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This is a question It was a great holiday, but...

... the night a racoon broke into our tent and attacked us will live on in my memories.
... coming down a dirttrack mountain road with no fences with the back end of the car fishtailing about left me needing new underwear.

I'm off on holiday next week somewhere nice and safe. Tell us your holiday stories.

(, Thu 21 Apr 2005, 9:55)
Pages: Latest, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Dad's cock
We were early teens when my folks took me and my brother to Las Vegas on holiday. Obviously being too young for cocktails and bankruptcy at the casinos we busied ourselves at the local 'Wet N' Wild' water park fucking about on huge waterslides and such like. There was one ENORMOUS slide there that twisted, turned and dropped like a motherfucker. Me, my brother and my dad queued for it as my mum wimped out. In front of us was a woman and her daughter who looked about six. On getting to the top it turned out that the little girl was too short for the ride ("You must be yay tall to ride..." etc.) and this started her crying. The lifeguard guy at the top decided to let her ride anyway, probably trying to avoid a scene. Her mum went first, presumably so as to 'catch' the little girl at the bottom. The little girl followed her mum, then my brother went, then I went. Half-way down this slide there was a fully-enclosed 'tunnel' bit that corkscrewed around and as I approached it I could hear crying. I just had to time to register the little girl bawling her head off and holding on to the side of the tunnel before I passed her in a watery blur. I splashed down and my brother was stood there with the mum who was wondering how 2 people had managed to exit the slide before her girl had. The mum was just peering up the exit to the slide in a comedy "looking at the end of the hosepipe before it spurts in your face" type gesture when we heard the crying girl's approach. She was promptly squashed flat by my dad and the little girl arriving together. As if this wasn't already creasing me and my brother up enough it seemed that the perishable underpant lining of my dad's ancient Asda-bought swimming shorts hadn't quite survived the trip intact and his hairy cock was plainly on display for all to see.

Me and my bro were sharing a room and we got no sleep at all that night for collapsing in laughter every time one of us said "That woman had dad's cock in her face!!"
(, Mon 25 Apr 2005, 15:29, Reply)
Many moons ago I used to take groups of nurses away for the weekend camping and rock-climbing. It was a scam arranged by a mate of mine, the only straight male nurse that I knew, to get groups of fit young lasses out in the countryside where we could ply them with alcohol in the hope of getting our wicked way. (It generally worked but that's another story...)

Anyway, this one weekend a chap called Simon, a visual aids technician from one of the hospitals was coming along and he was getting really excited.

"I'm gonna get a shag this weekend" he burbled happily."Even I can't fail to score with this many women about!"

After a while his enthusiastic babbling started to get on my nerves so a plan was hatched. We left for North Wales on the Friday afternoon and camped on a farm in a field full of sheep conveniently next to a country pub. Got the tents up by 8 and headed for the boozer. Simon was still whispering to me and Bill about which nurses he thought he had a chance with and was frankly getting on my tits. So we had several pints, chatting about the climbs we were going to do the next day. I was cosying up to a sweet little blonde - Bill was with his then girlfriend and it looked like being a good night apart from Simon. After a couple of hours me and Bill slipped away for a while. Simon wanted to score did he? Then we'd have to help him.

We went back to the campsite, slightly pissed and then tried to catch a sheep. Ever tried to chase one of these fuckers down in the dark? They're faster than they look. We were running round this bloody field like demented sheepdogs on speed after these woolly little bastards and eventually Bill brought one down with a spectacular rugby tackle while the sheep was in mid-air. We wrestled it back up the field and into Simons tent. He'd be so pleased to find a young willing female in his tent when he got back. Job done, we repaired to the pub for more beer after our exertions.

About midnight, we all left the pub and headed back to the campsite. We watched eagerly as Simon crawled to the front of his tent and pulled the zip down.

