great way to celebrate a birthday......
my first experience of camping was in the gower penninsular with a neurotic welsh italian friend who had brought more kit for 1 night than 'go outdoors' has for the whole of the uk. She had arrived at the site earlier in the day and had pitched her 4-berth tent near the showerblock which didn't stop her poking her bare arse out of the tent at 3am in the morning because she couldn't be fagged to walk the 30 seconds to the loo. I was woken up at 6am I was woken up with 'sarah, sarah, there's a girl giving birth in the toilets!' Armed with tea-tree shower gel and a towel, I entered the block to see a young girl of about 14 at the entrance, sitting on a mickey mouse sleeping bag, nightshirt around her neck, straining for all she was worth. How the hell I was supposed to help (not having been in that situation or first aid trained (do they teach you that in first aid at work now?)) i don't know, but speaking to her mother I realised that she was due that day she was '17' as well as the 'boyfriend' who was nowhere in sight, the midwife said it was ok to go camping as 'you are always late on your first aren't you'. All the more reason to go camping at a site that was over 90 minutes away from a hospital and at a locked site where the gates weren't open until 8am. The girl couldn't hold on and gave birth 10 minutes into the journey. Needless to say that my welsh italian friend put all her camping stuff up for sale on e-bay after that.
( pottybeaver is neither a potty nor a beaver, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 23:30, Reply)

I went up Glastonbury Tor today
It was steep.
( Ungersven would support SpankyHanky's patreon, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 22:15, 4 replies)

Cheap Millets Tent
Took it on a Scout camp. In the middle of a rain storm it split in two across the middle. Had to sew it back together by torchlight in the pouring rain.

Yet I still took it with me the following year, when the holes the poles went through detached from the rest of the tent, dumping the whole thing on top of me once again. Fixed it with cut off ends of washing-up liquid bottles.

I loved that tent.
( chthonic, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 21:59, Reply)

Branded a liar
What do you call a vertical rock face that's around 15-20 feet high?
To my nine-year-old self, it was a cliff. Later I became all too aware that word conjures something altogether more impressive from the imagination.

My brother and I used to spend every other weekend at our Dads. Unless there was something going on worth sticking around for, we would wander / play around in the woods near his house. One such day we were making our way along the banks of the river derwent and when we got to an inside bend, the bank formed into a ledge so we climbed up to the very steep wooded bank above and carefully continued. Not carefully enough I found upon losing my footing in big clumsy wellies.

My feet slipped from under me and I belly-flopped onto the ground, at once winding myself and beginning to slide backwards down the steep autumnal bank. All I really remember now is the flashing browns of the forest floor and the sensation of sliding over the rough ground before the fall became smooth and black momentarily. The next thing was slamming onto my back and lying motionless in swirling blue as I felt the freezing water washing over me and gently pulling me deeper.

I say that's all I remember because that's the visions and sensations that visited my nightmares well into my teens. As much of a prick as my brother can be, he actually did save my life that day by pulling me out of that river before I drowned. How I got away with nothing more than shock and a few scrapes i'll never know. I've gone back there since I grew up and still can't believe I walked away from it.

It was a while before I told anyone at school, but when I did I made an unfortunate choice of word. I spent about two years being known as Cliffy Bullshit.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 21:51, 1 reply)

Sure, I'd love to blow up some caravans
My parents had this nasty habit of taking us caravaning.

One time, we wound up in North Wales. The caravan was parked up in a fairly crowded campsite (otherwise known as a field with a cesspit and a tap) in a valley. I might have possibly stood some chance of being able to enjoy and appreciate this a bit better if I hadn't been horribly constipated.

Fed up with this state of affairs, I resolved to do something about it, so I went off to the chemical toilet we had in the usual little porta potty-style tent next to the caravan and sat there straining away for about ten minutes. Unbeknown to me, the toilet had recently been emptied, and was sat astride a dip in the ground. This meant that when the compacted turd landed in the toilet's tank there was nothing to deaden the impact and it made a sound rather like someone throwing half a brick into a bucket. I swear I could hear it echoing down the valley. I sat there rather embarassed for another five minutes thinking that they must have heard that in Cardiff.

