to do so. Therefore this is my account of the evening of 30th January, one which was going to be interesting to say the least...
I arrived at the social slightly late and tired from the Outdoor Scout. By 9pm Kingsgate was heaving, but DUSAGG were squashed, like a hoard of fat biffers in Roger's handhole*, into one of the two hole things at the back. It was the same one that Becca was proposed to in at the same event last year: coincidence or hoping for a repeat?
Already several people were slightly the worse for wear, so I had some catching up to do. Phil's chocolates, intended for Scouts but conveniently forgotten, didn't help. The social descended into an abuse flinging session, with even the non-drinkers acting otherwise. Becca's thumb was even lifted for long enough for two pints to be tipped down Stuart's throat (Becky's responsibility).
Appalled at the unpleasant nature of the evening I decided to be nice to the members present, only to be told off within minutes for scaring people (as if I would intentionally move onto Mr. Clark's territory). Eleven o'clock came and went with Becky not on her bus, instead revelling in Phil's suggestion of Klute.
Upon closing time (and the downing of pints, regardless of the owner) seven of us descended onto the eternal dustbin better known as Manchester, sorry Klute. Our attire was interesting to say the least: Laura in walking boots; Staurt and Phil still in their DUSAGG clothing from earlier. Kat, Laura, Becca, Stuart and I stopped drinking shortly afterwards. Becky and Phil decided to do otherwise. After a while at the bar we descended (both in height and taste) to the cheese dance floor. Upon this, perhaps the worst dancing ever was undertaken (I plead guilty), along with the massaging of knees - don't ask. Tragically (and this makes Oedipus' tale seem cheerful) we stayed to the bitter end, two of our number being escorted off the dance floor at two in the morning.
After leaving it was decided that Becky ought to be escorted (rather unwillingly) to Sarah's room, where she was staying the night. Thus our posse walked to Mary's, with a slight detour to the Science site (for about half an hour). Perhaps unsurprisingly we there found Mr. Clark lurking, at half past three, like a Mary's girl of the night.
If this sounds weird to anyone who didn't attend (or perhaps those who did) then do not worry, for it was. I am currently typing this, dreading and looking forward to the Morson trophy. Please not Klute.........
* (As in, Roger The Sheep, the Events Secretary's Symbol of Power).
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Written by Stuart M. Charters