Waking up the next morning
We realised that we had "found" some stuff on the way back from the pub. These were in no particular order a pocketful of sand, a traffic cone, a large front door matt & bloody heavy rock that was larger than my head.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 16:08, Reply)

mmmmm, comfy
When I was a teenage pothead the spot we used to regularly go to to get stoned was up in the hills. You could lie flat on the hillside,look across the peak district and absorb the amazing scenery. We alway went to the same spot - it was our place, out of sight and out of peoples way. We could smoke here in peace.

This came to an end when the little dip where I used to rest my head and enjoy the THC enhanced scenery turned out to be the exact same place that some bastard decided would make an lovely final resting plae for the their dear, dead dog!

So yeah, I found a dead dog, well preserved and non-smelly.
( SpikeyPickle wishes he was mabazaritchie, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 16:07, Reply)

Who leaves porn around parks and why?
*Doh! I accidentally clicked submit when I'd only half written the post*

As all chaps of my age and older know and remember, porn was something found in magazines and on occasions in videos and on TV. For you young'uns who were bought up with broadband in the womb, wanking wasn't just a case of going to spankwire.com and physically assaulting your clergyman! Oh no!

For gents of my age and older, porn was something special when you had it (before your mum inevitably found it and threw it out). When you found a wank mag in the park, or in hard times (No giggling at the back) when the chance to grab an old copy of 'The Sun', 'The Star' or heavens above 'The Sport' presented themselves you took them and skipped home with a merry joy, thinking of the masturbatory pleasure that was to come. (I said stop it!)

But seriously who put it there? Why did they put it there? Was there some sort of great underground jazz mag exchange that I was never told about? When I had porn, be it my soggy newspaper collection, my moldy park found mags or my step-dads video collection which was a luxury to be enjoyed only when everyone was out, it was special to me. I wouldn't dream of discarding it so carelessly in a bush.

Now for the obligatory money answer...

If anyone lost a wallet in Watford, circa 2000 ish with about 150-200 notes in it and some red unmarked pills, it was me and my friend who found it, divided and pocketed the money and sold the pills. (It was actually my friend who sold them(so he told me), I had nothing to do with that). We never took any, so have no idea what the fuck they were or what they would do to someone.

I'm not really sure how to feel about taking it, I had abso-fuckin-lutly no inclination of handing it in and I feel if the boot was on the other foot, I would hope, but not expect to find it.

In any case there was no ID in the wallet, just cash and pills so there was not much chance it would find its way home. I imagine if I were to meet the owner, or if there had been some sort of photo ID, I would feel like a cunt. But I wont, there wasn't and I don't.

So suck it.
(Bam Bam McPenis will change all this when he is fuhrer., Thu 6 Nov 2008, 16:01, 4 replies)

Hedge porn
Quite a few posters have already mentioned finding glorious grot out in the wild - sadly the Internet seems to have denied the current generation of young monkey spankers the same thrill of discovery. The only time I came across any real booty was when I found most of a Penthouse magazine when walking the dog on a disused railway embankment far from any houses. I didn't dare take it home as I didn't think I could ever face the embarassment of it being discovered, and I'm ashamed to admit I felt too self-conscious to crack one off with the dog watching, so I just committed what I could to the wank bank and left it in the bushes. What a waste!
(Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cockbrush KCB MBE DSO, who is finding it increasingly difficult to log into b3ta.com wants to duck your aunt and kick your puppy, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 16:00, 3 replies)

Jesus - they just keep coming back to me.
As usual, these stories start with beer.

I was, for some very strange reason, having a beer in The Royal British Legion club (I'm not in the armed forces, nor have I ever been, and I was about 19 at the time!)

My dad was in there having a drink or 9 at the same time, and he came over to where I was sitting and said, "Ear, dchurch, what you doing tomorrow morning?"

"Not a lot,"

"Ok, you're coming to Belgium with me at 5.30am as your mum and I were booked on this trip with the RBL and you're mum's not very well today, so rather than waste the seat on the coach, you're coming with me."

"Ok" says I, and continued to drink the cheap lager thus ensuring that a 5.30am start would begnin with a huge hangover.