Length? Not much, but it helped.
(An eejit passing by in a purple satin skirt with sparkly bits, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 21:26, Reply)

just last wednesday
me and my sister over at cannock chase. within minutes both of us had been sent flying over the handlebars of our bikes thanks to a hidden ditch at the end of the car park.

after she got tired/worried she wouldnt be able to find her way back to the car we turned back. she ended up leaving her phone on the roof of the car as she put her bike on the back of the car.

she didn't realize until after we got back to her house so she quickly chucked all our gear into the house and chained our bikes up in her garden before somehow managing to lock us out of her house.

after driving back to look for her phone i got a call from an ambulance driver that had found it and took it back to the hospital she worked at (which luckily was the same hospital my sister and her fiance work at) so she had to ring him and explain that her phone has at the ambulance office and could he go get. we then drove back to her house and sat in her car on the drive watching the lion king and waiting for her fiance to come home from work to let us in.

the moral of the story? we should have just rode follow the dog
( Reme Philips laid an epic dump on, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 20:56, 2 replies)

Derwent water island
A lazy summer in 2002 my mates and I decided to go camping on one of the islands on Derwent Water, which is the lake next to Keswick in the Cumbrian lake district. We were quite a adventurous group as we all met in air cadets (Sounds sad but we got to shoot rifles and we even got to do aerobatics in a little 2 seater plane at RAF Leeming).

Any how we all set off in two cars and arrived at a small marina on the lake that my mate Stu had been working at over the summer. The plan was to take his parents small yacht (we are not posh honest!) and have a leisurely sail over to one of the islands then set up camp. The only problem was my mate had forgotten the keys for said yacht. While we were thinking ‘oh shit’ Stu had the brain wave of borrowing one of the small wooden dinghies which had a tiny onboard motor but could only carry about 3 people at a time. Not too bad, we would just make a few trips and hopefully be across before it got too late.

My self, my mate Dan with Stu driving set sail across the lake in the dinghy, all was going well until about ¾ of the way across when I realised the dinghy was rapidly taking on water and conveyed my findings to captain Stu who explained the good news that its not water but in fact petrol from the onboard that was filling up the bathtub like craft. Cue panic - if the dinghy managed not to explode it didn’t look like we would make it back, especially with the lack of oars on board.

Luckily we managed to drift the rest of the way to the island and made it to dry land, random luck would have it some guy was sailing past and Stu shouted, asking him for a tow back to the marina. Stu got the tow back and left me and Dan on the island.

Not too bad we thought, setting up the BBQ on the ‘beach’ part and cracking open a beer. An hour or two past and the light was fading quick. We spotted a small dot on the horizon which turned out to be my mate and the repaired dinghy (we found out later it was a simple task of duct taping a split petrol pipe on the engine and the minimum amount of petrol you can buy at a garage is exactly one sprite bottle full).

Accompanying him were our FOUR other mates, the bags we couldn’t fit in the first time, a crate of beer and my mates dog. I am pretty sure the edge of the dinghy was flush with the water and how the hell it didn’t sink with that much weight I will never know.

The sun had just about set at this point, so we finished off what was left of the BBQ and headed inland to set up camp. The middle of the island was very very dark and full of daddy long legs for some reason: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crane_fly

We set the tents up, build a huge fire, and proceeded to get stupidly drunk/stoned while making a lot of noise.
At about 4 in the morning I see a ghostly figure in the trees coming towards us but pass it off as a side effect of the intoxicants I had been consuming, well that was until the ghostly figure scared the crap out of me by being very much real, very much telling us to be quite and very much being a ‘God camp leader’ who had taken his troop for some nice wholesome camping on what they thought was a deserted island in a picturesque part of the lake district.

We decided to get some sleep at the point and just as we got into the tents the heavens opened and a thunderstorm started, which set my mates dog off into howl mode which it did for the rest of the night.

