b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » Festivals » Page 11 | Search
This is a question Festivals

Mud, rubbish sex, food poisoning and the Quo replacing the headline act you've mortgaged your house to see. Tell us your experiences

Question from Chart Cat

(, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 13:33)
Pages: Latest, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, ... 1

This question is now closed.

hippie at heart here
My mum used to take my brother & I to the Glastonbury festivals & other weird festivals when I were a kid back in the 80s, had lots of fun, no high fences & OTT security measures back then. The music didn't really interest me, but playing with the other hippie kids on trampolines & stuff did.

I'm still using a ripper wallet I bought for £3.50 over 20 years ago at a Glastonbury festival, even managed to go and have a proper look inside the original pyramid stage at a point when it wasn't being used.

You've not lived until you walked up the Tor before breakfast :)
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 15:18, Reply)
been reminded of a moment, which I’ll just repeat, verbatim:

There’s enough of this substance collected over the 5 days of Glastonbury Festival to cover 10,000 Jacob’s Cream Crackers. What is the substance?

See replies for answer obv.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 14:44, 12 replies)
Another toilet one,
Which I'll keep short.

At reading a few years back, we were camped quite near an 'alternative' toilet. Also known as the bushes, cos that's what they were.

To get to them you had to go down a little bank to a small stream, where you could relieve yourself as nature intended, and many, many people did.

I'll never forget seeing one unfortunate soul, after squatting for a piss, getting up and attempting to climb the bank.

I should mention that the bank was pretty damn precarious after being pissed and shat on by a few thousand people, meaning that the poor lady fell, right down flat, onto her face. Right into where about 3 other people had just been going about their filthy business.

After the tears stopped long enough for her to ask for help out of there, one gent offered to help her out (not this gent by the way. I'm not touching a shit covered person, even if they are fit...), and as predictably as you'd imagine, he got dragged down into the mire of shite screaming like a loon.

It was roughly about this time i left the situation in all it's grim glory. With the girl crying, covered in brown, and a now very regretful man puking, whilst about 5 or 6 people looked on in what changed from laughter to mild horror, very rapidly...

Not that the portaloos are much better....
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 14:05, Reply)
DOWNLOAD 2008 ...
... the guy with the whip.

Waiting for one of the bands on the second stage, we could see a large cirle of people had gathered around a clearing, and people were chanting. Sort of like when there was a fight in primary school. We moved a bit closer and saw a guy wearing leather body armour with a big fuck off whip. His mate had already been whipped to shreds (on the back, front, legs, cock and balls. Literally all over). He was offering people to stand up and be whipped to see how hard they weren't. I witnessed quite a few big metallers crying that day. I stood taking pictures, naturally.


(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 13:26, Reply)
Chip Van Stage 2000
My most memorable festival experience happened at the chip van stage at 3am on the Sunday morning of Glasto 2000. After the dance tent closed down at way too early o’clock, myself and a friend went looking for more music. We came upon a chip van that was pumping industrial techno. We were suitably hyped up on a range of chemicals, but not long after we got to the chip van stage the mushrooms took hold. The 40 or so revellers morphed into 2 groups battling for galactic dominance. The Cyon-Bots were a race of droids (all in nice shiny aluminium suits) and they were fighting the humans banished from planet earth for an unnatural love of industrial techno. Over the next 2 hours an epic battle ensued with dancing as the only weapon. I was seated on the cold ground watching and I didn’t dare blink in case I missed any of the action. I am sure that about ten people came over to check if I was alright. Eventually the sun rose and the humans prevailed. You are able to read this now only due to the brave dancing of 20 young warriors who saved the human race by dancing in front of a dirty old chip van.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 12:43, 1 reply)
Defiling a hollywood star
Glastonbury 1999 played host to Keanu Reeves and his "band" Dogstar. They'd only got as far as 10 seconds into the first song before coming under attack by a hail of bottles.

The most satisfying moment of my life thus far was watching in stoned delight as my own piss filled bottle performed a graceful arc up to the stage, before emptying its contents over the front of Keanu's trousers.

