I had the honour of being invited outside last night on an adventure with the gang of four (“Weirdos”, they like to call themselves). It really was an honour - I felt like an embedded journalist minus the land mines. They skipped and joked and marched and sang songs in unison - almost as if they have been hanging out with each other, non-stop, for a week!
On this occasion we played a game of chicken. The game, which involved walking alone in the darkened depths of the property, had some fairly specific, though often disputed, rules around where one had to walk. Generally we walked one at a time from a lighted area to a benchmark somewhere off in the dark, and back - all the while being heartily encouraged by our comrades (example: “Go Fergus. Go Fergus. You fart a lot but we like you anyway. Go Fergus”).
It was... totally brilliant. Everyone was free to acknowledge when the darkness got too much for them, often through a hushed cry of “chicken! I’m coming back now”. What a hoot! Good thing too because I will perhaps never be invited again given my penchant for blinding people with my flash...
Ferg wore KJ’s hat, completed several spin-moves and said “look, I’m Justin Bieber” throughout our adventure. It was the only the second time I’ve ever heard him say that name - the first time being accompanied by “no, I don’t want that haircut”.