Speaking of festival camping...
Late afternoon in the open air;
A human sea made out of mud and hair.
Ain't nothing like a festival crowd:
There's too many people so we play too loud.
Touch down, plane's on the ground,
Look for the drummer, he's nowhere around.
Running late, at least an hour,
No time to rest, no time to shower now we're
Stinkin' up the great outdoors
Stinkin' up the great outdoors
Stinkin' up the great outdoors
But the kids don't mind!
We had a drink going up in the plane,
We had another coming down again.
We had another in the airport bar,
And then some home-brewed stuff in the promoter's car.
Here we go, on with the show,
We're bubblin under and we're ready to flow
Wound up! Turned loose!
Ain't got the power but we sure got the juice and now we're
Stinkin' up the great outdoors
Stinkin' up the great outdoors
Stinkin' up the great outdoors
But the kids don't mind!
We hit the stage, with rock and rage
And do our best to earn the maximum wage.
The lights are bullshit, the sound's for the birds,
Don't know the music and we don't know the words but still we're
Stinkin' up the great outdoors
Stinkin' up the great outdoors
Stinkin' up the great outdoors
And the kids don't mind!

--Spinal Tap
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Mon 2 Apr 2012, 20:17, Reply)

Hillwalking in the Central Massif of the Picos de Europa
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Picos_de_Europa
Fantastic place, fantastic people.
Waking up above the clouds is a memory that will stay with me for a long time. Most of the campsites seemed to have links with the local winery and many an evening was dedicated to getting smashed on 2Euro bottles of local wine.
(Hammy1801 may have scabies!, Mon 2 Apr 2012, 19:56, Reply)

The Lemonheads
Apropos of an earlier post, here's the song in full. Enjoy the lyrics.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=sNethmQyd4A
( The Lone Groover has mal des nuts., Mon 2 Apr 2012, 17:27, 1 reply)

Silver Duke of Edinburgh
I was on an hike over 3 days across Snowdonia, it was Easter.

We arrived into our campsite on the side of Llyn Crafnant as it was getting dark. It was about 3*c and was beginning to sleet. My body was cold to the core. we quickly had dinner, then headed off the the tent in the blackest of nights.... very wet, and very cold.

about 4am I was awoken to the wimpers of my mate lying to the right to me... followed by the wimpering of the friend to the left of me (I was in the middle of the tent) we couldnt move.

I opened my eyes, and noticed something was different... I couldnt make it out, but something had definetly changed... Looking at my friends faces, I noticed they were alot higher, and close to the roof of the tent. and me snuggled in the bit in the middle. I got up and climber over them to get out... it was baltic...

Zipping open the tent, I noticed around 12 inches of snow had fallen.. which had more or less collapsed the sides of the tent. the snow was lying on my friends, like a big wet blanket.

I remember after warming them up wringing their sleeping bags out after wards.. we had another cold night the following night which they slept right through... in a wet sleeping bag. little soldiers.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Mon 2 Apr 2012, 16:31, Reply)

Why I hate camping
Camping; a great British pastime that to me is one of life’s truly overrated experiences. I went camping once and I’ve vowed never to go again. If I ever get even a little bit tempted to join friends on their camping trips, I always remember the reasons why I hate it so much. Then I spend the next few days sat at home in my warm house, sleeping in a comfortable bed, smiling to myself in the knowledge that one of them will be stumbling to a nearby bush in the early hours of the morning to urinate and will probably tread barefoot in fox’s shit.

Reasons why I hate camping so much:

It could be the middle of a glorious summer, a delightful heat wave period, but rest assured, as soon as you pitch a tent it will start raining. Once it starts, it doesn’t stop, and it is impossible to keep anything dry. Clothes, personal belongings (such as phones and wallets), seating and even food will soon be damp. Don’t even think about trying to start a raging fire for you and your fellow campers to congregate by. Instead, you’ll be forced to huddle around a smouldering pile of sticks in an effort to keep warm.

Once sat in your huddle, there will always be someone in the group who will get out their guitar that they have brought with them especially. After a few minutes of strumming out-of-tune chords, they will try and get everyone else to join in with renditions of Kum-By-Yah or some other song that nobody really likes nor indeed knows the words to. A few campers will start clapping along. It is at this point you should consider going home.

