We were due to go gorge walking on the Thursday, this is pretty much what you would imagine it to be: walking up a gorge. Unfortunately an excess of rain during the night meant it would be impossible. Tempting though it was to go ahead anyway, the torrents of water gushing from the hills would easily sweep away any careless teenagers. Instead we were to go climbing and then spend a few hours in the town of Broddick.

I was with the same group I had been with for the past two days so was starting to get to know them quite well. One girl's response was 'oh no we've not got you again', which was about as believable as me saying 'I think I'm going to give up teaching to do a boring job working in an office'. I told her she loved it really and was backed up by another pupil saying that as soon as I'm gone she's always going on about me. One point to me, even if she did call me a poohead.

The place where we were climbing was a rockface near the sea. This was the perfect opportunity for a bad joke: why is the beach wet? Because the sea weed. I was quite deservedly called a poohead for that.

I'm not the most skilful climber ever. I used to be a little bit afraid but now I'm just plain rubbish at it. I felt rather sorry for the girl belaying - attached the the other end of the rope I was on, in other words the person who would stop me from falling to my death if I slipped - for me. It was quite slippery after the rain so the kids were taking it steady and carefully planning out their next move, I however was rather gung-ho about the whole thing and charged up and fell off, thus giving the poor girl at the bottom a massive jerk upwards and apparently a wedgie for good measure too. I repeated this action a further two times befoe deciding that if I kept trying it might constitute child abuse. At the bottom I was rather predictably labeled a poohead. I told the girl who had been belaying that she had just saved my life three times, though had better keep quiet about it at school otherwise it might make her unpopular.

In the afternoon we went into Broddick. We let the kids go off and do their own thing for a couple of hours and the climbing instructor and I went for a cup of tea. The Emo girls had named him Tufty Man on account of his bizarre hair style, very short all over with - yes you've guessed it - a tufty bit at the front. We'd brought him with us on the trip to guide us through the outdoor activities and he was one of those people who makes you feel rather inadequate. In good shape physically, laid-back and a generally good guy. It was hard to imagine him tripping over rocks or trying - and failing - to learn dance moves from teenage girls. He would receive a certificate at the end of the camp for 'being the only grown up grown-up'.

Our evening routine was pretty well sorted: tea, pupils writing diaries, Miss Enco (group leader) doing a surgery for the day's injured, before settling down and going to bed. I myself was after a bit of attention and got Miss Enco to bandage up the hand I had hurt a couple of days ago coming down a hill. I'd been wearing a plaster but it was getting fairly scummy. To be honest a bandage was a little over the top but I just wanted a bit of TLC. I then got the chance to pass it on when the girl who has supposedly got the same trousers as me asked for a plaster for her foot. It probably wasn't necessary but I love to get stuck in and help out. Our group leader quipped that really I just wanted to touch the girl's feet. I had a very relaxed relationship with my pupils on camp but I think foot rubbing would have been taking it a bit far. I'd either be blind or a liar if I denied that this particular girl was rather attractive but I'm totally professional thank you very much, and besides her feet were filthy so I let her put the plaster on herself.

In the evening most of the adults at the camp went to the pub leaving Miss English and myself in charge. It was tough work getting the pupils to bed but we got there in the end. It wasn't helped by filty feet girl saying I had a beer belly and prodding me in the stomach repeatedly. It was impossible to not laugh in the same way as when your feet are tickled so it was very hard to tell her to cut it out. I had to phyiscally hold on to her arms until she promised to stop. It was kind of amusing but all a little too playful for my liking and I was glad when all the doors were shut with the pupils behind them. Miss English and I waited up in the corridor to stop any room swapping between the boys and the girls dormitories. Eventually I told her she could go to bed and I'd stay on watch. I'd been promised by the girl who had earlier called me a poohead that she'd keep coming out to ask annoying questions but thankfully she never did, though in all honesty it was a bit boring waiting on my own so I could have done with a bit of entertainment.

I eventually went to bed when the others came back from the pub singing Amazing Grace. It was a slightly surreal thing to be heard sung at one in the morning.