Now here our cunning plan went a bit astray. The enraged sheep shot out of the tent like a woolly bullet and cannoned into Simons face. Crack! He was sparked out. He fell over backwards with blood streaming from his nose while everyone collapsed in fits of laughter. good job we had some nurses on hand. When they stopped giggling they patched Simon up by the campfire and eventually he went back to his tent again muttering darkly. This is where the second shock awaited him.

What we hadn't taken into account was that a sheep, when frightened, tended to shit and piss everywhere. So Simons tent, clothes and sleeping bag were covered in sheep-shit and strongly smelling piss.

He never did score that weekend!

I remain, as usual
(, Thu 21 Apr 2005, 12:18, Reply)
Things some people will do for £9. (Apologies for length in advance).
When I was 17, me and a large group of friends, both male and female, enjoyed a sunny break in Newquay. Being the first holiday many of us had enjoyed without the parents, the beer was flowing to excess and the behaviour was getting quite silly.

For some reason not known to this day, the girls had decided to sculpt a carrot into a phallus and hide it in our caravan. We found it, had a laugh and there it sat on the dining room table.
After dinner and a few more beers, my mate Dave picks up the dildoesque carrot and decides to ask the now timelessly funny question: "Richard, I bet you wouldn't stick this up your arse for money?"
Now, what you need to understand is that Richard never backs down from a challange, no matter how stupid. It became a game to push the limits and dare him into doing silly stuff. However, none of us expected him to take up this one!

"How much money?" he asked.

After a quick fumble in pockets for loose change, we manage to raise the grand sum of 9 pounds sterling. Being sure that he won't stick a carrot up his arse for just £9 we put our cash on the table.

It was at this part my laughter started to turn to apprehension. "Close the curtains" Richard ordered.

Then, our mate Steve takes on the role of referee, just to check the challange is done correctlly and the £9 is earnt fair and square. He does this by marking on the carrot a line which it has to be inserted to!! (WTF?)

The events that unfolded next were watched through gaps in my fingers. After a first failed attempt, Richard decides that the carrot needed some lube and rubbed it with water. This suggested to me and Dave that he had done this before. As Dave and I sat there, hunched double in disbelife; Rich bent over for a second attempt.

Steve was now kneeled down beside Richard, shouting words of encouragement like "Your almost at the line!, Keep pushing!, You dirty bastard!" He then asked Dave and I to witness that the carrot had indeed reached the line, a quick disguested glance proved it had.

The £9 was handed over. Later that evening, while clubbing; Rich was well chuffed that he had an extra £9 to spend on pisswater beer. I on the other hand was just glad that I didn't ever have to stick things up my arse for beer money.

He regrets his actions now, as we all take pride in mentioning it every time we see him. I'm looking forward to the day I can tell this story at his wedding reception.

Next week, all of the original group are going to visit Steve who now lives in Berlin. I'm sure this story will be mentioned more than once...
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 11:52, Reply)
While on holiday in Norway in 1981,
I discovered a huge transparent sack full of slightly runny peanut butter that somebody had left by the side of the road. I was overjoyed at the time, being a big fan of peanut butter, and ate it slowly over the next three weeks.
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 21:42, Reply)
Cub Camp Skid Mark Conspiracy
Due to depleting my bog roll stash at cub camp, I hatched an evil plan. After copious amounts of camp fire burgers and sausages I had to go for the biggest turd of my life, well of a 9 year old life anyway. Looking around the toilet that compromised of a hole in the ground there were only nettles and thorns to wipe my arse. I waddled back to the campsite and my tent which I shared with 6 other snotty cub scouts. What I proceeded to do next is pure Damian 666 stuff. I shared a tent with someone no one liked, called Johnathan. I rifled through his bag and found some white jogging bottoms. I then proceeded to wipe my arse, not on any old part of the garment but strategically on the rear area where skidmarks are commonplace. Once my undercarriage was clean I put them back in his bag.

