When I go camping, I put my sleeping kit right beside the door. There's no practical reason for this; I could find a spot where I wouldn't feel the wind blowing through the chink in the door or where I wouldn't have to be the first one up to let people out. I'd likely be more comfortable elsewhere, but an old habit keeps me in front of the door.

When I was a patrol leader with my  hands full of younger scouts, sleeping across the doorway was almost a necessity. The bits of weather that leaked in must have cost me hours of sleep, but dealing with sleep deprivation was much easier than dealing with exhausted eleven-year-olds. Because I was stretched out across the doorway, I knew I wouldn't have to deal with illicit midnight missions either. Waking up early enough to unzip the door didn't bother me: I was first up and last down anyway. The greater challenge was in convincing my patrol that it was time to wake up.

Eventually I discovered that sleeping by the door could solve that problem too: even the fussiest dressers will be ready in less than five minutes if you tell them you're about to open the door. Over time I found other advantages of the spot. I realised that it was much easier to address a patrol when I could see everyone at the same time. Nobody was disturbed if I joined the senior scouts for a late-night meeting. If the wind sometimes kept me awake, it gave me a chance to plan the details of the next day's programme. Things weren't perfect, but when discontent began to sprout in my mind, it was quickly squashed by the respect and loyalty of the girls who formed a sleepy set of stripes along the tent floor.

My eighteenth birthday has come and gone; now I sleep in the leaders' tent, where there are no crying campers to comfort and where people go to sleep of their own accord. Other girls are sleeping across the doorways of patrol tents and ensuring that the eleven-year-olds go to sleep. In my tent, I still sleep closest to the door. When the wind creeps in and blows across my face, it brings with it a wistful remembrance.