Looking back, I'm not proud. Well. Maybe just a little bit.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 12:24, 5 replies)
Oh, and...
Watching Daphne & Celeste getting piss-bottled off stage at Reading was probably one of the best moments of my life.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 12:14, 4 replies)
At Glasto, like many people, I pissed in the river. Then I saw the children swimming not far downstream. So I puked in the river too.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 12:09, Reply)
Whatever year The Pixies played V.
There are (understandably) a whole lot of toilet related stories this week, so I will keep this very short.

I headed over with some trepidation to use the toilet for the type of thing that you really shouldn’t do behind a tree.

A cubicle door opened and I was faced with a six foot tall, very tough looking man walking out of the piss and shit flooded box and into the equally piss and shit soaked mud weeping like a baby and kind of walking like one too.

And I looked down. And realised the reason for the tears and the tender, faltering steps.

He was in bare feet.

I actually wretched on his behalf.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 12:04, Reply)
At the Greenman
A few years back when it was still at Baskerville Hall in the Brecons. We were staying in the Hall itself (being part of the production crew) but our mate wasn't - and he'd forgotton his tent.

We conspired to sneak him past the militant hotel security ("everybody not staying here, get the fuck out after 10pm") and got him back to one of the larger rooms.

Unfortunately, we were a little too loud with the nightly drinking session and our little party caught the attention of said Nazi fucks.

They hammered on the door at about 3am. Our illegal hotel guest freaked. But instead of hiding behind a curtain or under the bed, he sprinted for the window.

We looked on in terror as he flung the thing open, six storeys up, and climbed out onto the ledge.

But he didn't stay there. Oh no.

He dangled himself from the ledge, with only his fingers to keep him secure. Then screamed, "CLOSE THE WINDOW".

For some reason we did. Then we let the Nazis in.

They reprimanded us for a full 45 minutes.

All the while we're thinking about the poor guy hanging on by his rapidly freezing fingertips outside.

The Nazis left.

We rushed to the window.

He was gone.

Not, as you'd expect, lying dead on the floor sixty feet below.

Just gone.

I didn't see him again for the whole weekend. Though when we did eventually catch up, he said he had no memory of climbing out the window or what he did after.

The mystery continues...
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 11:45, 1 reply)
Eating Out
Valerie and I really hit it off. She was a mate of a mate and we met up on a night out in Camden. We sat and talked utter bollocks for most of the night, getting steadily more and more pished as newts on lager and malibu chasers. Near closing time I felt a constricting pain in my leg - I thought it was the onset of a heart attack but then, glancing under the table, I realized Valerie was kneading my thigh and digging her long painted nails into me. Ooooohh!

Her hand trailed up my leg and she started rubbing at my crotch with such vigour and determination I almost expected a genie to miraculously appear from the end of my japs eye.

"There's a park just over the way," Valerie breathed. "I really, really, really want you to go down on me..."

About twenty seconds later we were in the park. We found a quiet, peaceful place behind a row of bushes and had a full and through spit exchange. Then Valerie, framed by the luminous moonlight, reclined on the soft dank grass and hitched up her skirt. She removed her knickers and spread her legs and started to rub at her oversized clit; it resembled the tip of a big pink thumb, and it appeared to grow as she stroked and teased it, glistening in the soft moonlight.

"Lick me!" she ordered.

I got down on my knees quicker than a Catholic who'd just seen a vision of the Virgin Mary and started lapping at Valerie's juicy lady garden. I burrowed my tongue inside her furry kebab and drank her juices. And she tasted, well, she tasted a bit... funny... a bit... odd... But I'm a trooper and continued lapping away like a kitten drinking down a saucer of warm milk.

And then I heard a tremendous growl. It was my stomach. Fuck... I really didn't feel too good. And then I heard an amazing rectal discharge - it scared the hell out of me. And then I realised it was my own arse making all the racket. I stopped my cunning linguistics and sat back on the grass.

"I don't feel too good," I said as I licked my lips, clearing my mouth and chin of Valerie's thick, creamy lady gloop.

Valerie continued to play with herself. I sat and stared. I was feeling ill, but that didn't mean I was any less of a pervert. Then, as my eyes accustomed to the dim moonlight, I noticed something... peculiar about Valerie's vag. It was slick. It was also puffy - too fucking puffy.