Next morning imagine my surprise when said unlikeable lad comes out to breakfast sporting said white jogging bottoms. His backside covered in my rusty stab marks. He came bounding up to the picnic tables, stretching his arms with 'What a gorgeous morning' look on his face. Before he sat down I shouted "hey look he's shit himself". Once the hysteria had set in a gaggle of 2 dozen cub scouts chased the poor lad around and up a tree screaming 'Johnny Shitty Pants' at him where we proceeded to throw sticks and rocks at him for at least 30 minutes. It was a great holiday, but I can't believe how evil I was.
(, Thu 21 Apr 2005, 14:39, Reply)
mmm, beer
T'was Leningrad 1989, our tour group were in the hotel drinking beer. On the table next to us was a huge bloke, fast asleep. We thought it hilarious to put our empty glasses on his table. Some time, and much beer, later, matey wakes up, goes "Wooargh" and knocks the table over. The smashing of many glasses is swiftly followed by the arrival of the ever-present KGB who drag our unfortunate neighbour away for a good beating. I felt a bit guilty.
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 23:25, Reply)
Back when boltneck was a wee young thing
The family went on a camping trip down to the south coast. I first learnt to swear when my Father whilst trying to reverse the car and trailer back out of the tiny back lane that was supposed to be a short cut uttered the immortal sentance "THIS FUCKING TRAILER HAS A FUCKING MIND OF IT'S FUCKING OWN!!!! BASTARD!!"

The most memorable event of the holiday was me and my brother playing 'The Professionals' with spud guns. We decided to raid the toilet block and doing my best Bodie impression I kicked one of the doors open and went in firing. I will never forget the look on the poor bastards face as he sat there trying to give birth to a baby bog fish, as some maniac kid comes bursting in and shoots him right between the eyes with a chunk of potato and runs back out. I spent the next two days hiding from him and laughing from various places as he went by.
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 1:01, Reply)
Explorer Scout summer camp last year.
Beer, fires, everything you need for a good laugh. Scorched all the hair off my right arm at one point and nearly blew myself up with a dodgy gas-powered tea urn thing, but that was all part of the fun. Great up until the last day when Darren packed up his tent and found the cause of the odd lump under his tent was the sweet little hedgehog that had been wandering around the previous day. Yes, he'd squashed it flat by sleeping on it.
(, Thu 21 Apr 2005, 14:44, Reply)
Germany 1990
This is a long one - so apologies beforehand.

I was involved in a German exchange scheme back in the late 80's / early 90's.

The 1990 trip came around and I found myself at 17 years of age, on a coach with 1 other lad (a 6'6" metal-head called John) and 20+ lovelies from Queen's college in Chester.

John had disastrously hosted a German boy called Manfred the previous year, which was the worst possible pairing EVER. Manfred loved his camera, didn't like talking, didn't like girls, didn't like what we ate or our music and in the spate of a week, shit his bed twice and was found by John's mother wiping his cock on the guest room curtains.
We didn't want to stay with him! We were told by the organisers that he was not part of the exchange this year, so things looked good.

We bought lots of duty free and sat in the back of the coach getting riotously drunk with the coach load of hotties, and it was somewhere around Belgium that the exchange lists were given out. John and I were told we were staying with Manfred and family. I tried to get the coach to stop and let us out near a train station, but the organisers told us not to be so stupid and constantly made it out that we were the troublemakers to begin with.

So the rest of the trip to Germany went downhill from there, and the coach pulled up to be met with excited girly squealing of old friends reunited. After about 20 mins and people drifting off to their hosts houses, John and I saw Manfred, his Brother and parents stood in a line behind their BMW on the other side of the car-park. We were gestured to go to them and carried our cases to the car where we loaded them in the boot as everyone else had got in without saying a word. We drove in silence to their house and were told to get our cases out, leave them by the front door and follow the Father to the lounge.

The Father pulled the armchair in front of the patio doors to one side revealing a large brown stain on the cream carpet; "YOU SEE THIS!? THIS IS THE BLOOD FROM THE HEAD OF A BURGLAR! I HIT HIM WITH MY GUN BUTT!"

I nearly shat.

