It was a beautiful, crisp morning in a camp-site near Rothbury, Northumberland.
I awoke to the sound of birds singing and the invigorating feeling of fresh air. I was soaking wet and my head hurt. Lots.

As my senses returned, I realised I was lying in some mud. I sat up and banged my head on a swing above me. My bruised and bloodied head.

It started coming back to me - the night in the camp-site bar, not knowing it was open until the last person left, we got hammered well before 11. Then leaving and finding the kiddies playground between the bar and our tent.
I remember trying to get the swing going standing-up, slipping off, hitting the ground and sitting up - just in time for the swing to come back down and twat me in the back of the head - then blackness.

I started thinking what sort of a friend would leave me out here, unconscious in the middle of a field. I turned around and there was my mate, face down on the round-a-bout (which was slowly rotating in the wind) with a lovely ring of vomit around it's circumference.
Ahh. That sort of friend.

I woke him up and only then did I look up to see that we were in the centre of a lovely family camp-site with just about every caravan having people nice and warm, eating breakfast watching us. (There was even a small group of curious children stood by us waiting to use the play-ground).

We started shuffling towards our tent (only about 30m from the bar... how did neither of us make it home?) only to hear a shout from one of the caravans. We went over and a nice lady said "We were wondering when you two might wake-up. We're making you a fried breakfast - have some coffee" and THAT was my beautiful moment.
( Zak McFlimby Twibbling @McFlimby, Fri 11 Mar 2005, 9:51, Reply)