In the morning we got up and quickly realised the kids from the Christian camp had bivvy bagged (sleeping without a tent in an individual canvass condom type thing) right behind large fallen tree next to our camp. The poor kids had got no sleep because they had been too busy shitting themselves as to who the fuck we were and what we were doing (remember they thought they had this island to themselves that night), it was only chance that one of the leaders had come from the other side of the island at 4 in the morning to check on the kids, then heard us and told us to quieten down.

So that’s the best camping trip I ever had.

I’m new so be gentle,

Length – very long but thankfully not that wet.
(pandaparty, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 20:41, 1 reply)

( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 20:30, 3 replies)

Just a quiet night's sleep please
We were (and remain) a very impractical family. We very much liked the Nature, in theory (we had never tried camping), but when I was 13 we finally decided to give car camping a try. Given free reign to set the itinerary, I planned that we'd hit all the major national parks of the American Southwest in just four days, but I didn't quite grasp that these scenic places were located very, very far apart from one another.

First night was supposed to be at the Grand Canyon, but our lackadaisical pace didn't keep up with my ambitions. The sun set long before we got to Flagstaff, Arizona, the nearest large town to the Canyon (but which is still some distance away). So, the first decision was, do we press on, or camp outside of town? We drove through a crowded campground - the only easily-identifiable one on my roadmap - but there was no space for us. Reluctantly, we pressed on.

At Grand Canyon Village, there was no space either. Tourist season was in full swing and every campsite was full. But at 11 p.m. we finally located an undesirable spot at the distant end of a trailer park and pitched our tent. We ate a hasty meal, and collapsed.

At 6 a.m., a stupendous whine and clatter woke us all up. Panic-stricken, we stumbled outside. We were camped adjacent to the Grand Canyon Heliport! Every tourist in the world wanted to see a Grand Canyon sunrise, but from the air! Our rest was over!
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 19:12, 5 replies)

Big Bear Chase...
Big b..b..bear!

(erm.. De-RIS here www.imdb.com/title/tt0095253/)

haven't seen this in ages!
( DanGleeballs Moist people don't notice spelling errors..., Thu 29 Mar 2012, 18:45, Reply)

I pretty much grew up in the Great Outdoors.
As a kid in the Adirondacks in the 1960s and 70s, I had a lot of time to myself in the woods. I spent many hours playing with chipmunks, and got to know a lot about white tailed deer by hanging out with them. I can identify a fair number of bird species and tell you a lot about the ecology in the Adirondacks, based partly on having gone to college for Forestry but mainly on my own observations.

I can build a fire easier than anyone else I know. I can construct a crude but serviceable shelter out of things I find in the woods. I know of a lot of edible plants in that part of the world, and have learned well how to track things through the woods. I don't think I'm quite up to living off the land, but I can certainly make myself comfortable in the woods.

And why did I develop such an interest?

See, my parents bought land up there when I was an infant, and began building a house there in 1967. By 1970 we had a second house underway that was habitable within the year. This meant that every weekend and every summer for about as long as I can remember was spent there, working on the buildings or cutting firewood or whatever needed to be done. So I spent a hell of a lot of time in close proximity with my three sisters and Mom.

You know how a group of women living together will have their menstrual cycles synchronize? Well, there were certain times when regardless of the weather it was best to go find an isolated corner of the woods and hide.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 29 Mar 2012, 18:10, 4 replies)

Pow. Right in the kisser.
I've mentioned this story before on a QOTW ages ago, but I'm retelling it because it still amuses me years on.

It's 1990, me and two friends are tooling around North America in a clapped out and ancient Audi, sleeping in an even more clapped out and ancient canvas tent. It was a two-man tent. Three people were just possible, if you slept top-to-tail and didn't move. At all.

I'd drawn the short straw of the double-feet end, with my head at the closed end of the tent. We'd been warned about keeping food in our tent, about how it attracts big bad furry animals, but the car had been broken into the week before and we weren't having our Doll noodle stash nicked again, so I had all the food down my end too.