The Mother then came in from the opposite side of the room carrying things out of our suitcases, brandishing John's boom box at us; "WE WILL NOT HAVE ANY MUSIC AT ANY TIME IN THIS HOUSE!"

I shat.

The two weeks following had us pleading with the organisers that we just couldn't stay there, we weren’t allowed out in the evenings to meet with the other people on the exchange. John and I were fed separately from the family (one night we got a pound of butter, two fried eggs each and a half loaf of bread for dinner) and the family (apart from the younger brother Autur) didn't want anything to do with us.

So complained and complained. And the organisers (unbeknownst to us) did three visits to the Family in the daytime to see if there was a problem - they were treated like royalty and were told that John and I were the trouble makers but nothing that they couldn't handle. And so we were branded.

So we started causing trouble, as no-one would believe us and enjoyed ourselves immensely on the coach journeys. We stocked up with lots and lots of drink, which Dave the Clayhead coach driver hid for us, and which we started drinking like idiots as soon as we got on the coach.

It was a fucking mess. Trips around stately homes, the Wasserkuppe in Bavaria and the Buchenwald concentration camp in Weimar punctuated by offensive outbursts by two drunken monkeys who couldn't find their arses with both hands. I tried drunkenly copping off with about 4 of the girls, so unsuccessfully that that the entire girl population stopped talking to me for the final week (he he!).

We even started escaping from the house at night, and to our surprise the 8km walk down to Fulda town centre one night was rewarded with their yearly beer festival. We somehow managed to drink our body weights in beer and stagger back up to Aschenberg pissing in people's gardens right back to near the place we were staying - to be picked up by the Police which the Father had called saying we had gone missing.

I could go on and on with the fine details of this disastrous (yet fun) holiday, but will finish the tale by telling you the results:

1. On the day we left both parents couldn't even be bothered to be there, so we were being picked up by taxi from the house to go to the coach. John distracted Manfred, and I spread an half litre jar of jam over his bottom sheet and replaced the duvet. We also managed to steal every single kettle and power lead to everything we could find in the house, and they're all sitting on the bottom of the channel somewhere.

2. I lost my job with the BBC. I was a junior reporter for BBC Stoke and was given an unofficial assignment to get 'something' while I was away and especially going to (the just about to end) East Germany. I was contacted by Roy Hill from Radio Stoke the hour I got home asking for the tapes of 'interviews with East German Kids'. What he got was hours of drunken ramblings and swearing from random people on the coach.
(, Tue 26 Apr 2005, 16:18, Reply)
The olive in the belly button trick..
1st holiday away with friends. Went to a crappy 1 star resort in Mexico but then again, it was open bar...so not all bad.

Arrived at 4pm and headed for swimup open bar. Drank like fish. Strangely enough, did not recognise inability to stand due to being in water.

Tried to get out of pool. No luck. Eventually made it to standing position only to fall like giant sequioa.

No matter, only missing a toenail, and the blood did look very pretty as it spread into the puddles by the pool.

Decided a quick lie down before dinner was in order. Miraculously found room at which point I lose all memory.

A few hours later, friends found me crouched outside the door of the room with my knees up and my chin in my chest - key in hand. Turns out I had thrown up between my cleavage and into a giant pocket of puke that had been my swimsuit.

Friends (boy and girl - shudder), carry me inside - strip me nekkid, wash me down as best they can in the shower being none too sober themselves. Put me into nightshirt (which they rip) and put me to bed.

Rudest awakening of my life. Wake up next to my friend (boy), in ripped nightshirt, naked underneath, giant 5 inch bruise across one buttock, only 9 toenails and olive (inc. pimento) nestled in bellybutton.

Only slightly embarassing. My friend who put me in the shower went to dinner wearing only t-shirt and a pair of thong underwear as she forgot to put her trousers on..
(, Mon 25 Apr 2005, 17:32, Reply)
Bognor Regis holiday camp
Went there as a 9 year old and fell blissfully in love with an 8 year old from Luton - daughter of an ex-workmate of my dad.
Held hands and...well, held hands again.
Was bleedin' heartbroken when I saw her kissing a bigger kid on the cheek. I must have cried for about 20 minutes.
Then I had a ride on donkey wearing a straw hat and felt much better.