My eyes widened as the utterly disgusting realisation dawned on me. I bent over double and puked violently on the grass. Valerie's love tunnel was diseased in some way. It was swollen with yellowish puss and ulcerated and I had, in my eagerness, swallowed a shitload of this creamy purulent discharge.

"I've gotta go," I stammered, as I got to my feet and legged it, leaving Valerie alone in the park to finish herself off.

Its true what they say: Fester Val eating can make you as sick as a fucking dog...
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 11:21, 12 replies)
A couple of 'em
3 years of festivals and about to depart to Download within the next 24 hours, this seems like a good place to cajole my festival spirit.

Festivals are the most wonderful of venues as we're all there for the same experience. It's almost like a football match with only your team in the stands. The sheer magnitude of happiness and goodwill that flows through the day is something quite overwhelming at times. But then that would make for a shit QOTW response, so heres some funny crap that happened.

In the past 3 years, I have seen within our own campsite -

:Walking around a campsite in naught but our underwear and a scarf at 3 in the morning, untill 2 grown men in full body painters suits try to dance with us, causing us to flee fearing for our bottoms.

:An enraged gentleman sit down in our campsite while I was by myself start shouting at me because he lost £100 worth of pills, all the while grinding his teeth and looking like if I said anything he'd jump up and chew my eyebrows off. I was 16 and I was terrified.

:My mate most expertly throwing cans of Mister Fosters finest dizzywater in the air and providing a soft landing in the way of his head before stumbling off to the medical tent to get his face glued back together.

:One man dancing by himself in the middle of a field at 2 am with an iPod and some speakers turn into a 15 person mobile disco.

:Dance of the flaming arseholes - Toilet paper stuffed down the crack of your arse, set light to and left to burn while you run around trying to get it to die out. Adjust difficulty level with length of paper used. If you decide to snuff the paper out by ripping it off, a forfeit is incurred.

:2 of my friends have a dirt eating contest. Nobody won.

Roll on Download!
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 11:05, Reply)
The River of Actual Human Urine
Myself and two mates lost our Glastonbury cherry back when Tom Jones played in the early nineties. That year it was a scorcher, the heat turning tents into saunas and causing impressive dust-devils to whirl around the site like tornadoes. To reach the action from the campsite, we had to cross over a dry ditch via a small bridge populated by dodgy dealers. Needless to say, this could take a little time so most people opted to jump the ditch. After three days, this dry furrow filled up almost to the brim, around 3 feet deep. There had been no rain and the liquid had an unusual colour and pungent odour; it could only be one thing.
Even on Sunday we kept on leaping over it to get back to our tent, the consequences of falling in blocked from our minds by twelve hours' intake of cold lager. Late on Sunday night, as we made our way gingerly by torchlight, I'll never forget the sounds of the couple next to me traversing the deadly torrent of effluent.
"You WILL catch me, won't you Martin?"
"Course darlin', just jump."
"You SURE, Martin?"
"Come on love, I haven't got all night."


"Oh God."
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 10:55, Reply)
Never been to one
Which is a bit irritating. Closest I've been to is an outdoor concert and nothing particularly QOTW-worthy happened at those.
I mean my first one was the British Philharmonic Orchestra- there's not going to be a moshpit for them- and my second was Radiohead so the only harm I could have come to was from my self...

However, as I'm not a "I don't like it and I've never tried it" type, I'm planning on going to a festival next year. Any idea on which one's the best? Or which ones to avoid?
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 10:51, 5 replies)
you, you with your festival drivel -
these tales have become tedious and monotonous. I am hosting my own festival. People who like to ramble on for hours about drug or toilet experiences won't be allowed in. It's an elite festival for, basically, me. There will be just the right amount of mud, no drunk stranger in my sleeping bag that I have to chase out with a fork I've heated on the disposable barbecue, sunshine (rain permissable at night), free noodles, and plenty of decent booze (no cider). It will, in essence, be one of my usual camping trips but with Pooflake and Captain Placid headlining.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 10:48, 4 replies)
you wouldn't see me dead at one
I have no experience in festivals, and do not want ant thankyou very much...who in the hell would want to stand in a field, getting squashed between filthy smelly people jumping up and down, waving their arms two and frow. Not me, I like my soft and bouncy kingsize bed, my hotwater bottle and if I want to listen to music I'll simply put on the cd. ;)
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 10:20, 6 replies)
Hot Water...
First B3ta story, please be gentle..

