By Crista Gekas
I realise that in writing this article, I am breaking the old adage, “what happens at law camp, stays at law camp.” For those of you who did attend law camp, I insist that any stories divulged in this article will not implicate you in any sort of crime or misconduct (although I am willing to name the best and worst dance moves).
In many ways, law camp harked back to the old days of school camp. Some 150 students gathered on the footpath with bags, doonas and costumes in tow. Crowds jostled around sheets of paper allocating buses and cabins. There was idle chitchat about the coming three days and some early signs of nostalgia for LMR.
To the innocent bystander, the situation seemed relaxed enough. In fact, I’m sure any reasonable person would not see cause for panic. However, this did not stop the whirlwind of anxiety that quickly ensued in my head. Each decision the night before law camp seemed to be of life or death importance. Should I choose the sensible, slightly thinner blue blanket, or the much warmer “Bob the Builder” blanket? Conscious of my fledgling legal reputation, I made a conservative decision and chose the blue blanket.
I digress. Skip ahead six or so hours, and everyone is changing into their white t-shirts for the evening “scribble party.” Donning my “I LOVE MÜNCHEN” t-shirt, I set out with a set of textas and a creative spirit, albeit tinged by a slight hint of scepticism. With the music blaring and the beverages free flowing, however, I couldn’t resist the mysterious pull of drawing strange pictures on people I had only met moments ago. Whilst my doodles were fairly average and at best inappropriate (“Call Stephen”), and the group resembled a glittery, demented cult by midnight, the scribble party was a weirdly effective exercise in group bonding.
By the second and final night, law camp was in full swing. I had mastered my hand at Ping-Pong that afternoon, and was feeling confident that I’d nailed my 90s themed costume. Though it wasn’t so much 90s “themed” as much as it was pulled straight from the 90s (honourable mention goes to my Dad for letting me unashamedly raid his wardrobe). That night, each decade was to choreograph a dance routine and battle it out against competing decades, for a chance to win tickets to the end of exams party no less.
But suggestive dance moves aside, the MULSS is deserving of a huge thank you for organising Law Camp 2017. The whole thing went off without a hitch, although we would’ve been too busy dancing to notice otherwise. I met some fantastic people over the weekend, and the experience definitely made for a more relaxed transition into my first week of law school.
Purely Dicta 