Got chatting to a honey of a girl about 12 years later at a niteclub in Dunstable (Didoz) and turns out to be same girl.
Thinking I could finish what as a 9 year old I had never really started, until she says "You were a right sad little bastard the way you kept following me around."
She then got off with some bigger kid again.
(, Thu 21 Apr 2005, 16:27, Reply)
Not really a holiday, but...
I’m a musician, and went on a recital tour of Spain last summer. During the trip, the following happened:

I packed a digital metronome in my hand luggage. You can imagine how amused customs were when it switched itself on and started bleeping at 60 beats per minute.

I came down with flu within 24 hours of arrival.

My pianist was suicidal for the entire trip.

My concert organiser was the creepiest man I have ever had the displeasure of meeting - decided early on that I needed a “father figure“ and set about trying to adopt me. I found out later that he hadn’t seen his own daughter since his divorce eight years previously.

On a long journey, we hadn't come across any form of civilisation for hours and I desperately needed to take a piss. Finally we came across a bush, I dashed in there, dropped my trousers, and discovered all too late that it contained a hornets' nest. And hornets don't take kindly to being pissed on.

We were served stewed pigs’ trotters by a naked arts’ councillor.

At the same gig, we were expected to play outside. At 9pm. In the middle of summer. Near a stagnant pond. Cue every biting insect known to man, in addition to a snake who crawled across the stage halfway through a Beethoven Sonata.

As soon as I got over the flu, I got a migraine that lasted the rest of the trip. Cue puking my guts out in the only toilet at a nasty service station in the Pyrenees, with a bunch of disgruntled Spanish truck drivers yelling at me to hurry up.

Nothing could go wrong once we’d got on the plane back home, right? Wrong! Picture the scene: A mad Cuban brandishing a knife and talking about the “extremo del mundo”, a bunch of American tourists screaming, “We’re all gonna diiiiiiee!” and eight Guarda Policias armed with bayonets removing the offending nutcase. God only knows what would have happened if he’d only made an appearance after the plane had left the ground.

Ah well, at least I got paid at the end of it.
(, Sun 24 Apr 2005, 12:15, Reply)
It was a great holiday, but...
...it was full of foreigners.
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 13:58, Reply)
Whilst playing frisbee in front of an appreciative gathering
outside the Sofia Palace of Culture in Bulgaria, I hooked a shot into one of its 12ft by 8ft smoked glass windows and broke it.
My friend and I ran away and jumped onto the nearest bus, which was pursued through traffic by a police Lada. We jumped off and hid/got very drunk in a bar.

I hereby apologize to all Bulgarians, because you're all really nice.

A week later, with the same frisbee, my friend hit a 70 year old lady follower of the prophet Petradanov in the back of the head very hard. Luckily she forgave him.

Two days later, the s-bend fell off a toilet midflush, flooding the ancient Sveti Naum Monastery in Macedonia, and so we legged it into the relative safety of Albania.
(, Thu 21 Apr 2005, 14:31, Reply)
School Holiday from HELL
Our school used to organise a week long 'holiday' for people off to university so that we could see what the accomodation etc was like. The year I went saw the worst ever, for which the staff would probably now go to prison for.

The geography teacher led us out on a walk around the country side, promptly got lost despite a map, and ended up taking 7 hours to get back to the coach. Halfway through this, me and my mates saw the coach in the distance, thought sod this and off we went. By the time everybody else got back we'd managed to drink everything that had been provided, so 2 of the lost had to be taken to hospital with dehudration. The coach then caught fire, resulting in another one arriving complete with tanked up driver who ploughed off the road and into a ditch. 7 more to hospital. The rooms we were staying in needed fumigating. 1 more to hospital with a severe reaction to bites. Field trip to beach. 1 more to hospital after slipping on rocks and breaking leg. On the final night everybody sneaked out and went to the pub. 3 arrested due to fight with inbred locals, 1 taken to hospital to have guts pumped after too much booze.