I'd always fancied attending these huge events, the appeal of getting the chance to see massive bands, soak up the atmosphere with thousands of other like-minded people, and I'd even risk the opportunity of tasting the wares of the greasy burger sellers.

The thought of hitch-hiking through back roads, using nothing but the dulled sound of huge PA systems as our only means of navigation, and the Ray Mears-esque technique of finding water by following the herds of backpackers, hooded partygoers and hippies wearing tie-dyed tights got the better of me when I suggested to the missus that I really fancied getting tickets to see a Festival.

Fast-forward a couple of weeks, and with the attitude of an excited puppy, the missus comes bounding into the front room, clutching some pieces of paper, screaming 'Suprise' - I got these for you, hope you like them!!

So there they were, my golden tickets, I rejoiced as I was about to bear witness to the popping of my festival cherry, thoughts of a day trip to Millets flooded my mind, and a massive order of the ever popular toiletries, noodles and other substances not seen on GMTV were swiftly purchased.

A couple more weeks later, stuffed in the back of my mates Fiat Panda like sardines, sandwiched between rucksacks and them wierd metal tins with the folding handles, we're heading down the motorway, tape player on full blast (did'nt have the luxury of an IPod or CD player) we eventually turn up to what seemed to be a colossal village, surrounded by security, queues of traffic, coaches, articulated lorries and people wearing the most bizarre outfits that appeared to have been concoted by a seriously tripping Gok Wan.

So we're parked up, we've queued up and the all too familiar booming of the music, sound checks and people with whistles and horns is making our ears tingle with excitement, we've got through the security checks, sniffer dogs and avoided the local scamps trying to trade us dodgy wristbands, when we get to some massive security gorilla covered in ID tags, who demands to see our tickets, and as a nice bloke as I am, I eagerly hand them over..

"Come with me sir" he bellows, and ushers me to some small tent in a corner...

I'm thinking "What the fuck?, I'm not carrying anything dodgy, it's all stuffed in the missus's bra - they'll NEVER search there"

Oh no, it was'nt drugs he was after - upon opening the tent, it dawned on me what was happening, as there in front of me was a small table, with a red hat on it, covering what looked like a cordless kettle.

It turns out that in her eagerness, the missus had treated me to tickets to see a 'Fez-Tefal' and I'd fallen victim to another pun.

Length? - About a year of lurking...
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 10:16, 6 replies)
A former colleague was a seasoned Glastonburyite and usually came back regaling us with tales for the following month. One year he was uncharacteristically quiet. When someoned eventually coaxed the tale out of him it transpired that whilst cooking a meal he had managed to set light to his neighbour's tent. Tents burn quickly and he had managed to destroy seven of them.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 9:37, Reply)
All I ever hear about festivals
Is how shit the toilets are. And it’s fair, festival toilets get progressively worse with each day that passes, and don’t start at a high standard. But I have the solution for you, fair festival-goer.

I experienced this at Glastonbury 04, and it made the toilet problem basically non-existent. This would even work for those of you of the female persuasion. I went from Wednesday morning until Monday afternoon, no issues.

1: Pre-festival. In your nice house, getting ready. This is essential – have a big messy shit, as close as you can to departure. The less build-up you’ve got going on, the more chance there is that you’ll make it. I’m not going to say this is essential but I think it helped as well – get yourself some weed. Start smoking it as soon as possible.

2: Festival. Queue in the baking heat, get your wristband, and walk the 26 miles to camp. Another essential here – camp within 50 yards of a grill tent – one of those places, in a marquee, selling sausage and egg baps and so on.

3: When you need a wazz, don’t go near them bogs. Urinals are much better, and with a clever campsite you’ll be able to use them for all wazzes. Females can opt for the girlie urinals complete with disposable she-wees.

4: When the munchies set in, get off to that burger tent. Order something meaty, bready and saucy. Honestly it doesn’t matter, as long as it’s fry-up territory.

5: Repeat step 4 for all meals and all munchies attacks.

You will stay so thoroughly bunged up for 5 whole days it’s actually quite scary. I didn’t feel a thing down there for the whole time, I didn’t feel horrible, but I didn’t use those toilets once. I spent a silly amount of money in that tent, but I think it made for a decent festival.

