In Part 1, I joined the cub scouts and learned nothing. In Part 2, I joined again and learned to use a needle and thread. I learned one other thing.
This second time, the nominal leader Mr Moustache (who possibly had a real name which I might even have known) was barely seen. He'd effectively demoted himself to shuffling papers in a small anteroom, while a shifting team of ex-soldiers took care of the boys.
The only time I saw him for more than a minute was while carrying one end of a banner, while he walked in front dressed as Father Christmas, and behind us was a junior marching band and a team of majorettes. This last was two dozen pubescent girls dressed in flesh-coloured lyotards - glaring with hostility at the two boys.
We walked/twirled/blew/beat around the streets for 90 minutes. What were we doing? What was on the banner? I have absolutely no idea.
But the first evening of rejoining. Eighteen boys of around 10, arranged on three sides of a square, while in the middle...
...a tall man with a short crew-cut.
Wearing full camouflage.
Screaming and bellowing about how we lacked "discipline".
Apparently we were a "disgrace", with our little green caps, woggles with neck-kerchiefs, regulation pullovers and grey school shorts.
I almost never questioned or resisted adult imbecility - there was never any point. But on this occasion, for some reason, I decided to try an experiment.
I sneered at him.
I kept the sneer until his gaze reached me...
...and he flinched.
Just momentarily, because he immediately looked far away, and never looked at me again.
I think I attended for two more weeks, and have no recollection of anything about them. Sometimes there's nothing more to habit than momentum.
I never told anyone about this, but the one thing you realise when you reach middle age...is that whatever you think you worked out as an adult...you already knew as a child.