5.30 comes around and sure enough, I'm being almost forcefully dragged from my bed - ok, an exageration, but I did protest and beg to be allowed to stay.

We get on the ferry a bit later, and as RBL club members are prone to do, start on the drinking immediatly.

This was supposed to be a trip of homage to those that died at Ypres in WWI, yet, as always, turned out to be a slash up for old(er) people.

We get to the gate at Ypres and, as they do every day at 11am, played the Last Post.

After this, we went to some of the trenches, which are now surrounded by a memorial garden and tea rooms etc... most of which is actually quite haunting - if you haven't been, go, it's worth it, just to be humbled (the same is true of the Normandy beaches too).

So, we're walking around, having had a few beers in us, and I see alump of mud that looks just like a hand grenade.

"It can't be" thinks I, but as I pick it up and flake away 70 odd years of mud, it turns out that my first thoughts were correct (almost, they were called Mill's Bombs then I am told).

My dad looks at me as if to say, "what's that you've got there then?", sees what it clearly now is, and says in a hushed voice, "put that in your pocket, quick"

So I do.

After having smuggled it back through two lots of customs, I finally get back to my mates house (which also happened to be a pub), this was long after closing time, so I start banging on the door until her dad comes out.

I'm standing there with two crates of duty free lager on one shoulder and a WWI mills bomb in the other hand.

First thing I said to Bob (as that was his name, the landlord of the pub and friends dad), was "look what I've got" and then tossed it to him like a stupid pissed idiot would toss an 70 odd year old unexploded bomb.

"Get that the f*ck away from here" he says, and eventually I had to agree to leave it outside.

A day or two later, my dad gets hold of it while I was at work, and upon going to his local haunt once again, i.e. the RBL, he pushes the door open, shouts "INCOMING!!" and hurls the grenade through the door!

That went down like a lead balloon as I'm sure you can imagine. Pissing myself thinking of it now though, but at the time, the local patrons were not amused.

After a lot of "FFS! you CNUT" from the RBLers, he finally agrees to go to the local army barracks and tell them what we found 'in the garden'.

When he gets there, yep, it's another of his mates on the guard door, and knowning that my old man is a bit of joker would believe not one work of this tale and told him to sod off, which he then did; to the local cop shop.

He told the copper at the desk, who once again, we all know (it's a small village), and the coppers says, "where is it now then?"

"Here," replied my old man pulling it from his pocket.

He said he'd never seen a copper move quite so fast in his entire life.

The copper eventually made a call, told my dad to take it home, put it in a bucket of cold water and wait for the bomb squad to arrive. It had started to leak thick, green water by this point as well, so was starting to look a little volatile. My wire-brushing it up in a vice probably did little to help it stay stable.

Not long after, the bomb squad turn up at my parents house, and take the bomb and my family to a local field, surrounded the grenade with semptex (sp?) and got my sister to touch two wires together.

Boom.

...and that was the end of my WWI memorial trip.
(dchurch bah, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:59, 11 replies)

When I was a nipper
I used to hide my pocket money in obscure places instead of spending it, purely for the pleasure of coming across it unexpectedly one day and getting that "woo! I just found teh money!" thrill.

A bit weird, I know. I'm sure I didn't find it all before I got old and moved out, and some bastard now has loads of my pocket money. I hope he does the same, kind of a like a nice never-ending finders-keepers wheel of fortune. Thingy.
(The Apeface Cherub is not a cunty-uber-cunt, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:57, 4 replies)

My most psychic moment
Was posting an answer to next week's QOTW.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:57, 6 replies)

not so much found, as lost.
I used to be in the import/export business, you know, products...all right, porn. Porn magazines. You happy?

Anyway, because of different printing costs it was cheaper to physically import the lot, rather than get one master copy and print it here.

Now it was all normal hetero stuff, but because of *cough* the possibility of misunderstandings vis a vis community standards between different parts of Europe *cough*, we used to fly it in rather than go by boat.

I say it was cheaper. Well, to be precise it would have been cheaper, if some lackwit hadn't failed to secure the cargo bay properly. An entire plane's worth of porn, dropped over England like a particularly ineffective strategy of the Luftwaffe.

