It's Not What It Looks Like!Cawl wrote two years ago, "People seem to have a knack for walking in at just the wrong time:
"Well, my clothes got wet, so did his... Yes, officer, huddling together to conserve body heat... Yes officer, he's five... No Officer... I'm not his Dad."
What have you done that, in retrospect, you'd really rather nobody had seen, mostly as things just get worse the more you try to explain it?
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chthonic, Thu 9 Dec 2010, 21:56)
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I can explain...This may be a pea, apologies if so.
Way back in May 1992, I was a first year student enjoying life on campus at the end of the summer term. It was Saturday, and I was keen to watch the Pilkington Cup Final, but sadly, sharing a hall as I did with a bunch of Northern ruffians, found that the big TV in the JCR was showing something called the Challenge Cup Final instead. Undeterred, I asked my neighbour if I could borrow his telly to watch the game - this wasn't a problem, he explained, but as he was going out for the night, he'd leave me his room key, and I was to stash it in a known secret hiding place in our shared bathroom.
As everybody will know, Bath went on to win a classic with an injury-time drop goal from Stuart Barnes, and life was good. Flushed with victory, I wandered across to a friend's hall of residence across campus, where a small gang had agreed to meet for drinks and the formulating of a plan. Said plan never actually materialised, as more and more beers and the contents of various bottles were quickly seen off, since it was a hot summer's day, and everybody was quite thirsty.
I must have been more parched than most, as I found myself waking up to discover the room not quite as I left it. The music and conversation had ended, all the girls had gone, leaving me and an acquaintance sleeping on the floor, and the inhabitant's bed full of peanuts and a fat ginger Welshman. As I went to leave, I found the door to be firmly locked, sending me into an indignant drunken rage. After considering my options, I decided that the obvious form of retribution would be to confiscate all my friend's underwear as payback, so stuffed my pockets with every bra, G-string and pair of panties I could find.
Escape was effected by exiting through the second floor window, creeping sideways along the outside wall and shinning down a drainpipe (probably best I don't think about that too much), and I was almost home and dry. Unfortunately, when I made it back to my own room, I found that I didn't have my own key, and the vague memory filtered through that I'd gallantly offered it to my friend earlier in the night when her bed was made uninhabitable by peanuts and fat ginger Welshmen. She'd clearly not taken me up on the offer (or was ignoring my pounding on the door), so I stopped to consider my options.
Brainwave! I suddenly remembered that I'd left my own window ajar to keep my room cool - it was two storeys above an overhang, so safe from intruders from below, but should be easy enough to get into from my neighbour's room... which of course I had a key to. Everything's going to be OK after all...
So, Dr Jon Hind, if you're reading this, THAT'S why you came back at 3 in the morning one weekend to find me stood in the middle of your room looking like a mobile lingerie shop/pervert Japanese businessman. Apologies again to you and your lady friend for any distress caused.
(, Fri 10 Dec 2010, 9:58, 1 reply)
Japes, you scoundrel.(, Sat 11 Dec 2010, 4:11, closed)
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