I love my job....

My jeans are soaked through, there is tinsel in my hair, glitter on my arms, I have been deafened by a series of team chants and I've heard one too many children say "I can't find my pants".

That's right, today was our annual swim carnival.

The smell of hamburgers roasting on the barbecue filled the air; parents scurried too and fro with stopwatches, hats, sunscreen, goggles, swim togs and bottles of icy water, teachers were hollering only marginally louder than the children, and by 10:30am the temperature had reached 32 degrees with about 93% absolute humidity.

Brisbane in summer is a sauna.

By the time I arrived, one 9 year old girl was already in tears because she'd been disqualified from the butterfly race. I was relieved to find out she'd merely been disqualified for doing the breaststroke. Knowing how competitive these children are, it wouldn't have surprised me if she'd failed a random drug test or been arrested for interfering with a competitor.

Then the cries of "Chaplain Annie!" filled the air and within thirty seconds I had fourteen children hanging off me like cicadas off a gum tree. In short order I'd been offered my choice of muddy, sweaty towels on which to sit and was immediately inundated with indignant questions like "Whose team are you cheering for????" Foolishly, I made the mistake of answering "Well, no-one's". I didn't realise it at the time, but that apparently made it fair game for the children to mark me as their territory by weaving tinsel with team colours into my hair and covering me with coloured glitter. So enthusiastic were they I was only mildly surprised when their marking me for "their side" didn't actually involve human urine.

The children are wonderful, of course, and normally I don't mind sharing my ample lap with them; but today, a succession of wet bottoms have left my jeans soaked through. My litre bottle of icy cold water with lime cordial was passed from child to child like whisky in a brown paper bag, and in no time the bottle was empty. Still, I was treated to the inexpressible delight of a frozen ring of pineapple by a group of children that pooled their change to buy me a slice from the food stand. Somehow, a treat bought with hot, sweaty five-cent pieces is even more delicious than caviar.

The day was long, but tremendous fun. There were cheers and laughter, tears and fights. There were those children that were flush with victory, and those that were beating themselves up over losing a race. Hugs and a "high five" work in both situations. There were those that lost swimming caps and those that found their lunch had been stepped on. There were tins of spaghetti, gummi worms, sausages and frozen bananas to go 'round. There were quiet kids with their noses in a book, and loud kids with their noses in your face. There were cliques and loners, BFFs and children discovering their inner fascist dictator.

In other words, there was enough work for a Chaplain to do.