One last thing...

Retreating behind the glass of a shop entrance for cover, the flash bang was still loud enough to invoke a flinch from those of us holding the first floor of the mall. Strangely, the explosion wasn't followed up with a charge up the stairs; we resumed positions and stared down at the enemy forces holding the stairwell. After a tense guessing game we got some lucky shots in and cleared the stairwell. This was all we really had to do. We were guarding the ammunition box at the top of the stairs and as long as we could hold those stairs the box was safe; the back stairwell was firmly within our territory and so if we were attacked from there defence would be rather pointless anyway.

The stairwell was vulnerable to incoming fire from a shop not quite opposite, meaning we could find cover behind the old lift and the banister. Unfortunately the angle meant that to engage the enemy I would have to fire left-handed, and only had time for a few shots before having to duck back under cover as the return fire pinged and zipped its way around the stairwell. It was infuriating. Technically there was no need to kill the people in the shop opposite, but technicalities be damned- I wanted their heads. My brother had just had an idea, so we both dropped down into the space between the stairwell and the back of the lift. We would have a perfect shot through the doors of the shop, and even better, they wouldn't have been able to see us move to our new position and so would not be expecting us.  Ben popped his head out, only to pull it back in with a quick curse. He holstered his rifle, drawing a pistol instead.

"There's one right there- against that corner" he snarled, popping out again to take a few pot-shots with the pistol.

He was right; just as those in the shop hadn't seen us, we in turn hadn't seen this guy creeping up the pillar diagonally opposite our position on the stairwell, shielded by the same lift that had given us cover. I drew my own pistol, the metal cold and unforgiving in my hands.

"You go high, I'll go low," I told him. To be frank, I had no idea if that was a desirable tactic, but someone had done the same earlier and we were both still there to tell the tale. He nodded, and counted us in. We both poked our heads out, waiting for our enemy to make his move.

A glimpse of his head; we both fired. A roar from Ben's handgun as he fired. A click from mine froze me up. Our foe had his gun up before I had the presence of mind to duck back into cover. Why was my pistol misfiring? I looked it over, and then cursed myself for being so stupid. There was no clip in the pistol. Short of throwing the thing at him, it was useless. Holstering it, I picked up my rifle once more, and leaned out, much more exposed. This time I felt the air parted as enemy fire whistled past me. Back into cover. And then the tannoy system bleated out. "Three, two one... game over!"

Of course it wasn't real. In real life I would never run as fast as I did when I went to an airsoft game. But it was something to do; something to keep me busy. There were also the Boxing Day Games, a curious tradition which dictates that on Boxing Day the village of Cookham Dean must hold such memorable events as a Space-Hopper race, the Dizzy Pole game (a relay race where you run up to a pole in the ground, put your hand on the pole your head on your hand, spin round it ten times and then run back) and the blindfolded obstacle course, where one of your team guides two other teammate who are blindfolded and in the waltzing position though an obstacle course made of hay bales. It's strange to think that this year, instead of politely saying hello to everyone and then disappearing back up to Leeds again in January, I will actually be around for 'the foreseeable future'. 'The foreseeable future' is a mysterious and ominous phrase that I have taken to using when describing how long I will be at home for, for no other reason than that it sounds cool; I am actually rather happy in my tiny room (though it does need a thorough clean as the cat seems to have left hairs everywhere, if my allergic reaction is anything to go by). 

Strange as it is to think that I will now be applying for jobs, and walking the dog, and playing on the PlayStation regularly, it is even stranger to remember that just over a week ago I was in the Swiss Alps. I was in another world, it seems at times, a place where I was Scouting all day and all night, where the dishwasher was made of sheet metal and the snow was measured at all, rather than simply hoped for. I thought it even stranger, at first, at how little I was missing the place. The people, of course, are irreplaceable, but I haven't found myself sighing and longing for a Thought For The Day to get me up in the morning. And then I realised that I've not been missing it because, in a very real sense, I haven't left it behind. KISC is with me in any number of little ways. I don't mind the cold any more in Britain; I think nothing of loading the dishwasher just once after dinner or lunch. I hope that I've taken some of KISC with me in my personality and the way I behave towards other people, and I know that I've remembered that a Scout doesn't have to live in a World Centre in order to be a Scout all day long; the spirit of 'why wait for someone else to do the right thing?' has stayed with me, even if it is in something as small as tidying up, turning off a light bulb or taking out a bin when it's full (which is actually something that we all used to struggle with in my house in Leeds!) And for all those wondering how wanting to shoot high-velocity plastic pellets at my fellow man fits into that world view, then remember that it's just a game, and there's nothing that scouts love more than a good game!

I'm staring at the hat I got from KISC, which says on it 'live the dream'. When I first got to KISC I thought that it was the place itself that was the dream; the building, the activities, the people, the mountains. I thought that I would have to wake up from the dream when I came back home (I know, it's a terrible metaphor we're in here, but be brave) but instead, as I wrestle mightily to bring this blog to a close, I realised that KISC, and its dream, is a state of mind. When they tell you to live the dream, they don't mean have a great time and then spend your time afterwards reminiscing and sighing that it's over. What they really mean is to take what you found at KISC, whatever it may be, and fit it in to your life at home. So whenever I wear that hat, or put my highly fashionable pink jumper on, or look up from my desk at my KISC neckerchief, I remember that I had three glorious months to help run a chalet, and learn all that I could take from that chalet to live in my own life. Not a bad thing, that.

Now, I have a cup of tea to attend to, so go make yourself one and thanks very much for reading this blog. I wish you a happy 2012, and if you find yourself at a loose end at all during it then why not see if I've written another blog- it might pass five minutes or so...

