Free Monkey Bars and Rubber Ducks by T.M. Alexander Page A

wasn’t in a woolly animal dream and that it was setting-off-for-camp day. I had a poke around inside my head to decide how I felt – not too bad. In fact, I was quite keen to get on with it. The sooner we got there, the sooner I got back home.

The
Bus
    I didn’t walk because I had too much stuff. Mum dropped me off. She kissed me (in the car, not in front of the world) and said ‘You’ll be fine.’ And then she drove off.
    The whole of Year 6 had been told to stand in the netball court next to our bags. Some Year 6s did exactly that. A whole other lot of Year 6s ran around like lunatics, excited about the trip, I guess. And there were a few waiting with their parents.
    The Tribers stood together. I didn’t feel much like talking so I let them chatter on while I inspected everyone’s luggage.
    Jonno had a proper walker’s rucksack with a tiny sleeping bag strapped on the front. All very organised.
    Copper Pie had a Man United sports bag with big black wellies sticking out of the pocket, a bright red sleeping bag in a see-through plastic bag and a small day sack, bursting full. I didn’t need to ask – he’d obviously brought snacks.
    Bee’s rucksack looked brand new. It had a surf-type pattern on it. I quite liked it. She was wearing her wellies.
    ‘Where’s your sleeping bag?’ I asked.
    She turned to answer me. ‘Crammed it inside,’ and then went back to the conversation which seemed to be about whether Doodle would go back to being a badly behaved puppy without Bee there to make her mum treat him like a dog, and not a baby, for four days.
    Fifty’s luggage was totally un-camp-like. He had one of those wheelie suitcases that businessmen take on aeroplanes (and business women, Bee would say). His sleeping bag was tied on to the handle of the suitcase and so were his wellies. On his back he had one of those cool rucksacks with water in them that you can suck as you go along (I think they’re called CamelBaks, that would make sense wouldn’t it? You know, humps).
    ‘Is that new?’ I pointed at the tube, resting on Fifty’s shoulder.
    ‘Yes. Mum bought it. Doesn’t want me to get dehydrated.’ He did a great big suck. ‘I like it. It’s like a dummy.’
    ‘What’s nice about a dummy?’ I said.
    ‘Don’t know, I never had one. Neither does Probably Rose, but she sucks her thumb so I bet she’d like one.’
    Dummies were obviously more interesting than Doodle’s behaviour. Everyone piled in.
    ‘I had a dummy,’ said Copper Pie.
    ‘That figures,’ said Bee. We all laughed. He looked confused.
    ‘She means you are a dummy,’ said Fifty.
    ‘They’re not called dummies any more,’ said Jonno. ‘They’re pacifiers.’
    ‘That’s a good idea,’ said Fifty. ‘Giving them a name no baby could possibly say.’ He demonstrated. ‘Give me my gaga gaga pac-if-i-er, gaga.’
    ‘It’s because dummy isn’t a nice name,’ said Bee.
    ‘What about plastic people in shop windows?’ said Fifty. ‘They’re dummies.’
    And we do dummies in football,’ said Copper Pie.’ You pretend to do something but you don’t.’
    And they have dummy runs and that means practice runs,’ said Jonno.
    ‘But if you’re a dummy it means you’re stupid. So that’s why they changed it. You can’t call babies stupid. End of.’
    The bell went. The dummy conversation, even though it was boring, had done a good job of passing the time.
    Miss Walsh stood by the gate and said something in a loud voice. I didn’t get what she said because I was too busy staring at how funny she looked. Starting at the bottom, she had on big boots and those plastic things that go up to your knees to stop your trousers getting wet (hers were green) and baggy trousers and a belt with all sorts of things hanging off it (like a cowboy, but no guns) and a waterproof with reflecting stripes and a whistle round her neck and, worst of all, a brown leather hat with a big brim, like Australians wear – although they have corks