The food is always terrible. As it is neigh on impossible to plug in a freezer, tinned foods are on the menu for the majority of the camping period. Granted, a few sausages may be cooked on the first night, but after these have been consumed you can only look forward to a diet of sludge. Any meat that is cooked will be nice and crispy on the outside, and raw on the inside. Unless you have a cast iron gut, you’ll be squatting in the bushes in no time at all.

If there are no toilet facilities (because you’ve chosen to camp in some woods rather than a site), then you’ll have to make do with a bush. How great is that! If neither of these choices appeal to you, you have the option of holding it in until you get home. What a fantastic holiday experience.

Due to the above reasons, most people will be in a pretty bad mood, and conversation will therefore be mundane and quite frankly, annoying. Typically, some cad will start to tell ghost stories as the night draws in. Yawn.

Sleeping is impossible. If you’re not sat with your eyes wide open, saying “what’s that?” worriedly at every noise you hear and thinking the worst, you’re laying shivering in a sleeping bag, with only the tent canvas between you and the wet grass. The wind will blow the sides of the tent in, sticking it to your face as it is so wet, and there will always be, without fail, an earwig or beetle underneath your sleeping bag in the morning.

The games you are forced to play such as Rounders or some other nonsense sport, which always results in the alpha male of the group smashing a ball with a lump of wood into a nearby field so that a group of children and women scamper after it, trying to avoid the cow-pat landmines. The same resulting arguments always follow during these games; ‘I was no way out!’ or ‘Those aren’t the rules!’, for example.


The tent itself is one of the most annoying things about camping. Putting the thing together in the first place is akin to a challenge you’d find on The Krypton Factor. Again, arguments will ensue, normally about which piece of the frame goes where. There is a high chance that at least one peg will be missing, so the tent will have to be weighed down from the inside. I am also under the impression that the manufacturers base their tent sizes on dwarves. ‘Two man’ tents are only really suitable for a child, a six-man tent can fit 3 people at a push; you get the idea. Then there is the sweaty condensation that forms on the inside of the tent, so that it clings to you should you be so brave to put your face anywhere near it. Tents are rubbish. I’d rather sleep in my car.

The air of depression in the car on the way home, once the camping trip is over. It’s the realisation that you’ve wasted a few days of your life to live outside. All your clothes are dirty and wet, and you have to take all of your rubbish back home with you. Why did you go camping? Why?!


People always tell me, ‘camping isn’t like that anymore, they have showers and everything!’. Well I should fucking think so! A shower is the minimum I’d expect if I was going on holiday. The absolute minimum! Plus, surely staying on a campsite is the cheats way to camping? Any excuse for them to say that they’ve been on holiday really, but it’s not proper camping. It’s not too disimilar from me pitching a tent in my back garden, and then nipping inside to use the shower every morning.


I don’t know what the big appeal is about the ‘Great’ Outdoors. I think maybe it stems from the youthful enjoyment of building a den with your mates, and pretending you were on some sort of great adventure. There can’t be any other reason for it. Sometimes, I do have a guilty admiration for those people that enjoy camping, but then this admiration soon passes and I think to myself, ‘Grow up and have a proper holiday’.
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Mon 2 Apr 2012, 15:05, 26 replies)

The Magic Bus
After a day out exploring a foreign land, we were attempting to return home. We'd managed to locate a bus stop which would probably take us toward the city, but there was no timetable and we had no local knowledge, so we were just waiting. The road in either direction stretched off into the distance, with no visible traffic. We had no idea if the buses ran hourly, daily, weekly or only when there was an X in the month. In my memory there was tumbleweed blowing around, but that's probably wishful thinking.

After about an hour, we were starting to get worried. There hadn't been any car traffic, so we couldn't even attempt to hitchhike, nor any passing locals to ask. And it was too far to walk - even if we had been sure about the direction. There was still no sign of a bus, not even a dust-cloud on the horizon to give us hope.

Then my companion had a brainwave. "Watch this," she said, "This ALWAYS works." And so saying, she took out a packet of cigarettes, and lit one up.