There were more casualties, but I can't remember what they were.
(, Thu 21 Apr 2005, 10:25, Reply)
Norfolk Broads
about 5 years ago, my dad decided a family holiday on the Norfolk Broads was the best thing for us. It was lovely, being able to moor up near a nice olde english pub and have a long, relaxing meal in the evenings. On one such evening, my dear old dad spotted a nice looking place, so we all get off the boat and wander along the country path. Had a lovely dinner, on the way back I spotted what looked like a drinks machine, just up from where out boat was moored. Drinks, no, cans of maggots, yes. My dad decided he'd like a can of them, not that he's ever been inclined to fish or anything. So, all the family gathered round to look at the squirming mass of blue, white and orange maggots. The novelty soon wore off.
Cut to the following morning, woken by a screaming sister. Daddy dearest had left said can of maggots on the top of the boat. I can only assume the can tipped over, because the little fuckers were everywhere. EVERYWHERE. In the beds, in our food, all over the floor and most importantly, in my hair. Generally ruining our holiday, as we spent the next four days constantly picking them out of our belongings. Also, the only radio station we could pick up was Radio 1. Says it all really.
(, Thu 21 Apr 2005, 10:38, Reply)
What's Got A Nut In Every Bite ?
For my sins, I was supervising a bunch of of Scouts camping in Norway way back in 1981 (don't ask !) and discovered that everything there is f'ing expensive (6quid for a pint of piss-weak beer!). Everything except peanuts. So that's all the little buggers bought.

So after a particularly heavy night of 'nut binge, we were on a coach to some glub-forsaken mountain, when one sprout decided to chuck-up.

All we had to contain the barf was a BIG clear plastic bag. So between the mass of peanut gobblers, bumpy roads, smell of combined vomit / peanuts, and sight of clear bag filling up with hurl, soon we had contributions from almost all 24 sprouts. Laugh ?, I almost choked !

Eventually, having emptied their stomachs, the bag was close to bursting, so we tied the top, persuaded the driver to stop, and we left it at the side of the road and drove off.

Returning eight hours later, the bag was still there. I wonder whatever happening to it ?
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 19:52, Reply)
Interrail, Greece, 1994
I was travelling with three girls through southern Europe and we came to a small town on the Peloponnes to meet some other friends from home who were travelling independent of us. We had coffee in the afternoon in a cafe in the town centre and one of the girls goes "My, that water tastes like aspirin!" Me, the happy camper that I am, volunteers to take it cause it was friggin hot and I was thirsty. Down it goes in one gulp. Half hour later, the dogpile starts feeling dizzy and sees things that should not be. "bzzzz what the f*ck was in that water?" Turns out it was a popular trick in Greece to seduce stupid foreign girls by dropping a "Greek pill" i.e. acid in their drink. Well, cue me for the first time high on LSD and first experience with psychoactive drugs in general.
Could have been nice you think. Sure it could have been. Thank you vevvy much. Someone decided to spend the night on a castle "how romantic" and stuff, and I was happilly tripping away, saw fireworks, many ants (turned out it was people 100 metres down the gorge, someone grabbed me before i could reach down to them), and was generally quite detached until....
A yell. Someone crying. Many people yelling. One of the girls had been bitten by a snake. And, tadaaa, here comes the horror trip. Rush to the hospital. Many people in white yelling incomprehensibly. I throw up in a sink. Someone calms me down, and tries to stop me panicking. Desperate yell from the exam room "Not in the belly, not in the belly!!" I see horrible scenes before me of doctors pushing huge blades into my friends' tummy. Doctor's face appears in my view (huge) and yells in broken English "Why didn't you catch snake!! We could have given proper antidote!" I panick even more. Pass out.