So there we were sleeping off an evening beers, camping halfway up a mountain in Canada, just where Sculley gets abducted by aliens in The X Files in fact, when I'm raised to a semi-conscious state by movement by my head. With a groggy "awww fuck off" I swat at the movement. I make a suprisingly solid contact with something warm, furry and slightly wet. There's a yelp.

Instantly all three of us are more awake and more sober than we've even been at 3am. There's a 2ft rip in the end of the tent. Outside, down the slope in the moonlight is a dazed looking racoon.

I think it's the only fight I've ever won.
( chthonic, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 18:06, 3 replies)

Drugs = Bad, Camping on drugs = Good!
Cast your mind back to the early days of this millenium, the Suga Babes were storming the charts and still on their first lineup and people were still inexplicably listening to Dido and Blue. Obviously, the best escape from this level of manufactured inanity the most sensible course of action for a young Keios and his friends living in the south of England was to find a nice obliging campsite in the New Forest and go off for a weekend camping while smashed out of our gourds.
Fast forward a day and we'reall nicely settled into our campsite (conveniently placed well away from all the sensible, normal folk thanks to a friend who worked at the site) when someone pulls out some acid. Needless to say, being sensible, smart young people we all partook. A few hours later as dusk begins to settle, someone has the bright idea that as we had a fire pit, we should really have a fire going. Enthusiastically we gather up enough fallen branches and dead leaves for a moderate blaze, then go to light it.
And fuck all happens.
Confused, but not put off by this turn of events we continue to try and light it, to no avail. For about 30 minutes. After this time, I stand back and run my hands through my hair, mildly exasperated. "Huh?" I wonder "What's this weird feeling in my hands?" as I was still tripping balls.
"Holy shit!" I exclaim loudly "I'm wet!"
"What?" comes the cry from the others.
"Yeah, I'm fucking soaking!" I say, before realising that in fact, EVERYTHING is soaking and it is, in fact, pissing with rain.
turns out we had been so focussed on getting our fire started that out tiny drug-soaked brains had managed to block out everything else, including the fact that we were now stood in a field getting sodden. However I have it on very good authority that the elderly couple camping in the next field had spent the entire 30 minutes or so we had been trying to light a fire in the rain watching us and pissing themselves laughing, so I figure it wasn't an entirely wasted experience.
(Keios, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 17:40, 1 reply)

Camping in Oman
My dad's an engineer, and has lived all round the world, including stints in several of the less rabid Middle East countries.

Oman is a great place for scenery. Mountain ranges (Jebels), valleys (Wadis) make for a really interesting drive around a country largely untouched by buildings or permanent roads.

In order to get a bit further out into the rocky wilderness, we decided to drive much further out than normal, to have a look further afield, set up camp overnight, and drive back the next day.

So there was two or three families, each in a 4X4 - we set off and drove a few hundred miles off road, then plonked down, built a very very small fire out of what was essentially kindling, and settled down with some sandwiches and water from the cool box. Eventually it was time to call it a night and get into out tents.

But, I was sharing a tent (with my sister) and the desert heat, combined with two bodies in there, proved too much to bear on the comfort stakes, and so we dragged the mattress out of the tent to sleep under the stars.

Now, this being the desert, there was practically no humidity at all, and very littl epollution.
I have never seen as many stars in the sky as I have that night.
The stars were simply spectacular.
But not as spectacular as the leonids were.
Hundreds and hundreds of tiny mini-meteors arced above us, vaporising into light in their final moments burning up through the earth's atmosphere. There was just far too many to count, arriving from a few a minute to one a second in frequency.

Absolutely fantastic, and I have only ever seen more than one meteor at a time on one other occasion (Budapest).
Then for added amusement, one of the fuses went in the 4x4 on the way home, so the A.C didn't work, and the electric windows couldn't be wound down. Nothing quite like travelling over a rocky desert with four people in the vehicle, with the bare minimum of air circulation in +35c heat!
(SigourneysBeaver took off and nuked the entire site from orbit on, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 17:26, Reply)

From the top of Pen y Fan in Wales...
With the sun still pelting down, it was a hard old slog up the mountain. And what did we do when we got there? Admire the view? Slap each others backs on a job well done? Nope. We threw stones down the side to see how far they'd roll.