This was ages ago, when many b3tans would've been children. I often entertain the idea that someone might have found some, and mayhap wondered where it came from.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:56, 2 replies)

Once working in a bar
on a deep clean session before shutting down for the summer, I was tasked with cleaning a section that had 3 large old squishy sofas in.

I gave one a wipe and proceeded to take the cushions off to hoover underneath.

I was met by what seemed to be a glittering gold mine of small change. I was gobsmacked; the base just seemed to smothered in shrapnel, the sides where the cushions were had mounds of coins in them. I feverished ripped the cushions off the other sofas and was greeted by the same sight! I ended up with a teatowel full of change, mostly comprised of 1 Euro and 50 cent pieces.

The total amount was nearly 300 Euros! It all went in the tip jar. That was quite some week.


Post edit: I remarked my find to the bar manager who offered a relatively simple explanation along the lines of that the sofas had never had their cushions taken off in the 3 years of existence at the bar.
(Himjim died a little more inside on, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:52, 4 replies)

Unlikley, but...
Many moons ago now, I was doing that inexplicable young teenager thing of wandering around with no particular purpose. I used to live in a quaint but insular seaside town (the most northerly town in England, to be exact), and there was a pathway that followed an old disused railway line. This pathway followed, in part, the line of the river mouth, and my mate and I were just aimlessly walking and chatting about nothing in particular, getting slightly damp from the constant, grey drizzle. And looking for discarded grot mags – we once found an impressive haul in a plastic bag there and were hoping that lightening would strike twice. Not today, though. However, we did find something completely unexpected.

We spotted something lying on the path a few metres ahead… on getting closer we realised that it was a flatfish. Now, although the path followed the course of the river, it was in fact, about 400 metres away from the actual waterline. It was also uphill of the river, so quite how a flatfish got all the way up there is a bit of a mystery. Because of the wet ground and constant drizzle, the fish was actually still alive – a fact we became aware of when, bending down to poke it with a stick, it flapped impressively on the pavement.

Not being nasty evil fish torturing delinquents, we managed to scoop it up and get it back to the mouth of the river, where we were able to place it gently into the water. We watched for what seemed an age as the fish just lay there. Were we too late? Had it snuffed it?

About a minute later it jerked its body, and swam off into the murky depths of the North Sea. Where it probably ended up in a trawlerman’s net, but it’s the principle that counts I think.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:49, Reply)

I found a picture of a kitten
but they never win any more, so you can't see it.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:49, 1 reply)

Some air I will grab
When I was about 7

My grandad found a carrier bag full of matchbox car wheels.

Not cars, just the wheels.

100's of them. maybe 1,000's.

I couldn't with any degree of rationality explain why my brother and I found that so exciting.

But it was. It was, literally, the best day of my life up to that point. I'm smiling just thinking about it now.

The best thing we ever did with them was make skate boards for our star wars toys.

Yoda is one gnarly dude.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:39, Reply)

Wing
Does anyone know whether Bill Hicks' parents ever found the fabled Porn Wing?
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:39, Reply)

Andy
Fuck it I'm naming him - well sort of - Andy B, at Demontfort University.

He found £750 in a building society wallet, alongside airline tickets and holiday details.

Given the fact that the name of the loser was clearly present, did he return anything?

Did he fuck. He kept the lot. And used it towards his own wedding. (He got married just after uni to some fatty).

So poor Leicester guy who didnt get to go on holiday in 1995 and who lost all his savings. I'll name and shame if you tell me where exactly you think you lost it. And, 'Leicester' doesnt count.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:37, 5 replies)

Bloody hell..I've got hundreds this week
Same mate who I was with when we found the 'wanking den' also found a stupid amount of cash from a very well known robbery - about 500k.

He had to hand it in though - it wasn't that he was fearful of the police, more of having his legs broken when the, ahem, owner of the said cash realised it was missing and tracked down the new 'owner', if you will.

Another friend of mine (and this was more recently) is from ye olde Eastern blok, and is here (quite legally) and working as a freelance gardener. This, despite the fact that he is in fact a virtuoso voilinist and quite well known in his home country, he was voted third best in a national poll ("If I liked playing the bloody thing, I would have been first", he once told me).

There used to be a huge derilict house near where I used to live, beautiful it was, despite it's obvious need for someone with more money and/or talent than I to bring it back to it's former glory.