Next morning: I am lying on a park bench. Alone. A cafe owner takes pity on me and gives me a sandwich and some water. After stumbling around for half hour, I find my friends at the station. Cheerful smiles all around, and everybody is still alive! It turns out the snake was harmless, and the docs let her go after one hour observation and a couple of shots. I was simply forgotten on the way back to the camping site where our stuff was based. "What a night, eh? It was awesome!"
Yeah. Right.
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 16:19, Reply)
Naked Islamic sleepwalking
Mr Lizzle sleepwalks. Usually, if he gets out of our bed in the night, the movement wakes me up and I can usually calm him down and get him back to bed. It is, therefore, unfortunate that on a visit to Malaysia, we chose a hotel next to a mosque with rooms whose doors opened into a sort of open air corridor, with views for miles around.

The rooms only had twin beds, so when he got up, I didn't notice it. In his sleepwalking state, he became convinced that he was in the wrong room, with the wrong wife, and scarpered, naked, outside, locking himself out in the Islamic night.

After wandering around a bit, then becoming paranoid and spending a nervous quarter hour crouching in a bush, being bitten on the bits by mosquitos, he tried a cautious knock on the door he had come out of. I woke up and let him in - he, still unconvinced I was his wife (bless him - he often fails to wake up completely from these episodes), had to be taken into the bathroom and shown his sponge bag and favourite shaving gel before he would accept it was really his room, that we were really married and that it was four in the bloody morning and I really needed some sleep.

I love him really.
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 11:02, Reply)
School holiday
A school holiday to Vienna many years ago - you'd think that when they booked the holiday they might have checked certain things. Such as, is the hotel in the middle of the red light district and generally charges by the hour? Especially if you're taking a group from an all-girls school.

Though given the man who organised the trip was the man who said this on the way to the hotel:

"My, those are tall women!"
"Erm, Sir, those are drag queens..."
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 8:14, Reply)
It was a great holiday, but I got chilli on my cock
does this count?

seems to win every other fucking question of the week.
(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 2:06, Reply)
Stripey cat,we hardly knew ye
On holiday in Fuerteventura with two friends a few years back flying kites and stuff,we found that our apartment complex had its own collection of sort of tame cats.The reps warned us not to feed them or let them into our rooms.They reckoned without our love of cats,amplified many times by booze.So,one night after a heavy evening,we coaxed three or four of the little fellas in and gave them milk and stuff.Stripey cat was our most favourite,because of his ace stripes.I fell asleep with him on my chest....
....and woke up with the entire top of my bed covered in foul runny cat shite.And then the cleaner came in to do the floors.Thankfully she didn't come into my room.Stripey cat you ungrateful bastard.
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 10:05, Reply)
i once went on holiday to a landfill, but it was rubbish.
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 9:32, Reply)

On the first night of a trip to Germany I arrive back at the hotel after downing a shed load of beers. I managed to get all my clothes off and climb into bed.

All was fine untill a few hours later when I needed a piss, annoyed I stumble bleary eyed to the bathroom and hear the door click behind me. To my absoulute horror I now realise that I am standing in the corridor of a German hotel, naked with the door to my room locked behind me.

Shit, I thought two doors in my room and I pick the wrong one, and I still need to piss.

The only thing to do was to boldly walk down to reception and get them to let me back into my room.
I spent the rest of the weekend trying to avoid the girl on the front desk who had to deal with the pissed up naked Englishman.
(, Fri 22 Apr 2005, 6:52, Reply)
Absinthe + 'Space Mountain' = green spew

This is an apology to my sister I guess. I WAS 26 at the time that this occurred.

I had gone out to visit my sis during her placement year in France. So pleased were we to see each other that we embarked on alchopocalypse as soon as I arrived - little caring that we were off to EuroDisney the following morning.

I woke up with that Wow-I-feel-MUCH-better-than-I-expected feeling that inevitably morphs into Wow-I'm-actually-still-LEGLESS and we embarked on the two hour drive to the theme park... Once there I was compelled to purchase one of those sets of 'Mouseketeeer' ears that you normally only see on under-8's, jam them on my noggin and proceed directly, giggling like a hoon, to the biggest rollercoaster on site - 'Space Mountain'.

