Tents! Vomit! Laconism!
An interuniversity sports event, some years ago now, was (and still is) held over a weekend. This of course meant rocking up on the Saturday morning, competing all day, drinking all night and passing out in a tent on a rugby field. Nowadays there are close to 1000 folk who turn out for the comp, but in the early days there were probably 50 or 60 max, and only three from my own fair institution.

Competitions were duly competed in, however the drinking all night didn't happen so much. After a barbecue (I think) we headed off to the beer marquee to watch the sorry sight of failed attempts at interpersonal/interuni relations.

Whether it was the barbecue, the beer, or something in the air... somethign wasnt' quite right. After 2 pints (scout's honour) I was feeling properly ropey so drifted off to bed, as did L, leaving W to chance his arm (and whatever else he could) with a lovely young lady who was alas well out of his league. Would that he had succeeded, as he would then have been spared the horror of our tent that night.

After a couple of hours sleeping, I awoke with the sort of ambiguous feeling in my guts - do I feel sick? should I get up? After wrestling with the horns of this particular dilemma for 10 or 15 minutes teh dice finally fell in favour of getting up to do something about it. Not easy in a sleeping bagg zipped to the top and with the hood well cinched about my head (you can probably see where this is going).

At last out of the sleeping bag, sit up, try to open the door of the tent, time is running short, find the zip, pull it down... too late - projectile vomit all over the door of the tent, all over my sleeping bag, all over L's sleeping bag. I staggered out and made my peace with my stomach somewhere near the touchline. Eventually I felt human enough to return to my foetid pit. As I lay there mulling over the amount of cleaning up I'd have to do, in the morning and in the next few days, I drifted back off to sleep.

I was awoken about an hour later by L, whose tent it was and whose sleeping bag I had liberally drenched in vom, expecting a bollocking I was pleasantly surprised to hear "C, I'm so so sorry, I've thrown up everywhere, I'm so sorry, it's all over your sleeping bag and everything, I'm so sorry..."

"Don't worry about it love, not a problem" I rolled over and went back to sleep.

I think she burned the tent in the end as it was far from recoverable.
(Cocococho, Sun 5 Feb 2012, 0:40, Reply)