Where is the strangest place you have slept?
'lardaholics anonymous' was bored and started a new question over in the old question, so the least we can do is make it official. What with New Year's celebrations coming up, asking for the strangest place you have slept is nicely appropriate too.
In case you are wondering, Portsmouth beach in the fog. Very strange waking up to that.
( , Fri 29 Dec 2006, 8:57)
'lardaholics anonymous' was bored and started a new question over in the old question, so the least we can do is make it official. What with New Year's celebrations coming up, asking for the strangest place you have slept is nicely appropriate too.
In case you are wondering, Portsmouth beach in the fog. Very strange waking up to that.
( , Fri 29 Dec 2006, 8:57)
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Well, either
a horrendously uncomfortable folding chair in a squalid, freezing squat located in a village just beside the back of beyond.
And I mean literally freezing; when I awoke at around 3am my vomit had frozen to my face and needed to be chipped off. The idiot owners had locked me in and left but a crappy knitted blanket to stave off death by exposure, so I broke a window to escape, stealing a 2 litre bottle of gin on my way out. I walked the 5 miles home through fields, thickets and scary woods in some of the thickest fog known to man, with only my phone's crappy LED light to guide me.
It was that or in the boughs of a dead tree, on top of a small mountain which had hosted a good friend's 18th. What launched it into the realms of the genuinely surreal was the fact that I'd attempted to pitch my tent in said tree, failed, and simply used the groundsheet as a makeshift blanket. That and noting that some joker had tied various prophylactics (most of them used) to my tree's branches. Lovely sight first thing in the morning.
Quality not quantity(!)
( , Sat 30 Dec 2006, 21:31, Reply)
a horrendously uncomfortable folding chair in a squalid, freezing squat located in a village just beside the back of beyond.
And I mean literally freezing; when I awoke at around 3am my vomit had frozen to my face and needed to be chipped off. The idiot owners had locked me in and left but a crappy knitted blanket to stave off death by exposure, so I broke a window to escape, stealing a 2 litre bottle of gin on my way out. I walked the 5 miles home through fields, thickets and scary woods in some of the thickest fog known to man, with only my phone's crappy LED light to guide me.
It was that or in the boughs of a dead tree, on top of a small mountain which had hosted a good friend's 18th. What launched it into the realms of the genuinely surreal was the fact that I'd attempted to pitch my tent in said tree, failed, and simply used the groundsheet as a makeshift blanket. That and noting that some joker had tied various prophylactics (most of them used) to my tree's branches. Lovely sight first thing in the morning.
Quality not quantity(!)
( , Sat 30 Dec 2006, 21:31, Reply)
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