"Where the bloody hell did this come from?"
It was the autumn of '91 and I was attending University in the infamously debauched city of Newcastle.
Of the night in question I remember very little.
A fleeting memory of some attractive local girl telling me to "fuck off".
Some guy extinguishing his cigarette on my arm while laughing.
And then a blank...
A deeper darkness...

I awoke totally confused.
I still had my clothes on, including my shoes, my head felt like a lump of rock, my arms were like lead, I could barely lift them … and both myself and my bed was covered in a fine layer of sand.

"Where the bloody hell did this come from?" said my welsh student flat mate downstairs in a rather loud and annoyed voice.
"Uh oh", I thought.
The guy was built like a brick shithouse and, stereotypically, played rugby and had very little patience for shenanigans.

I heard them all go out and timidly decided to see what drunken trophy I had brought back from the previous nights escapades.

It was a traffic cone.
Which is a bit of a student cliché.

However, it wasn't your standard traffic cone.
It was one of those very large yellow striped motorway ones with a tonne of sand in the bottom of it.

I had set it atop the table in the centre of the room and the top very nearly touched the ceiling.

As there were no roadworks for miles around none of us could work out where I had picked it up.

It took two of us to lift the damn thing off the table and put it in the garden.
( coder.keitaro I like pies!, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 14:27, 1 reply)

Wait, wait...
...you brought home A TRAFFIC CONE? And not just that, but a REALLY BIG ONE!

You're kidding!! OMG.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Fri 27 Apr 2012, 15:33, closed)