I just got home at 2am, which is earlier than planned. As I left there was some truly fantastic fast dancing going on in the ballroom, a huge empty dance banana to play in, accompanied by the camp's top DJ, and an impromptu boogie woogie piano jam circle in the lobby. Did I mention that the Carlings Family Band played this evening? You know, the band I've been talking about all year? With the lady who played It Don't Mean A Thing on the bagpipes, and then played three trumpts simultaneously? No, I don't think I did. Well, the Carlings Family Band played this evening. This year I will be telling everybody that they did Tiger Rag. The first solo was that same lady on the trombone, and the second was her brother on the clarinet. Then the same lady did a tap dancing solo. During the fourth (drum) solo, all members of the band apart from the drummer formed a human pyramid on stage, then passed a trumpet up to the top arriving just in time for the fourth solo (same lady again). Never seen anything like it. For their grand exit at the end of the set, they did that thing where the band starts meandering through the crowd and everybody starts following them in procession. Instead of the cliché of When The Saints Come Marching In they did the Blue Danube. Yes, it's a waltz! But they had adapted it into thoroughly swinging dixieland number in 4:4. The trombone had the tune; same lady. The weather is hot. The women are hotter. The dancing is hottest. The organisation is basically abysmal. This camp runs on sheer good will. For example, Cat Foley (no less) single-handedly manned the passport control for four hours straight, missing most of her Saturday night, and had to somehow do it with an insufficient supply of 100SEK notes. In other news, I've moved into the flat above the Küggen, which incidentally is under new ownership. The flat is lovely. My direct landlord is Muharrem whom I met last year. He greeted me like an old friend. There are four of us in the flat at the moment. I hear Kevin and Jo are staying next door.