Festivals II
It's that time of year again
I was at a free festival outside Worthing in the early 90s, expounds Richard mcbeef off the internet. A bloke went mental on the dancefloor and started hitting people. He was restrained, calmed down, but then did it again, a good three times more. Eventually he was pursued around the arena by an ever-growing number of people, like in Benny Hill. He was chased into a massive nettle patch and ended up tied to a chair.
Tell us your festival experiences.
( , Thu 25 Jun 2015, 9:45)
It's that time of year again
I was at a free festival outside Worthing in the early 90s, expounds Richard mcbeef off the internet. A bloke went mental on the dancefloor and started hitting people. He was restrained, calmed down, but then did it again, a good three times more. Eventually he was pursued around the arena by an ever-growing number of people, like in Benny Hill. He was chased into a massive nettle patch and ended up tied to a chair.
Tell us your festival experiences.
( , Thu 25 Jun 2015, 9:45)
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My mate Jon gave me a ticket to Sonisphere last year...
He'd just broken up with his missus and didn't want her to have the tickets, so invited me along instead. Because he was newly single, in between sessions of drinking overpriced lager he was on the hunt for anything that looked remotely female and like she'd let him take her back to his tent for the best thirty seconds of her life.
Obviously it fell to me to be his wingman.
As with many music festivals there was a small corner of the arena devoted to rattly old death trap fairground rides. One of these rides in particular was a "sit in small chair, get swung around 50 feet up in the air" variety. Earlier in the day Jon had eyed it up warily and loudly proclaimed he'd "never go on that fucking thing". I couldn't really blame him.
Later in the day, though, when Jon had found a likely girl (complete with requisite friend that needed escorting) and was regaling her with tales of his days in the RAF, we happened to walk past the ride again. Being the great friend and wingman that I am I suggested we all had a go; Jon couldn't decline for fear of looking like a wimp in front of his new lady friend. He hated every moment, and I honestly wouldn't be surprised if a little bit of wee came out when the wind picked up at the top.
Unfortunately things didn't work out for Jon and his lady friend that night (something to do with her smuggled in gin). It was alright though, because after watching a few bands the next day Jon made friends with another nice young lady and her friend. They stuck around as we watched a few more bands, had a few drinks, watched the slightly odd World War I dogfight, and went for a wander around the festival ground.
"Hey, girls," I said, when we got to an appropriate bit of the arena. "Reckon we should all have a go on that ride?"
( , Thu 25 Jun 2015, 12:51, 6 replies)
He'd just broken up with his missus and didn't want her to have the tickets, so invited me along instead. Because he was newly single, in between sessions of drinking overpriced lager he was on the hunt for anything that looked remotely female and like she'd let him take her back to his tent for the best thirty seconds of her life.
Obviously it fell to me to be his wingman.
As with many music festivals there was a small corner of the arena devoted to rattly old death trap fairground rides. One of these rides in particular was a "sit in small chair, get swung around 50 feet up in the air" variety. Earlier in the day Jon had eyed it up warily and loudly proclaimed he'd "never go on that fucking thing". I couldn't really blame him.
Later in the day, though, when Jon had found a likely girl (complete with requisite friend that needed escorting) and was regaling her with tales of his days in the RAF, we happened to walk past the ride again. Being the great friend and wingman that I am I suggested we all had a go; Jon couldn't decline for fear of looking like a wimp in front of his new lady friend. He hated every moment, and I honestly wouldn't be surprised if a little bit of wee came out when the wind picked up at the top.
Unfortunately things didn't work out for Jon and his lady friend that night (something to do with her smuggled in gin). It was alright though, because after watching a few bands the next day Jon made friends with another nice young lady and her friend. They stuck around as we watched a few more bands, had a few drinks, watched the slightly odd World War I dogfight, and went for a wander around the festival ground.
"Hey, girls," I said, when we got to an appropriate bit of the arena. "Reckon we should all have a go on that ride?"
( , Thu 25 Jun 2015, 12:51, 6 replies)
Anybody who uses the term "wingman" is a prick of the prickest kind.
( , Thu 25 Jun 2015, 13:42, closed)
( , Thu 25 Jun 2015, 13:42, closed)
Those Top Gun roleplaying sessions always end badly for you, huh?
( , Thu 25 Jun 2015, 14:14, closed)
( , Thu 25 Jun 2015, 14:14, closed)
I'd try to pretend it was a reference to his ex RAF days.
But I'd be lying.
I am a prick though, so that's fair.
( , Thu 25 Jun 2015, 14:30, closed)
But I'd be lying.
I am a prick though, so that's fair.
( , Thu 25 Jun 2015, 14:30, closed)
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