At the precise moment that she took her first long drag, a bus roared to a halt beside us, large as life and with a prominent "No Smoking" sign in the window. I have no idea what twisted dimension it emerged from, or whether it simply popped into existence merely to satisfy the rule that, the moment you light up, things will change so that you can't smoke it.

I don't smoke, but I now always carry cigarettes and a lighter, in case I'm ever stranded again.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Mon 2 Apr 2012, 14:08, 7 replies)

Not pregnant in the end
Fresh out of A-levels, my ex and I went on our first foreign holiday together... camping in rural France. It was a nice campsite, but one with a big metal barrier on reception, so come 10pm at night when Monsieur Patron locked the barrier, if your car was in it stayed in.

My ex had a fairly unhealthy repetoire of food that she would eat, mainly choosing to eat pasta and crisps whilst outside the UK. After a few days of lots of stodgy carbs and not enough hydration, she woke me at about midnight in the tent, clenching her tummy and rolling around in tears. It had been years since my scouts first aid course and I didn't know what appendicitis looked like, but after 20 minutes of this I figured it might be bad. Time to put her in the car and find a hospital perhaps.

It took 20 mins of banging on the site owner's door, followed by 10 minutes of him leaning out the window in his dressing gown waving abuse and swearing at me, before he came down and opned the bloody barrier to get my car out, cursing at me as he did it. Then half an hour's drive to the nearest city to find A&E.

On arrival, in a town-centre hospital, the night-shift doctors sprang up from their very quiet reception desk, produced a trolley, ushered us into a lift... bing... doors opened and we're being admitted to the labour ward. I tried loads in my schoolboy Franglais to say that she wasn't pregnant, but they were busy hooking her up to the monitors and getting the on-call midwife on the phone etc.

After a while of tests, blood tests, trying to get her to remove her trousers etc, they eventually realised she wasn't about to drop a sprog. We then had some amusing miming and sound effect type game going on where the doctor was trying to ask when she had last been to the crapeur.

An hour later, they discharged her with a take-home DIY enema kit and instruction (we think) for me to shove it up her jacksie and squeeze the contents in if she hadn't shat out her week's worth of pasta by daybreak. I was determined to give this kit a go (kinky?) but she wasn't letting me anywhere near, and I think the shear sight of the pre-lubricated 4" nozzle was enough to get the bowels moving. I remember the patient info leaflet in the kit having an English translation that basically said to only use it if you were in the immediate vicinity of a vacant toilet.

Well, she wasn't pregnant, the french campsite owner gave me an angry scowl every time he saw me for the rest of the trip, I didn't get to use the DIY enemea kit, and that was the first and last holiday that we had together ...
(harrypitta friends with the chilli saucerer, Mon 2 Apr 2012, 13:30, 1 reply)

I gots one of these


It's all very nice and that. Downsides are choking to death on smoke, stinking of smoke, smoke making everything you own stinky and black, being chewed mercilessly by mosquitos, small animals running over you while you sleep, smoke, smoke and smoke. Oh and there's no windows.
Upsides, it looks great illuminated at night and it is a cool and shady spot to hang out on a steamy hot day but I understand why native Americans choose to live in houses.
( Infidel , shit and wrong, Mon 2 Apr 2012, 13:15, 5 replies)

Outdoors.
Great.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Mon 2 Apr 2012, 12:58, 4 replies)

Being a tight bastard
a friend of mine had developed a novel way of getting home without paying for a taxi.

After spending all of his night-out money in Newcastle on beer, and living 15 to 20 miles away in the 'wilds' of Northumberland, he'd start walking home along the dual carriageway after calling the police from a phonebox to inform them there was a 'very drunk guy walking on the main road'.

This seemed to work a few times - the police would turn up, see he was drunk (and assume he was more drunk than he actually was - only a manic would walk 20 miles on the dual carriageway at night, after all) and drive him home.

He's since given this in after the police got wise to this trick, and told him he'd have to get off the dual carriageway and walk it by another route, or get a taxi.

