My birthday. Apart from one year when for some reason the school holidays finished really early, I have for the last 20+ years always celebrated my birthday at camp. So Saturday was a strange experience waking up in a bed, in a house and not having to worry about what lay in the marquee. If I am honest I hate birthdays. I hate the unwanted attention they bring, I can never really think of anything I need and so what, I am a year older than last year. It is something we can't control and what are we celebrating?...not being dead?
That said I can remember some of my birthdays at camp. My 18th was spent in the Castle in Caernarfon. The castle pub that is. How times of changed...the leader of camp Steve Mathews bought me my first legal pint in there. I remember the journey back to Criccieth being a struggle after spending several hours in the pub. My 21st was a much more tame event. I spent it visiting the Bunny Farm in Llanstumnwy the resting place of David Lloyd George. (just as an aside he was actually born in Manchester but the Welsh think he is one of their own). The most embarrassing brithday had to be the one hung from the marquee with climbing ropes, along with a table to eat my breakfast on. The pull on my 'town halls' made it all a bit uncomfortable and looked even worse. For many years I shared my birthday with Rich Church. Big and Little Rich's birthdays. He must be in his 20's now. I wonder how he is doing?
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