Escalation...
A few years ago some friends and I went to Reading Festival. Naturally we arrived incredibly late, as is our way, and the camp site was full. The only space we could find was not in one of the fields, but just over the track that ran around the outside, on a reed bed, next to a ditch that separated one site from another. Others had also done this, so while most of our tents were together, my mate Tom's was further down the way (we didn't mind too much as Tom's tent was ancient, one of the old triangular scout-style ones that I think may actually previously have belonged to his dad).

Anyhoo, next evening we're all sitting around a fire outside Tom's tent, recovering after a frankly horrific trip into Reading town for a McShit (more about that another time, if the QotW topic is ever 'the most vile, shaming scatalogical thing you've ever experience'). The evening is balmy, we can hear the bands playing, we're a bit drunk and we're excited about the imminent rocking of our socks.

So when an empty plastic bottle sails over the canal from the campsite on t'other side, we naturally pick it up and throw it back over. Bloody litter louts! But a few seconds later it returns. So back it goes, this time accompanied by a few cans from our own impressive arsenal of empties.

Well, as I'm sure many of you can guess, things got out of hand rather quickly. Within a few minutes there were literally hundreds of people on either side and it was raining plastic. All good fun. We were kinda chuffed that we'd help start this pseudo-battle to the death. But then, as happens with large groups of chemically-aided revellers, it went too far...

First some of the smaller bottles were filled with urine. Then some of the larger bottles. Then came the poo. Our resolve, already faltering at this point (not that we smelled of roses, but we really didn't want to cover our BO with the reek of piss), failed, and back up the track to our tents we ran. There we sat, safely out of the line of fire, cracked a few beers and settled down to watch Tom's tent (and Tom) getting a drenching. Highlight had to be when one of those massive 20-odd litre bottles sailed over and slammed straight into the side of his tent. Damn near knocked it over. Wasn't full of course, but there was still a good 4-5 pints of wee in it.

A few hours later Tom stomped back up to us, not looking like a happy chappy. And smelling, how shall we say, a little fruity? As we started to amble over towards the stages together, we discussed how impressive it was to not only hurl the enormous piss-bomb over but to fill it was well!

Oh how we chuckled
( kappynitty doubled your entendre on, Mon 21 Dec 2009, 12:36, 1 reply)

I love this
If there's one thing festivals are good at organising, it's bottle fights

*clickety*
(random_monkey Dosadno mi e, Mon 21 Dec 2009, 13:11, closed)