Queue him waking up in a hedgerow 10 miles from his house last summer, probably thankful there wasn't 6 inches of snow around him!
(retrac fumble in the jungle, Mon 2 Apr 2012, 12:43, 5 replies)

Pea-roasted rabbit stew
When I was a kid I used to spend most summers on my grandad's farm. My cousins would regularly go out with an air rifle and come back with a couple of rabbits for the pot. My father was determined to show that he was no city-type and could hunt like the rest. So he took me and the air rifle and we stepped out into the fields. There were hundreds of rabbits, but they all ran away before we could get within range. But my father was determined: we couldn't return empty-handed. So we kept at it. Eventually we saw a large, stupid looking rabbit, sitting up by a fence post. We crawled through the mud, getting closer to the rabbit, which had still not moved. Eventually we were close enough, if muddy, and my dad lined up the gun. He aimed, he shot, the rabbit fell over. Ecstatic we rushed over to claim our prize. Which was a large, rabbit-shaped clod of earth. We sloped home, dejected, and muddy.
(Smale is stuffed, Mon 2 Apr 2012, 12:23, Reply)

(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Mon 2 Apr 2012, 11:29, Reply)

There was that time Vagabond took his dog for a walk.

(Spleep Shit, or get off the internet., Mon 2 Apr 2012, 9:59, 8 replies)

Going down in the Gorge & ending up at the mouth.
The last time I walked the Murchison Gorge we walked from (I think from memory) "Z" Bend to Kalbarri - anyway it was about 60 km. in 5 days along the river to it's mouth in spring.
I was a member of the "Outdoors Adventure Club" at school. Before the trip we went to the local Coles (supermarket) and bought about $400 of supplies. Then we divvied all the food up and packed.
The school had a school camp which had (mostly past students) camp leaders who also had a license to drive the school bus. So all we had to do was convince one of them to give up his holidays and either come with us or do the dropoff & pickup.
It was a fun walk - highlights included cascading down some of the (still flowing) river on our backpacks, singing The Banana Boat Song ad-nauseum (the acoustics in the bottom of a gorge are cool) and managing to catch yabbies whilst keeping our beer cold.
We got picked up just outside of Kalbarri and headed off to the pub to tell our tales. We spent 2 days climbing and playing in Red Bluff.

On the drive home we spent a night at Cervantes near the Pinnacles where we bought about $200 of booze & $100 of fish and chips (remember this was the 80's - that means a lot of piss and junk food).
We always used to recompense the people who had helped us with a carton of piss (beer) and the bus driver and head of Outdoors always used to wonder how we managed to buy all our booze (us being clearly underage).
Put it this way - there were many happy endings to this tale.
Length? - 60 odd kays or 6" depending on your POV.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Mon 2 Apr 2012, 8:06, 2 replies)

I was in The Wyndham pub in Salisbury, enjoying Winter Lightning way too much and missed the last train home.
Being drunk, I decided that this was not a problem. I would walk home. To Portsmouth.

I walked to a Tesco Metro and stocked up on essential provisions - Mars Bars, 4 litres of water, and a 1kg block of cheese.

I then set off in the direction of Portsmouth, aided only by my old fashioned GPS handset showing a "Portsmouth Is This Way" arrow. I left suburbia and followed country lanes in the correct general direction before being overtaken by an overwhelming urge to shit.

I entered a quiet field, squatted in a hedge and, to my horror, sprayed watery shit across the hedgerow. I had been drinking all day, after all. After cleaning myself up as best as I could and throwing the soiled tissues as far as possible into the hedge, I realised that the hedgerow wasn't that thick, and actually backed on to someone's garden, and that I had just decorated the bushes with shit-covered hankies.

I continued on my merry way, until I hit a railway line. Luckily it wasn't electrified, so I crossed, and then hit a fence and brambles blocked my way. I ended up having to double back and follow the railway until I could find a way to cross it. I eventually sobered up, and phoned a friend to come and pick me up.

