Doorstep Shame
I went to a party at a Caravan park in a little place called Creeksea (sleepy coastal town in the East of England). It was towards the end of the peak season for the holiday campers and we had taken over three of these mobile homes off to one side of the park for our party.

There were about 20 people all together. All of them off their collective faces - drinking cheap cider, smoking weed and taking pills - People were sat around a fire strumming guitars and singing, playing bongos and generally making the most of one of the last few long summer evenings before Autumn/Winter kicks in.

So around 1am people start going home or crashing out in the caravans etc... at which point everything becomes a of a blur for me - I don't remember much until I woke up at about 5am on the porch outside one of these caravans.

My face is on the door mat which is covered in mud, my back hurts and I'm damp all over from the early morning condensation/dew (no luckily I hadn't pished my pants) and for some reason I don't have my wallet, phone or any cash with which to get home. Shit. So I stagger to my feet still half "off-tits" and burst thru the door of the caravan to try and find the bastards who took my wallet.

Shit. It turns out that at somepoint in the night I had wandered off to another part of the caravan park and promptly fallen asleep on the doorstep of a complete strangers holiday home. I know this because there was a rather shocked looking white haired fat man having a wank in front of the TV set.

I mumbled something incoherently like the sweaty drug feind I was and exited the caravan mumbling like an idiot and leave the bloke to finish off. I couldn't find my way back to the party so had to walk 3 miles home thru muddy fields to get home.

Good times, good times. . .
(aroe_m0rre, Fri 29 Dec 2006, 10:13, Reply)