It had been empty for years, and maybe the owner had forseen this current, ahem, slump coming and last year decided to have it done up and sell it.

My friend got the job of sorting out the, not inconsiderably sized, garden.

It was big job.

Nothing had been done in this garden for well over 20 years.

After about 4 days of slashing down brambles and stinging nettles, he came across a metal hatch.

No, this is not a 'Lost' piss-take - this actually did happen and didn't cause an Island to move. Pity really, the UK could do with being moved a bit further south at the moment.

Anyway, he and his gardening mate eventually managed to prize the hatch open and guess what?

It was an old WWII bomb shelter.

Inside were guns, grenades, cans of soup and other assorted stashery.

The bomb squad had to come down to take away some of the stuff safely, and the tins of soup etc... were taken by the imperial war museum.

Nice find I thought.
(dchurch bah, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:37, 2 replies)

Things wot I have found
1. A tenner, on the streets of Bath, circa 1990 when I was a skint student. I saw the people looking for it - a middle-aged women and her son - and didn't give it to them. Finders, keepers! I spent it on a House of Love album and a pub lunch.

2. Porn. COUNTLESS jazzmags, in various states of repair, including the odd, pristine unsoiled one (jackpot!). Also once found some VHS tapes under a tree in Victoria Park in Bath, which contained, between them, 6 hours of top-quality European porn which still sustains me to this day (tough less so of late thanks to YouPorn and BoysFood).

3. A hamster, beside the Bristol to Bath Cycle Path. I caught it, put it in an empty Maltesers box and gave it to my mate Ming who I was on my way to see, he kept it, called it Davros, cared for it, and it lived for many years.

4. This job, which I am still in.

5. True love. NOT! Sigh.

Dktr S
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:27, Reply)

evidence
in my early teens, i lived in a house behind some old maisonettes that were due to be demolished. about 6 weeks before they were due to come down, we heard that a woman had been killed during an argument with her fella, either falling or being pushed off the balcony of the maisonettes and landing on her head.
being the little ghouls that we were, we went to have a look. the body had, of course, been removed by this time, but there was still a fair amount of blood around.
whilst searching the area, i found a copy of the yellow pages, which was now a very blood-soaked red pages. there seemed to be a small lump in it, so i opened the book.
there, stuck to a page, was a blood-and-hair matted gold stud earring, of the type habitually worn by the poor woman who'd died.
we left it where it was and went home. the fun had definitely gone from that day.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:27, Reply)

Fermented soy bean curd
I found it makes you shit like a demon two hours after you eat it cold.

Whilst taking a dump in some trees I also found a quality porno stash as well.

What a voyage of discovery that day was.
(magic the cat will someone please think of the kittens, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:26, 1 reply)

Keep yer eyes on the ground
I love finding stuff. Always keep your eyes on the ground... highlights so far,

The nose cone to a largish artillery rocket.

A Longines watch

Best of all, a large chunk of human skull, the part near the jawbone socket. On a beach in Suffolk. Mmm remains.
(Pickettywitchfinder General, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:24, 1 reply)

When I was a tiny human
My dad and I were walking along when we both spied what appeared to be a £5 note wedged under the tire of a transit van. It was half in a puddle too. So both of us reached for it with lightning speed. Thankfully, being a child and therefore having shorter legs / being closer to the ground I got there first. Turned out it was £20! Bonus! I got my mom to dry it out and iron it flat (and fix it a bit with tape). So did I spend it all on fizzy cola bottles? Nay. I was sensible and went to Dixons (or similar) and got myself a copy of Sonic the hedgehog on the Mastersystem. Genius. By far the most cash I've ever found. Probably more than I've found since combined.
( chulk607, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:20, Reply)

Sticky Stick
My daughter found a Harry Potter wand in the middle of the New Forest. Trust her at the age of two to find a plastic stick in a forest.
(surfergirl is riding the wave of luurvveee, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:19, 1 reply)

I thought I'd found my will to live
unfortunately, it was just another mediocre QOTW.

