Festival parking.
This happened at V97 (I think).

I was quite happy with the space I'd found for my car: though the field was big, I was close to a huge oak and a pylon. I took a detailed mental map using these consipicuous landmarks so that I'd be able to find the tank-like Volvo lickety-split when the time to go home came around.

And what should happen during the festival?

Only that someone came along and uprooted and replanted the tree, and re-routed the national grid. My meticulous triangulation was thus utterly redundant, and it took me about an hour to find where I'd parked.

I bet the bastards did it on purpose.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 11:00, 1 reply)

No offence meant, but
Hahahahahahahahhaahahahahahahahahaha!
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 13:26, closed)