Went to Poland to climb a mountain...
...with a certifiable bunch of lunatics. Looking after us was a geography teacher who presumed that 17 year-old lads could probably look after themselves. He was - just about - right.

Highlights included the fussiest eater in the world - he survived on a diet of boiled rice and 'mint chocolate'. He knew it was mint as it was in a green wrapper. The huge picture of hazelnuts on the outside naturally failed to ring any bells. His joy at discovering a MacDonald's was matched only by the depths of depression when he realised he didn't know the Polish for "I have a phobia of sauce", meaning he couldn't order anything ("Foreign chips have sauce on them. I read it once.")

Then there was the kid who, for reasons best known to himself, had bought a military-issue torch. Whilst brilliant for spotting enemy aircraft five miles away, the precise benefit of it escaped us until he became paranoid that somebody in the next room in a hostel was staring through a knothole in the wood - his plan was to blind them. Sadly they weren't staring at us, but five minutes of the intense beam shining back through the hole and roaming around like the eye of Mordor led to complaints and an undignified exit at two in the morning.

The bloke with the dear of heights naturally waited until reaching the top of the highest mountain we could find before bothering to mention it.

Then there were the 'charity' aspects. According to the letter we received thanking us, Polish cancer sufferers will receive much better care for our efforts. Seeing as our efforts mostly involved getting drunk with the local lumberjacks, throwing a Japanese woman fully clothed into a swimming pool, naked trampolining and teaching the kids new and inventive swearwords, Polish cancer care at that point was clearly lacking.

Finally, there was me.

Firstly I was got too enthusiastic saying 'goodbye' to my girlfriend at a party in some woodland. Brambles and foreskins are not natural bedfellows, and so I travelled with a healthy supply of anti-septic cream and a recurring nightmare I'd wake up to find my willy had turned green.

Then I decided to dive into a mountain lake. I hadn't noticed the icebergs. The hypothermia nearly killed me.

Finally I celebrated my birthday a little too wildly. After a few vodkas, I seem to have decided to sample the delights of the Polish railway network. My 'friends' happily waved me on my way, convinced I'd get off at the next stop and travel straight back. Unfortunately I got on an express...

The police were very good, once they'd realised that I was trying to explain that I could only order beer in Polish, and that I wasn't confusing them with barmen. They even drove me back to my hotel, 60 miles away, and only fined me £20 - which means I saved money on the combined fares for a taxi and train home.

My teacher's comment? "You better not puke in Auschwitz this morning with that hangover. The head'll kill me if he ever heard about a pupil being ill there."

Apologies for, well, pretty much anything, really...
(psd eats stuff. Often., Tue 12 Dec 2006, 21:18, Reply)