I've since learned a valuable lesson from all this - not to set off without a map.
( Pope Shax XIII uses Visio for picture editing, does it show?, Mon 2 Apr 2012, 4:34, Reply)

I've never gone hiking
but I have gone scouting for boys.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Mon 2 Apr 2012, 4:32, 3 replies)

800m. Sword Grass = 8 hrs. of Heck!
Some more Outward Bound stories - from the 30 day sojourn when I was 17-18.
First day and we got out our maps and compasses, took a bearing and struck out for our first camp. Easy, we'll follow this ridge then go down to an old forestry track, follow that to the main road, cross and bushbash for a couple of kays. About 8 km. all up - piece of piss, maybe 3 hrs. including lunch.
8 hrs. later having been slashed and sliced whilst struggling thru the really dense Sword Grass from the top of the ridge to the bottom we finally found the track and thought "Fuck it!" and decided to make camp on the track as it was getting dark & the sword grass basically grew up to the edge of the track. Any bushy or sane person will tell you that sleeping in middle of the road (no matter how remote) is not a good idea.
We built large fires at each end of the camp and had 4 hrly watches posted all night. Sure enough a little after 0500 the ranger came barreling down the track, stopping with a skid just in time. He was looking for us as the OB coordinator had radioed him telling him that we hadn't made our campground. He laughed heartily at our tale and tried not to look too amused at our numerous cuts, scrapes and grazes. We were not amused, remember kids - machetes won't just help kill zombies and make you look like a psycho.

When we were dropped off we were each given a bag of TVP and a bag of rice as emergency rations - otherwise we were to rendezvous with food drops at different stages of our journey because fuck carrying around a months worth of food - this ain't Everest we were doing.
One of the food drops was supposed to be buried under some kayaks on the beach of an inlet (which we were to paddle across). Upon arrival we found no food drop and no kayaks. We checked our bearings and verified we were in the right place. A couple of people scouted a km. or 2 along the shore either way to double check whilst the rest of us made camp. Turns out the previous group hadn't returned the Kayaks and then hadn't stuck around to receive and safely bury the food drop - thanks guys.
If any of you have eaten tvp plain before you'll understand just how much we relished our first of 4 or 5 nights of rice-o-sludgie. Think: the taste & texture of wet minced cardboard with rice. Toptip - if you go on OB, take some of those tomato sauce sachets, chicken salt or steak seasoning. Just in case.
It will make you a god amongst (hungry) men.
The following morning we basically swam with full packs (many not waterproofed) across half the inlet to get to higher ground and continue our trek. Did I mention it was a cold, wet winter down south?
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Mon 2 Apr 2012, 1:43, 2 replies)

Wafer thin (pearoast regarding al fresco food sex)
Many moons ago, long before the lovely Mrs Spimf happened along I had another young lady on the go, and blimey did she go. Up to all sorts (no this isn’t about liquorice) I’ve never really understood the food sex thing, the aerosol cream can and the mimsy were never destined to be happy bedfellows and I find it disconcerting to have a saveloy in the room during coitus. Similarly the alfresco thing escapes me: if I want a Cornetto I can do so without the slightest of hint lasciviousness and if I fancy some sexual intercourse then I find soft furnishings compliment the act quite satisfactorily.

Nevertheless young and keen to experiment I agreed to kill two birds with one cone. A picnic rug and (sensibly) a cool box were sourced along with some of Wall’s best selling chilled confectionary (Chocolate & Hazelnut naturally). We found a spot in the moonlight in some (slightly creepy) local woodland.

Despite my apprehensions my young hormones were unperturbed at the prospect of calorific copulation. I won’t dwell on the frippery, I’m not an erotic writer, I'll leave that to Mr Pooflake et al. To be honest I was somewhat unsure what to do, clearly I was aware some degree of smearing and quite possibly insertion was required. My first attempt at ice cream carnal capers was to insert the Cornetto into my eager young partner’s rather splendid mimsy – pointy end first mind, she wasn’t a slag. This quickly left me bereft of ideas and things were melting fast. Ah! cunnilingus I thought – hurrah! In our comfy mossy spot under the creepy tree I crouched down and set to work, lapping alternately at clitoris and cream based confectionary with vigor – buoyed by my newly found decadence I decided to see if I could push some of the chopped nuts up her slippery balloon knot with my tongue, shifting down I set to work. This quickly proved ill advised, my adventurous young filly was suddenly possessed by a fit off giggles which served to force the Cornetto back out and on to my forehead and push melted ice cream into my eyes. As I recoiled the Cornetto remained stuck to my temple at a somewhat rakish angle – more giggles. I’ve never looked good wearing a hat. Humiliation was setting in quickly.