The only result I experienced was the monumental shit I had when I got home. It had the consistency of a blackhead – hard plug, through to creamy goodness.

I take no responsibility should you attempt this and experience explosive diarrhoea on Friday evening, in your tent. I will suggest a burger to bung you up though.

Also – don’t buy a didgeridoo. If you’re walking back to Glastonbury for a lift. It’s a really long way and didge’s are really heavy, I don’t know how Rolf manages.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 8:58, 6 replies)
Bitter not sweet symphony
Way back at a Swedish festival me and my mates were playing this verve game in which one person walks ahead bumping into people while the others walk behind whisteling "Bitter Sweet Symphony".
Stupid, yes, but especially funny if the friend doing the "walk" is so small that he bounces off everyone he tries to bump.

This led to two head butting accidents, one with a cute girl that took it like a man and one with a grown man that started crying like a girl.

I don't think he found our appoligies sincere since we were cracking up seeing this bloke being comforted by his mate like a small child.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 8:43, Reply)
T[rojan Horse] in the Park
Me and a couple of Scottish friends flew from London for our third year at this fantastic music festival. We'd been the previous two years and so I knew what to expect when we arrived. We would be camping with some of their other Scottish mates, a bunch of scruffy blokes who came from some tiny fishing village in the Outer Hebrides or something*.

Those boys were fucking nuts.

I'm glad we were camping *with* them, as they were happy ransacking the neighbouring tents and causing mayhem wherever they went. Operating like some kind of uncontrollable security system, they patrolled our tent area, dispensing justice to anyone who (in their opinion) deserved it. It kept the other Neds and Pikies off our back though, so we didn't complain.

Late one night, I was the last man sitting around chatting to these savages when the oldest one (he must have been in his forties) declared that there was something missing from our camp. He wanted a gazebo and so I was roped in to help them procure one. Between the four of us, we managed to steal a gazebo so large it could probably have engulfed the Pet Sounds tent. The fact that we had taken it from another large group of campers no more than ten metres away did not deter their enthusiasm as we staggered over guy ropes and dumped it down over most of our own tents. Watching the sincere denial to the enraged victims the following morning was worth the ticket price alone.

That wasn't their finest hour though. Oh no...

The aforementioned ringleader of this gang and his shortarse buddy really wanted to see Ocean Colour Scene. My friends and I knew this would be one of the most popular gigs of the weekend, so we made sure to be in the tent a couple of acts before they came on. The cavemen were not blessed with such foresight and by the time they arrived at the entrance, the tent was absolutely chock-full. The devious twats tried to get in, but site security had every entrance sealed; it was one in, one out. Bad luck boys, see you after the show...

With minutes to spare before the gig started, we spotted a strangely-familiar bottle collector donned in an official Hi-Vis jacket pushing a big blue wheelie bin through the crowd. He was chucking drink bottles and other crap into it and looked oddly pleased with his filthy work. The crowd strained and parted just enough to let the valiant binman struggle through. He reached the centre and to the surprise of everyone but us, the bin burst open in a shower of litter revealing our feral ringleader's minature mate who had been hiding inside. The Hi-Vis jacket and the bin were abandoned and the pair of them disappeared into the melee before tent security knew what was happening.

The loud cheer from the stunned crowd was soon masked by the opening notes of The Riverboat Song, and the tent erupted for the best gig of the festival.

*EDIT: Just remembered the name of the place... Banff.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 7:36, 3 replies)
A few friends of mine declare themselves pagans.

Not in the run around naked and sacrifice a goat and eat its entrails type pagans, but more chilled out, barbeque, guitar types, lots of nice people chilling out in nature type pagans.

i.e The paganism without the bull shit essentially.

Now these guys have been known to put on mini-gatherings, a small festival of sorts.

Nothing untoward, just great merriment and family fun.

Best memories include:

Eating a pickled egg from a jar at the food and drink area, every time i opened a beer. To the point were people started getting concerned.

Helpfully throwing some blocks of wood on the fire, to keep it nice and toastie, you know.. doing my bit. Until someone kindly pointed out that the blocks of wood i was throwing on the fire were the pieces of giant jenga that some bloke had spent the last week sawing and sanding for the kids to enjoy. That didn't go down too well.