Preparing to leave

Note: I would have posted this before I left, but I was busy packing and such. Look out for one more post as well in about half a week!


Finding myself with a bag half-packed, and some angry mediocre metal playing, it's becoming increasingly apparent that the end of my time here at KISC is coming to an end. Since the last few days have been rather nice, I thought I might take the time to relate them to you.


Firstly, Jon Mozley came out to visit me for the past three days. And secondly, just as he arrived, it started snowing in a big way. The snow has been touch-and-go for a while (I even blogged about it in the Think Pink Blog, which I have been regularly posting in- give it a read!) but on the day Jon arrived we had a good 10cm. The day after we had a föhn wind, which is a warm wind that turns your wonderful snow into rain. However even that wasn't so bad, since we headed over to Adelboden to see how Kat is settling into Our Chalet. She's doing fine, and even has her own blog where you can read all about what she's up to over there. We were at the Chalet for their annual 'invite the neighbours round for a sing-song' evening, which was very fun, partially because people thought that Jon and myself were part of the staff team and so kept shaking our hands on the way in and out! The day after that, I was working, but managed to get enough time in lunchbreak to go sledding with Jon and Kat and Anna, a girl from Our Chalet who had come over with Kat to see KISC.


Unfortunately, my camera doesn't work well in the snow; touchscreens are confused by water, it would seem. It was a shame too, since it was one of the most beautiful afternoons I have spent here. Snow covering everything in sight, transforming the landscape that I was used to into a smooth and undulating paradise of powdery dust. Just the four of us, sledding and throwing snowballs, the sound of our laughter and screams muted by the still-falling snow, drifting down to try and cover the tracks we had made. I always  think of Winter as the end of the year (as I suppose most of the Northern Hemisphere does) and so the idea of sledding through the snow at the end of my KISC experience has a certain poetic feeling to it. It was almost like the final shot of a film, panning out to lose the four small shapes in the white of the snow, the soft light of the sunshine diffracting through the snowclouds and blurring the sky and the ground together into a seamless continuum of grey-white. I had never felt sadder to be leaving, and the day between then and now has been tinged with an aura of melancholy. However, it feels far from a cliché. I have had a life-changing experience here, and made friends who I will do my best to keep from slipping away from as the years and the distances grow between us.


Of course, it's not all that bad. I am looking forward to being at home again, not least because we have a bath at home that I can relax in, and a dog who I hope will recognise me! I also, interestingly enough, have a job interview on the 21st for the role of part-time segway driver! As exciting as that is, I am also going to start looking for a 'real' job (meaning that it has a salary instead of an hourly rate; that's as much as I can work out regarding the difference between a real job and a pretend one) I have also just found a link to a job as a receptionist, and an Editorial Coordinator. So I have ten minutes to negotiate the confusing application process, and then it is back to catering for my last day of work with good cheer and Christmas songs playing!

A week of changes

It feels as if it has been forever since I last posted on here, though in reality it's barely been over a week! With that in mind I am not starting this post with an apology for it's lateness as was previously planned, though it was such a good apology that I might delay the next post so that I can get it in.


Anyway, as the title suggests, it's been a bit of a week of upheaval. Kat came out to visit, which was cracking, and then we had Staff Day Out, organised in secret for all the staff of the Autumn season. We went to see some Roman Ruins, which were pretty inspiring, then we went to do Go-Karting, which I have decided is officially one of my favourite things to do ever! We then rounded off with a trip to the Swiss version of Cadbury World, which even managed to have a weird bit about Aztecs in it just like Cadbury World; the only difference was that the voice-over man was a HUGE fan of chocolate, so much so that it was a little worrying! Then, after that, we had a half day of work and then an afternoon of deep-cleaning the staff-room in preparation for the new Winter season Shorties, which was exhausting and not helped by the hangover I was working through from the Staff Day Out Party the day before!


That was yesterday. Today, I am writing this from one of the bunks in the Africa Room on the first floor of the Old Chalet. Three of the Autumn Shorties have left this morning: Johan, who you will all of course recall is from Sweden, Laura from Australia and Rikke from Denmark. Of the five remaining, one of us is moving tonight into her flat as a Long Term Staff Member (Caoimhe, from Ireland) and the remaining four of us are in the Africa Room as Helpers. We get to wear the exclusive colour of Green (in a work place where everyone is in pink, it's quite special, trust me!) and basically cook and clean while the Long Term Staff get all the new shorties through training. Speaking of them, one has already arrived and the others are all due in before 5 tomorrow, when training begins.


These changes, while not exactly upsetting, have just left me feeling a bit unsettled, like a pile of leaves kicked up by the wind that hasn't had time to drift back down to earth yet. I'm lying in my bunk, my stuff half-packed underneath me, wishing that I was either at home or back in the Staff Room dreading having to get up early for catering tomorrow. This room feels like a waiting room, a limbo between being staff and being a civilian again. The bunk bed feels cramped, and there aren't enough places to put my things. I can't pack because it's still another ten days before I leave, but I can't get everything out otherwise everyone will have to walk over my socks to get to bed. Meanwhile, Kat is over at Our Chalet, making snowflakes and having much more snow that we have at KISC and generally having a grand time, which has the unintentional side-effect of making my bunk bed all the more cramped and lonely.


There's nothing to be done about it; I'll get used to things when training gets under way tomorrow, and my scheme of pretending to have a Welsh accent around the new Shorties will hopefully work and confuse them all mightily! But right now I am in a bit of a slump. Only Men Aloud, the welsh male choir who won a telly show a while ago, is drifting over the speakers, and I have a stash of chocolate at the foot of the bed, so to top it all I also feel like I'm about to hit the menopause or something. I guess it's always tough waking up after the dream ends!