Happily my filthy little friend realised this and reached into the cool box and grabbed another Cornetto whilst deftly plucking the spent one from my forehead, tossing it in the air with impressive abandon. My fumblings were quickly forgotten as she tugged at my trousers. I can safely say the first time an ice cream cone is applied to the end of ones throbbing member is a moment never forgotten. With a wicked glint in her eye she knelt down, pushed the ice cream further down my hot shaft then suddenly lunged and bit down hard on the end of the cone! As soon as my pulse returned to mere humming bird levels I began to enjoy this impromptu porno picnic.

All too soon nearly all the ice cream had been eagerly sucked and devoured and my own churns were stirring, as my little minx delivered one last suck something terrible happened – as I flung my head back in ecstasy – the discarded cunnilingus cone felt out of the branches above where it had been lobbed with lusty abandon – smack in my bloody eye. This caused me to thrust forward, pushing the bell-end Cornetto halfway down the poor girls throat, I’ll never forget the horrible choking noise echoing through the woodland; like a lone goose honking at sunset, in fact I realised the whole situation was fast becoming my own willy honker and the chocolate hat tree.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Mon 2 Apr 2012, 0:36, Reply)

I went outside once.
I didn't like it.
( stuj (^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM SPIDERS!(^(^;;^)^), Sun 1 Apr 2012, 19:47, 3 replies)

An apology.
I quite enjoy camping and go camping quite a lot. I understand the unwritten rules of the campsite and adhere to them to the best of my abilities. This includes respect for your fellow campers.
Anyway, I am now of that age when I, often as not, have to get up in the night to answer a call of nature. However , I am also young enough to still wake up with the occasional raging hard-on. This night, both circumstances apply and my main aim is to get to the bog as quickly and as quietly as possible. However, my tent is small and in the clumsy struggle to put on my trousers and exit the tent there is what can only be described as a cock-zip coming together. Which the zip won.
Therefore, if you were staying at the Fairgrounds campsite in Eskdale, Cumbria on the night of September 30th last year and were woken in the night by shrill Anglo-Saxon cursing, I am truly sorry.
(hiraeth SPACE £19.99. I say yer buy one yer get one free, Sun 1 Apr 2012, 18:55, 4 replies)

Phosphorescent plankton
I go camping every year on my own in Greece. By far my most memorable moment is the time I had diarrhoea for three days during a sweltering 35 degree heat wave. There hadn’t been a breath of wind for days and sleeping in a small nylon tent was becoming unbearably hot so I thought I would go and sleep on the beach where it was cooler.
I was feeling very ill but I took my sheet down to the beach and lay looking at the stars. I saw over 5 shooting stars during the next few hours and then soaked with sweat decided to go for a nuddy dip in the sea at 4am. As I stood in the water feeling sorry for myself I swept my arms through the sea and it was like running my hand through big chunks of glitter suspended in water. The lack of wind, heat and stillness of the water had allowed the phosphorescent plankton to develop. It only flashed light when it was agitated and looked like a beautiful green electric current in water. It was absolutely amazing and I was almost thankful I was ill as I would never have seen it if I hadn’t gone down to the water at night.

And then I had an explosive bowel movement and shot a stream of fetid runny shit into the sea and probably killed it all.

Swim! Swim away!