In the queue I was, INEXPLICABLY, overcome with nausea. 20 feet from the front I produced a veritable GEYSER of green absinthe vomit, wiped my mouth, jammed my 'Mickey' ears back on and, I'm told, totally failed to register the multitude of disgusted and offended parents/children around me.

Little wonder that my shamefaced (younger) sibling spent the rest of the day claiming that the giggling spew-covered man-child accompanying her was 'differently-abled' and she was 'my carer'.
(, Mon 25 Apr 2005, 16:23, Reply)
Not that bad really ...
Like anyone I've had a few iffy moments on hols. The ones I remember:
* Realising that I didn't have any money on me on the ferry over to Zambia and having to sneak onto a bus (where I was the only white person) without paying.
* Overstaying my visa and pulled off a bus 50ks out of town for a chat with the customs guy. Watching said bus (which comes every three days) leave was very sad
* Noticing that my tent in Germany (in Oct) was not in fact waterproof.
* Starting to think that the guy leading me through the back sts of a fishing village in Senegal might be a bit dodgy.
* Being threatened by my driver in Severe cause I wanted to be dropped in Mopti instead.
* Coming down with a fever in Peruivan jungle with my guide trying to get into my pants.
* Condom breakage with slutty Mauritanian dude
* Not speaking the language at all and no one speaking yours
* Going to the toliet in the desert
* 20 people in a Land Cruiser and some sheep on the roof.
* 12 hours straight of Celine Dion thanks to lift giving truckie
* Running out of petrol, having to walk 7ks into town (got a lift back) then having the engine die 30ks out of town, hitch to next town, get it fixed, they don't put bonnet down prop so it flys up, detach bonnet, jump on it to bend back, cue bus load of tourists
* Realising that your bus doesn't have any brakes
* Jordanian guy driving like a mad thing to scare us "oh and one of my friends plunged over this ravine only last week"
* Running out of money
* Being threatened by fake coppers in Bucherest
* Staying in a "hostel" in Cairo that should have been condemned with a girl who slept with a stray cat tied to her bed
* Opening the fly to my tent and having a couple pull up an armchair to watch me like a tv
Actually its getting a bit long so that'll do.
(, Mon 25 Apr 2005, 15:23, Reply)
A monster ate my fortune...
A few years ago I was on holiday in Mexico, which was going particularly excellent as I had just won 20000 pesos (2000 American dollars) in a hotel raffle.

Happy as a lark, I skipped through the sandy flats nearby, holding my winning ticket with pride. I tripped over something, and suddenly couldn't find it.

(, Sun 24 Apr 2005, 22:19, Reply)
Canadians just don't trust foreigners.
While I was visiting in Canada last year I was writing for this crappy website and had set up an interview and live review for the band Nashville Pussy. I got there and had my passport (no drivers licence and therefore only form of ID) with me to get in thinking that would be enough. I got to the ticket guy and tell him "we're on the list". He finds our names and asks for my ID to which I bring out my passport. He looks at it and says "and the other one?" I ask "what other one?". Apparently you need 2 forms of ID to get in anywhere where theres alcohol. "This is a passport. I got into the country, through immigration, through border checks with this, but I can't get into this club?"
So I go outside and I spot some policemen carting off some drunken offenders and stroll up to them, explain my situation and ask if theres anything they can do to help. One of them has a look at my passport asks me to raise my right hand and put my left over my heart and "repeat after me".
After I went through the whole "I will uphold the laws of this country" etc, etc the 2 policemen then escort me into the club. I was treated very well but with some contempt by the patrons.
(, Sun 24 Apr 2005, 17:29, Reply)
I was young and naive
I was about 11, and there was this lovely Welsh girl that we met. We got on well, but she kept asking me if I wanted to go for a walk. I was getting enough exercise in the swimming pool I told her.

(, Sat 23 Apr 2005, 11:48, Reply)

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