*sighs*
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:18, 4 replies)

My eccentricity
is posting answers to QOTW a week too late
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:04, 4 replies)

mrs spimf's nutter granny
i should have mentioned her on last weeks eccentrics

she wore tights high heels and a swimsuit on the beach (carrying a handbag with silly amounts of cash inside)

she would spit on page three topless 'stunnas' (in her own newspaper)

and once chased a topless woman along a beach calling her a whore

brilliant

however that should have been last week.

her husband was a scrap merchant

he didnt like paying tax and dealt in cash - cash he had no interest in - left a fortune when he died but no will (accountant nearly fainted - houses and cars had to be hurriedly purchased for family members)

anyway years after his death the crazy old bat had a plumber in - he came down the stairs holding a bag he had found behind the bath panel

it had about 8 grand in it

this was around 20 years ago

so there you go - an honest plumber, what an amazing find!
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:04, 2 replies)

Cool stuff I have found...
My most profitable and interesting find was a near-mint Roland Juno-60 synthesizer in a mate's loft. He didn't want it, so I offered him a small sum of money for it, which was accepted with thanks. Gigged with it as part of my (insanely large) 80's keyboard rig, then sold it years later for an embarrasing amount of cash on eBay! Win.

On a less materialistic level, my best find would have to be my first cat. She was abandoned as a kitten and while my dad was taking me for a walk (I was very young), we happened upon her purely by chance. My Dad scooped her up, put her in his jacket the rest is history. She lived to be 15 or 16 I think, and was one of the best cats anyone could wish for.
(keyboardman, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 15:02, Reply)

Oooh - they just keep coming back to me
Again, after the wavey lines have disappeared........

There is this 'club day' in a town near to where I live that is held every year.

There's rides there - like carny type things - walzta (sp?), hot dog stands, bouncy castles and the like - all about 15 quid a go or something similar.

...and of course all the pubs (or so I thought) usually apply for an extension (this was back in the days of closing at 3pm and reopening for the evening until 11pm).

Anyway, a friend of mine and myself found ourself in one of the pubs off to the side of the main field, as one is wont to do.

Around midnight(ish) we hear the dreaded "ding-ding" of the time bell and then realise that it's a bit later than we thought and we ought to be getting back to the field to find the rest of our mates and see if our collective heads could think of a way to get the 7 miles back home with no money etc...

...only to find, that only one pub that year had applied for an extension...yep, the one we were in. By the time we came out the field was empty, the rides were packed away and the only people left were the lorry drivers whe were sleeping the night in their cabs.

Bugger.

So, we started to walk home. The first part of the walk is a three mile road with no path and no street lighting (I think it might have now, but as I say, this was some time ago).

It's also very exposed and windy. Did I mention that the 'club day' in question is held in November?

It was blowing a gale and was freezing.

As it happened, we spied another couple fo people walking along the road in front of us, so we walked a bit faster and jogged a bit to catch up with them.

Turns out, I knew them both. Both were walking bear footed too????? (bloody hippies!)

(it also turns out that they were a couple, until about a year later when the male half of that duo got with my sister, who he later married, but that's probably another QoTW).

Aha - we heard a car coming from behind us - time to get the wacky-thumbs-aloft in true Paul McCartney style.

Vroooooooooom

Straight past us.

Then, of course, it dawned on us that 4 people were unlikely to get picked up by a hitchhiker-picking-up car driver and that 2 people were much more likely to get a lift, so we split up on the understanding that whoever got a lift first, would ask the driver if he minded picking up their friends too.

About 30 seconds later a car came past, stopped picked them two gits up and happily drove off in the warm to their nice warm beds, leaving us to wander, half-pissed down a truly horrendous road back towards the town in the hope of finding shelter.

About an hour later we realised it was futile and settled down for the night in a piss-soaked, foul smelling bus-stop.

About 2 hours of very, very, very uncomfortable sleep we both got up and moved further into town. Then we heard a milkman. Then saw the postie. Over the next hour or so, we saw a whole small town waking up - it was quite cool really.

Anyway, I suggested that in about another hour, the busses would start again. Of course, that didn't solve the problem of being absolutely skint, so we walked back to the main field of the previous night's celebrations in the hope that as people got more pissed, the less they would notice their change falling from their pockets as they dredged out their dosh to pay for their spawn from hell to ride on the crappiest, most expensive rides (probably) in the world.