Mother Nature got her own back however as once back on dry land I drifted off to sleep on the beach and learned why no one sleeps on the beach; I woke in the early morning just as the sun is rising, soaked with dew and eaten to death by mosquito bites....
( spitsticker is not working on, Sun 1 Apr 2012, 16:21, Reply)

I lied about being
the outdoor type.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 1 Apr 2012, 6:50, 8 replies)

furtive tent fun
Years ago, I was on a trip where I shared a tent with a non-friend on the trip. One night, I was half awake.. aware of an odd rustling. That's odd.. a mouse? squirrel? I dozed a bit more.. the noise was more rhythmic.. seemed to be some heavy breathing, a grunt. Hmm.. didn't sound like a mouse. I opened one eye to see , in silhouette, my acquaintance's very handsomely proportioned, but deeply unnattractive, willy, receiving a good going over by his right hand. I froze.. considered going back to sleep.. but what if he had a really messy accident over my sleeping bag? uh, oh. Nope.. so I just made a gently throat clearing to let him know i was probably awake, but vague enough that we could both pretend I'd been asleep. Happily he put his todger away. Lucky escape.
(anonybloke, Sat 31 Mar 2012, 20:52, 2 replies)

I go caravaning a lot
When I would go as a kid, me, my brother and sister would have to sleep side by side in sleeping bags and my other sister would sleep in the bunk bed.

Anyway, a long story short, my little sister pissed the bed and the bunk bed was made of canvas so the piss fell right through onto me, my brother and other sisters heads
(Grassie Blackboard enthusiast, Sat 31 Mar 2012, 20:46, 2 replies)

Does a B3tan shit in the woods.
After far too much beer last night I had to get up early and take my parent's Jack Russells for a walk this morning. Half way along the popular route for dog walkers I felt my stomach rumbling and arse bubbling and knew what was coming. Finding a secluded spot amongst the trees and behind a pile of fallen logs I checked several times no one was about and pulled my pants down, leant back on the tree and did the deed.

Ever tried shitting diarrhoea while not getting any on your shoes and keeping two inquisitive Jack Russells away from your arse by shouting, 'get the squirrels, get the fucking squirrels'.

I hate pooping outside : (
( girlinthehole, Sat 31 Mar 2012, 20:29, 9 replies)

I dragged some friends out to have a barbecue two days ago.
It got dark as we were cooking, and we used the long exposure setting on Liz's camera to draw shapes with burning sticks. There were the usual assortment of flowers, names, initials and so on. What did I draw? You probably already guessed.

Slightly NSFW.

I love the outdoors, me.
( MatJ LOOK, Sat 31 Mar 2012, 18:56, Reply)

many years ago around 1987 i became a re-enactor
but not just any re-enactor i became a cowboy, and an American civil war one as well.
had some great times camping out with just a blanket, even in the hardest of rain down pours we were authentic.
if we couldn't carry it in our saddle bags then we didn't take it.
so many fantastic times at so many different places. Sackwell farm, BT traing head office near rugby, over to The wirral, down to cornwall.
we did one civil war battle at skew bridge and the whole weekend was rather drunken, now at get together's like this there are usually a number of minor accidents and small injury's, but this one however looked to pass of with out a single mis hap, that is until the muster call after the very last engagement, we all stood there in a ragged line and fired a volley off, then with a shoulder arms call, there was a shrill scream and a heap of person on the floor, sobbing like a girl on her last chocolate. turns out that the person had shouldered arms with there finger still in the trigger guard and promptly broken it.
ah great days indeed
( fluffybunnykiller Is feasting on the clitoris of life, Sat 31 Mar 2012, 18:20, Reply)

I've been wracking my brains for something amusing that happened in the great outdoors
And I haven't had much luck. I do however love the outdoors and I am a big fan of unlicensed outdoor music events. My favourite bit of these parties is the sunrise, so instead of trying to make a story about getting really trashed interesting, here's some lovely pictures from parties over the last couple of years:
















(Eukanuba, Sat 31 Mar 2012, 16:44, 12 replies)

i both love and hate camping
i love sleeping all snuggled up in a sleeping bag, still able to smell the campfire outside and the grass under the tent, aglow with tranquility and alcohol.
i hate camping with a selfish bitch who said there wasn't enough room on the inflatabe bed for us both, left me trying to sleep on the floor of the tent with just a blanket, refused to give me the car keys so i could sleep in there and pretty much forced me to spend the night in the heated toilet block rather than freezing to death on the tent floor on a frosty early march night.
all in all, it's wat you make it, so make sure you go with people you can trust and get along with.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Sat 31 Mar 2012, 14:25, 4 replies)