The last day in camp was a particularly wet one. We lived in our waterproofs for much of the day.
The children brightened up our distinctly damp day (isn’t alliteration wonderful) by organising a miniature concert for us with some wonderful Mongolian singing, and when we were packing up the tents helped us carry our stuff up to the lodge. The wife of one of the attendants even let Emma, Leslie, Georgie and I use her washing machine to wash our clothes – not only that, but she hung them out to dry for us! You don’t often find generosity like that.
in return for the concert, we organised our own miniature farewell performance. I started things off with a song from Twelfth Night- everyone seemed to like it, although they reacted far better to Will and Mr. Postle’s sketch, where Mr. Postle tickled, performed various tricks with, and then brutally skinned alive and ate an orange. Will provided the necessary giggles, whoops and blood curdling shrieks, as well as the sinister chuckle when Mr. Postle dropped dead after finishing his juice – the orange strikes back! The audience, after being serenade by a group effort of Robbie Williams’ ‘Angels’ were gratified by the shower of sweets that rained from our hands as a farewell gift.
The farewells continued well into the evening, and the last disco went on until well past eleven. I a now concluding this entry from the floor of the disco – lightly swept, of course. The camp agreed to let us sleep in the lodge for the last night, to save us taking down the tents in the morning.
Tomorrow we will venture into the territory of the Black Market to buy riding boots. I’m going to wear my money belt inside my bra – let’s see thieves try and get at that without me noticing.