! This post hasn't been updated in over a year. A lot can change in a year including my opinion and the amount of naughty words I use. There's a good chance that there's something in what's written below that someone will find objectionable. That's fine, if I tried to please everybody all of the time then I'd be a Lib Dem (remember them?) and I'm certainly not one of those. The point is, I'm not the kind of person to try and alter history in case I said something in the past that someone can use against me in the future but just remember that the person I was then isn't the person I am now nor the person I'll be in a year's time.
Just under 9 months after #1 got invested as a Cub Scout, #2 got himself invested last night.
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Eh?
No cap, no itchy jumper, no leather woggle with a wolf’s head on it, splashes of what must be fat on what is apparently a uniform – and who was that GIRL?????????? No sock tabs either, I expect, and I bet they don’t do Bob-a-Job any more.
Good God! BP must be turning in his grave.
I was a Cub from spring 1965 until elevated to the Scouts, with my Leaping Wolf, in autumn 1966. It didn’t look like that in my day.
Not fat, glue – they were making a papier maché totem pole.
They’ve allowed girls to join cubs and scouts but boys can’t join brownies or guides.
i was a cub/scout in the 1970s and it was horrible, it made a man of me
i remember being at camp and being on breakfast duty and the feeling of shear horror when i realised that the shite in the big pot was not a joke on the other guys but my breakfast too
I also remember it being really cold at dawn but i guess that is what you get for camping in scottish hills
I think our neck scarfs were blue and white?!?
Well done Mr P (and Mrs P!) for keeping up the old ways!
Never did me any harm..;) All the way through to ventures..great fun.
Oh, and I quite approve of girls in cubs..it’s better washing up for breakfast! 😉
Speaking of Brownies: My daughter (now a mother herself) was a Brownie, and loved going, until the introduction of that dreadful pastiche of a uniform ‘designed’ by that dreadful parody of a designer, Geoff/Jeff (who cares?) Banks. She absolutely refused to wear it and left.
Strangely, she hated wearing skirts and dresses (even at the age of three), and still does, but loved wearing the Brownie tunic.
Why can’t ‘they’ just leave things alone?