When you're not doing some activity or other, asleep, at the firepit, or working very very hard (as you surely are!), you're likely to find yourself in one of the communal cabins. Ready to treat your scrapes, sell you Camp Ohiocester merchandise, or keep you fed, these cabins are never empty.

Nurse Robyn is always ready with a (slightly delayed) smile and an ice pack when you need one. Didn't listen closely enough to the safety briefing? Went wandering into Redstone Forest and tripped over a branch? Robyn's seen it all, and he'll treat it. Even if he'd rather be reading his newspaper.

The darkest, cobweb-iest, spookiest part of Camp Ohiocester: the equipment shed. Any camper who's been sent here to fetch a soccerball or frisbee or tennis racquet knows this is not a shed to be taken lightly. What was that creak behind you? Are those eyes in the dar- oh, wait, no, that's just the emergency light.

All campers eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner here together. The food is better than you'd expect, made with love and gusto. The chef does their best to cater to any dietary requirement you need. The only downside is the patronising names they like to give the dishes: Brave Burgers! Power Pasta! Sunny Scrambled Eggs!

On the rare occasion that the canteen's closed, if you find yourself craving a granola bar or carton of orange juice, the shop's the place to be. Even better than that is its collection of dusty camp merch, or the wall full of inexplicable trinkets. When it's open during the day (which seems to be at the strangest times), you'll find it manned by Tabitha, leafing aimlessly through a magazine. At night, though - if you can find it at all; it seems to blend into the darkness, somehow - there's no one there at all, even when it's open. Just a cat, lurking on the counter, ready to pounce or purr at a moment's notice.