Sleepwalking
A friend of mine once cooked an entire meal for two in her sleep, ate the lot and washed-up before going back to bed.
She has also awoken to find herself naked, on a fire escape in Fulham, confronted by two burly - and not to mention excitable - officers of the Metropolitan Police.
She doesn't even live in Fulham.
( , Wed 22 Aug 2007, 22:21)
A friend of mine once cooked an entire meal for two in her sleep, ate the lot and washed-up before going back to bed.
She has also awoken to find herself naked, on a fire escape in Fulham, confronted by two burly - and not to mention excitable - officers of the Metropolitan Police.
She doesn't even live in Fulham.
( , Wed 22 Aug 2007, 22:21)
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Oh, God...
I was at a house party a few years ago, hosted by two guys at one of their parents' house, where they were both living at the time.
After a night of extremely heavy drinking, around 10 of us passed out on, under and around the various sofas, chairs, rugs and pianos in the living room.
We were woken unexpectedly early the next morning by a bloodcurdling scream from the host's mother, followed by the living room door opening and 'PETER*. Get. Out. Here. NOW!'
As we all stirred from our stupors, rubbed our eyes and exchanged worried looks, the continued sound of his mother's fury seeped through the door.
Some minutes later, with a look on his face which I find myself unable to describe to this day, Peter reappeared.
It transpired that someone had got up in the middle of the night and shat in his extremely middle class mother's shoe hamper.
Nobody was willing to own up immediately, and it was only when one of our group returned from the bathroom that he identified himself as the culprit.
He had no recollection of the event, but sometimes a skidmark can speak a thousand words.
*Name changed to protect me from the relatively innocent
( , Thu 23 Aug 2007, 13:46, Reply)
I was at a house party a few years ago, hosted by two guys at one of their parents' house, where they were both living at the time.
After a night of extremely heavy drinking, around 10 of us passed out on, under and around the various sofas, chairs, rugs and pianos in the living room.
We were woken unexpectedly early the next morning by a bloodcurdling scream from the host's mother, followed by the living room door opening and 'PETER*. Get. Out. Here. NOW!'
As we all stirred from our stupors, rubbed our eyes and exchanged worried looks, the continued sound of his mother's fury seeped through the door.
Some minutes later, with a look on his face which I find myself unable to describe to this day, Peter reappeared.
It transpired that someone had got up in the middle of the night and shat in his extremely middle class mother's shoe hamper.
Nobody was willing to own up immediately, and it was only when one of our group returned from the bathroom that he identified himself as the culprit.
He had no recollection of the event, but sometimes a skidmark can speak a thousand words.
*Name changed to protect me from the relatively innocent
( , Thu 23 Aug 2007, 13:46, Reply)
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