...and it turns out, we were right.

We found about 18 quid in coins, that was enough to get something to eat with (later when a shop, any bloody shop, opened) and get the bus home each. Bonus.

However, the finding of things doesn't stop there.

The chap who I found myself stranded with (he's mentioned in a previous QoTW answer of mine in which he ends up in a foreign prison for 4 years, a few years after this incident) had a full pouch of baccy that he'd bought from a bloke in the pub the previous night.

He didn't, however, have any Rizlas or a lighter, and neither did I.

I thought, I know! My ex-gf lives up the road a bit from here, and she'll be walking her dogs in a while, let's wait outside her house for her to come out and we can get her go and get some matches or something.

As it turned out, as we walked to her house, I saw her mother coming out with the dogs.l She hated me when I was seeing her daughter, so thought it wise not to ask anything of her a year after I had broken her daughter's heart.

We sat on the wall a little way back from where she was.

It was then that I looked down, and saw a pound note, weighed down by a stone, slap-bang in the middle of the road on the white line.

A little further along, a small stack of 10p pieces. Then a small stack of 50ps, then some 2's, some more 10s etc....then....a packet of Rizla in a little plastic bag with a clipper lighter with the protective metal bit missing.

I couldn't believe it.

Took out the lighter and it lit first time!

Smoked ourselves stupid after that waiting for the bus to take us home.

Length? Yeah, there's some. Not a lot, but some.
(dchurch bah, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 14:59, 2 replies)

I worked as a cleaner in a hotel for my sins
It was pretty quiet during the week I was working so the hotel was practically empty.


There were two rooms on the ground floor that joined up and the middle door was open. I had to change the blankets so I went in the wardrobe and wrapped in the blankets were the most obscene bondage 'attire' I could have ever imagined.

I went into the conjoining room and it was exactly the same in the other wardrobe, as well as condoms pouring out of the bin in the toilet.

Anyway long story short turns out the couples were swingers and had invited numerous friends to join them conveniently letting them in through the french doors under the cover of darkness.

They were also selling drugs and offering a prostiution service for 3 whole days.


I only told a few people my finds so concern was only raised when someone spotted a man on the lawn brandishing a whip in a thong at 4 in the morning.
(i should have joined myspace, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 14:58, Reply)

Teddybear's Pervert Picnic
Growing up in Basildon, Essex (birthplace of the Chav) there wasn't much to do as a kid except sniff glue, write incoherent profanity-laden poetry on bus-stop shelters and make false claims about being related to Alison Moyet/anyone from Depeche Mode.

However, I was quite lucky in that our housing estate completely surrounded a small partly-wooded area about the same size as 8 football pitches. The terraced houses and their gardens cut this suburban oasis off from the rest of the town and us kids were kings of this land - free to climb trees, build camps and start apple fights with other rival 'gangs' who lived mere metres away from us. It was fantastic, a bit like Lord Of The Flies but we all went home for tea at the end of the day and very few children were brutally stoned to death.

One summer, while a six-strong motley crew of us 5 to 8 year olds were out looking for wood to build another crappy 'camp', we chanced upon a black bin bag sitting in a bush. Some of the scumbag families on the estate would throw all manners of rubbish into our park, but occasionally we'd chance upon something useful. So we opened up the bag to see what was inside...

I'll briefly dispense with the colourful adjectives and just list off what I remember we found.

Around 10 copies of Penthouse magazine.
Every single Page 3 photo from The Sun published in the prior 6 months. Carefully cut out with scissors.
3 soiled bras. (how do you soil a bra?)
2 pairs of knickers (one was a thong I think)
Half a box of tampons, thankfully unused.
A french maid's outfit.
A rubber thing that totally stunk (in retrospect, must have been a used condom.)
A pair of high heels and a corset.

Now, bear in mind I was oldest in our gang at around 8 years old and I didn't have a clue what half this stuff was. All I knew was that it was illicit, forbidden and oddly arousing. We all had a good giggle chasing each other around with the smelly rubber thing on a stick and I think we may even of set one of the tampons on fire to see what happened (nothing, incidentally - it kinda looked like a stick of dynamite to an 8 year old.) But we made a pact to not inform our parents as they would invariably take anything we found off us cos' they were bastards.

