Not so much me... well I was there...
When I was in third year high school (Is that year 10 for our English brethren?), my high school introduced an "activity week", during the period when the years above would be taking their exams. One could choose from daily activities ranging from chess to step class to cooking to football, or weekly activities such a trip to Alton Towers, an art project of some kind or a hostelling and hillwalking trip. I was then in Scouts and so signed up right away for the hostelling and hillwalking: it sounded great, the chance to go up a Munro, and visit Ayr and Glasgow and Pitlochry. Plus being in S3, we'd be the top dog-cool kids compared to the wee S1 and S2 kids, so a bunch of us signed up for it.

With about six teachers to look after us, we bussed it all the way from the north of Scotland to Ayr, and into the youth hostel. After playing some rounders and some walks around the beach, we boys braved the the older girls dorm. Wouldn't you know, they had a shitload of booze with them - Mad Dog 20/20, Hooch, cider, maybe even some vodka. After partaking, everything went silly, dancing to the music from a pair opf headphones, girls flapping up their tshirts, exposing (trainer) bras and saying "What's everyone looking at?", drunken snogging, more drunken snogging, and maybe some more adolescent drunken snogging. (You know the kind where everybody's going round everybody else? It was like that).

Next day, we drove to the leisure centre, went ice-skating, went in the fun pool and slides and then went to the cinema. Happily, in the evening, there was more alcohol. The teacher in charge, who I'll call Mr Graham, was a big bastard, an ex-rugby player with a massive nose and moustache. Our dorm was still being noisy when we'd been ordered to go to sleep (having done the toothpaste-on-the-pillow trick to some unlucky sod), so he burst in wearing a pair of paisley Y-fronts and a head torch, demanding we GO TO SLEEP. Dumbstruck, we did so.

Wednesday we went to Glasgow, where we went "shopping", i.e. ran around shopping centres being annoying little bastards then went to McDonalds, then drove to the next hostel in Pitlochry. We pooled our cash together, got the oldest-looking girl to put on a bit of slap and then went to the cheapest looking booze shop. RESULT! Twenty cans of cider and a bottle of vodka. The small sleepy town of Pitlochry that night was visited as though by a rampaging group of adolescents, throwing empty cans at passing cars/people and cider up the back of passing strangers, running amok with ghetto-blaster blaring, and generally being can't-handle-their-booze young-pup arseholes. Back at the hostel grounds, there was more groupy-groupy-feely-feely, then back at the girls dorm one of the teachers came up to tell us to BE QUIET.

Trouble was, he was already drunk, slurring, and Australian. So other kids were behind him, giving the "tosser" and "V" signs, rather limiting the effect of his speech. Then other (slightly more sober) teachers came up, trying to find two of the girls. They weren't to be found. And for good reason: they were with some local likely lads, being given knee-tremblers up some back alley (ahem). Which meant Mr Graham the next day had to take them to the doctors for some morning-after pills.

Next day, hungover, we climbed a big fucking mountain.

Friday we went home.

Good times.
(McChinaman banned, Tue 13 Sep 2011, 7:38, 1 reply)

I'd expect nothing less than this from Scots.
More exciting than my childhood, mind.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Tue 13 Sep 2011, 9:44, closed)