I remember my first night at Cubs; the first time my woggle had left my flat.

The meeting was held in my primary school hall – it seemed odd going to the hall in the dark and not having to sing “All things bright and beautiful”

There were lots of big boys – probably about ten.  In my eyes, that was nearing old age.

Having never read The Jungle Book it puzzled me as to why people were called Akela, Shere Khan and Baloo.  No one was called Martin, Peter or Lorraine – popular names in the early sixties when I first wore my new (incredibly itchy) Cub jumper.

There was lots of running around, especially when Akela called.  It was nearest I’ve ever been to becoming feral.

On my first night we were told about several things we’d have to learn by heart and recite ;  I guess the Masons are the same – only with more use of pigs’ bladders?

We would learn about knots – handy if you were thinking of a career in kidnapping; cook sausages – Cubs wasn’t very Vegan-friendly and get the chance to gain badges to put on your itchy jumper.  Might that make the jumper less itchy?

In time I’d get a badge which showed I could send messages using an Aldis lamp with one hand while cooking sausages with the other – and all the time making sure my woggle never caught fire.

Sausages are off, love.