We carefully disected the magazines, keeping all the pictures and, combined with the Page 3 cut-outs, used this x-rated portfolio to decorate our camp. We used the bras and corset as a makeshift flag, the maid's outfit as a window curtain and unimaginatively threw the high heels onto the roof of the nearby garages. Our little shop of whores looked glorious - who'd have thought a group of school kids would have such an eye for interior design.

So you can imagine how it all kicked off when my Dad found us in our camp.

My parents had sent my 5 year old sister out to call me in for dinner. The little snitch saw everything and while I doubt she was familiar with the imagery that Penthouse is famous for, she knew boobies were something you kept to yourself and consequently told Dad about our grotty grotto.

My Dad was (and still is) the coolest man on the planet. He could hardly be angry at me for putting these pictures up - it's not like I bought/stole them. However, he could go absolutely fucking mental at me for the position I'd put him in as not only did he remove all the offending material from Camp Bra, he had to go round to all my mates' parents and explain what had happened. Over a pint just recently, he confessed to me it was both the most embarrasing and hilarious thing he'd ever had to do as a parent.

I wasn't punished per se, but I did have "the talk"...about 4 years too early for my liking.

And to leave a bitter taste in this story's mouth, the police turned up a few days later (at my parents request) to ask me and my friends questions about The Funbag as it was clear there was some disgusting pervert in the neighbourhood who thought nothing of leaving his ill-gotten filth out where kids play. Not sure if they ever caught him, or her.

Should I apologise for length? I've seen much longer around these parts, but it's my first time.
(Toke Entertaining Your Mum Since 1985, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 14:58, 3 replies)

Child's Jawbone
My Dad is a bit of an budding archaeologist (he even has an Indiana Hat - tchuh!) and often attends digs around the county. On a few rare occasions when I'm not hungover, I've accompanied him and been allocated my square metre of dirt to start brushing away at. Having been a few times I'd started to be able to date odd bits of pottery and could kinda' sort out what was rubbish and what was significant.
One cold Sunday, Autumn morning, I attended a dig that was trying to unearth a lost village that had disappeared during the plague. All that remained of the village was the ruins of a church and the dig was just outside the main gates. Anyway, I had been huddled over my square of excavated earth for about an hour when my trowel struck something hard, I brushed off all the soil and revealed what looked like the brown stained dome of a piece of pottery. I tested for the edge, found it and flipped over a shard of pot. Confusingly, the underside of the pot didn't look like pottery at all... I kept digging and within a minute had unearthed a jawbone complete with milk teeth... Yes. I had found a child's skull with no trace of a body.
Sent shivers down my spine.. how long had this been here?
Anyway, coroner had to be called and shut down the dig for two weeks (much to everyone's annoyance). Turned out to be a 9-10yr old girl buried outside of the gates of the church 600-700 years ago.
Made me feel freaky.
And I never went again.
(magaski has been lactating since, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 14:58, Reply)

Now that I've done me rant
I have recalled:
Being about 7 or 8 and allowed go to the shops with me older sister. On the way back we find a rolled up wad of notes. A woman is bustling to and from the flats and her car.
"Are these yours?" we cherubs inquire.
"Oh my... yes! Yes they are!" says she.
I might have changed the memory over the years, but she seemed very flustered. I reckon they weren't... thieving old biddy.

Down by a river in Welshland when I was about 14, my sister 17. Paddle paddle doo be doo... Oooh wassat under that tree in the roots and what not?
Frickin'! A case of those small bottles of French beer (that taste of piss) with a few missing. Obviously some kids from the local campsite have stashed them and are coming here of an evening to get merry.
Hmm... *yoink* !
With our parent's consent and aid as well. Yay!

We found a knife in a wood once. Just a crappy kitchen knife, but it was a find.

One time in the Forest of Dean (on the sculpture trail, just near the massive hanging stained glass window in the avenue of trees. You know the one?) elder sister and I found a load of pornos sitting there in the scrub. She nicked a load for her boyfriend (what the funk? she must have been 16). Took them home in the car rolled up inside her coat.
(tweebianmonkey Should be known as Widget, Thu 6 Nov 2008, 14:57, Reply)