The next night a few of us skulked off too our own little area and boiled up some magic mushroom tea. I can barely remember the next few hours, but from what my mates recall was me running up and down a hill, giggling like a loon and then temporarily losing a shoe.

A few of my mates (the non pagans) decided a visit to the pub was in order, around the corner from the camp site. We couldn't be bothered walking along the path, so my mate decided to hop over a fence. Mid vault he discovered it was an electric fence and with a shriek he fell into the other field. The one with the angry cow (not a bull, a cow) in it. His girlie shriek had startled it and caused it to approach menacingly.
I'll never forget how hard we laughed watching my mate try and scramble back over the fence as soon as he noticed the beast approaching at speed.

Guess you had to be there.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 7:21, Reply)
i went to this one really shitty festival once
it sucked
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 7:10, 1 reply)

Festival that.
(, Mon 8 Jun 2009, 23:38, 5 replies)
Bloodstock Indoor.
Now this was my kind of festival. Indoors in the middle of a city. This meant, among other things, that I could sleep in a nice comfy bed in a nice warm hotel without waking up to find Scousers had stolen my wallet and my shoes.
It also meant I could nip over the road and drink a beer or five while eating off a proper plate and listening to Painkiller.
Good lineups too.
(, Mon 8 Jun 2009, 23:13, Reply)
I have a stereo, I have a kitchen, I have a bathroom, I have a comfy bed. It has a nubile blond thing in it.
Why would I want to spend ANY time in a muddy field, listening to overcranked speakers surrounded by overcranked fuckwits, using plastic boxs full of shit and piss and vomit to take a crap in, eating fucked up shit and having to sleep in a fucking TENT? Why? Well? Why?
Festivals. Don't get it. Sorry.
You're all fucked up. Take more drugs and stop it. Just STOP!
It's like going to a football match. Why? When you could watch it on telly without the pissed cunt screaming racist abuse over your shoulder. And the shit food. etc.
(, Mon 8 Jun 2009, 22:18, 39 replies)
If you remember it you weren;t there.
As an innocent 17 yr old St John Ambulance Cadet with the ink still drying on my driving licence in the late 80s I was on duty at the local rugby club as per most Saturdays with Dave who asked me if I would go with him to rescue his son's car after the match from the Pilton pop festival. That's Glastonbury to you. My knowledge of Glastonbury up to that point was seeing cows grazing around the pyramid if we happened to go past the site and local news items about people climbing over the fence and how many arrests had been made.
We bounced the 30 or so miles to the site in Dave's landrover and went to the first aid post where Andrew's pride and joy, a chocolate brown Austin Princess with beige vinyl roof was. The gear box was knackered so it would require towing back. Up to this point I had only driven my instructor's Metro and the family Fiat Panda and never been towed but didn't like to mention that little detail. We hooked up and headed for home. At some point the petrol ran out as I discovered the brakes weren't doing a lot but Land Rovers a sturdy beasts and I didn't even chip the paintwork.
I can say I have been to the Glastonbury Festival. Along with many others I have very hazy memories of my time there. I did not hear any music and all I remember is a vast campsite and the queue for the cashpoint.
(, Mon 8 Jun 2009, 22:04, Reply)
"when festivals were still good"
I do wish people would stop saying this in posts. I happen to think that festivals are still good. I go to Reading Festival each year & have a great time, & no doubt I will continue to do so for a good while yet. Yes, festivals are more expensive now, but so is everything. Doesn't mean they are all shit.
That's what I think anyway.
(, Mon 8 Jun 2009, 20:50, 4 replies)
Oh I've just remembered
I went to Creamfields debut once, a few years back (maybe 98?) as a wee nipper. I obviously wasn't going clubbing, I was just with my step-dad, dropping off some equipment for somebody.

We parked 1 mile away, and once my little legs had yomped to the entrance, the first thing I saw was a massive hairy bloke, wearing skin tight PVC hotpants that laced up the side, knee high doc martens and a PVC waistcoat jacket thing.

I nearly shat my pants. I didn't know about the village people at 12.
(, Mon 8 Jun 2009, 20:47, Reply)
Laughs like a loon.
(, Mon 8 Jun 2009, 20:17, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Latest, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, ... 1