Dib Dib

At the start of the month I married the local scoutmaster's son to, well, somebody else. The scoutmaster asked whether I would like to come to the Cubs' camp in a few weeks' time and bless their new flags. So Saturday saw me drive into the Surrey wilds armed with the Book of Blessings, my tat and a very dubiously related reading (Isaiah 11.6-10, which mentions God's 'banner' being raised for the nations right at the end, that was the best I could manage). It was all rather charming. Not very many Cubs, it has to be said, and some very un-Scout-like polythene tents, but lovely weather and a reflective mood. I blessed the flags, they were raised and saluted, we had a cup of tea and I left. Curiously mums and dads were also present with the lads, whereas I'd've thought half the fun, if fun is to be had, would be to escape your parents for a couple of days. Still, I suppose in the modern world this is not to be permitted.

I was never part of any paramilitary uniformed organisation in my youth, but looking on at this relaxed, cheerful event I couldn't help thinking that something of the kind (and to be fair perhaps the Scouts were not like this thirty-odd years ago) would have done me good. Astronomy, playing with rafts, and controlled channelling of natural pyromania actually sounds rather appealing.