"Hey guys! Look at this!" I shouted, heaving a large round boulder the size and shape of a car wheel over the edge. I fully expected it to fall about twenty yards and stop. Instead, it shot down the mountainside like shit from a goose gaining momentum as it went. About 1,000 feet below us there was a squad of soldiers (probably members of Hereford's finest SAS) on a mountain route march. Like a silent movie, we watched in horror as one of them pointed up the mountain at the guided missile approaching, and they scattered in all directions, quite literally for their lives.

For a full five minutes, the boulder of doom thundered on. At one stage it ripped through a flock of sheep, miraculously missing every one of the panicking beasts. Then it chased a horse for a full hundred yards before slamming into a dry stone wall, sending shards of shattered rock in all directions.

I thought it was the funniest thing I'd ever seen. The rest of my party did not, and offered to hand me over to the SAS for target practice. Kindly, despite a few choice words echoing up the mountainside ("You melon farming melon-farmer!"), they declined.

In summary: Don't throw big rocks at the SAS. They get cross.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 16:46, 6 replies)

A Camping Trip
Some time ago, I was camping with some mates, and it happened to be my birthday. We were spending the morning swimming and climbing at the estuary of a river, and it was a lovely sunny day so I decided to give myself a birthday treat, and took some acid.

I'd been swimming for a while, then as I felt the acid start to do its thing I returned to the beach, to lay on the sand and watch the gulls wheeling and soaring above me. Just as I was getting into this, I became aware of shouting: it seems that the tide had turned, and two girls who were still swimming found that they couldn't get back to the shore, due to the strong undertow.

So, with my brain fizzing I jumped in - still dressed - and with another's help managed to pull the girls back to shore. We decided that we'd all had enough of the river by now, so we headed back up the cliffs to the campsite. The combination of adrenaline from the rescue, and the blood pumping from climbing the steep path, meant that by the time I got back to my tent I was pretty damn mashed, barely able to hold a coherent conversation.

Which was a pity, because at that moment my girlfriend's rather straight-laced aunt and uncle - whose land we were camping on - popped up with a surprise birthday cake. Never has "Happy Birthday" seemed like such a long song, as I tried to keep it together and not let them see that my brains were dribbling out of my ears.

Not surprisingly, I remember that day VERY clearly...

</pearoast>
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 16:45, Reply)

Cheshire hike
For those of you in the scouts when you were little, in the cheshire area, might have been involved in. Similar to the Duke of Edinburgh award, its was a 2 day hike... but with a race like element. You were paired with a friend, and had to navigate from one place to the other, taking in a camping overnight stay

I was teamed with my friend Paul.

Come midday on the Sunday, Paul was complaining he needed a poo. He had complained about an hour earlier, but he was now walking like someone attempting a limbo. Seeing that he only had so much strength to hold in the brown cigar, I told him to make haste to the bushes near by and cut off a length of dirty spine.

But there was a problem. We had heard grape-vine stories where you had to destroy whatever you left behind. We had hear burning away your poo was best.

So Paul disappears behind a conifer on this kind of farm, slightly off the public footpath. 10 minutes passes, and I hear him calling my name. He needed help burning away the evidence.

Im not sure why - but i agreed.

I arrived to see him standing over a gigantic ever slo slightly shiny log. with a lot of toilet paper draped over it. We got out the Matches and began lighting it in earnest.

I couldn’t describe the smell. Burning toilet paper is bad enough, but toilet paper smeared in shit, is horrid.

Then, we quickly noticed that the toilet paper was burning away - leaving behind a now very hot a steamy log, The smell erupting from which was equal to what Andy Dufrain came across in the 500yrds of shit to freedom.

We realised at that point poo is not very flammable, and quickly got on our way.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 16:45, 3 replies)

I don't have a great outdoors story.
I'm in the firm belief that camping is for refugees and victims of natural disasters only.

So long as there is a hole in my foofoo, I will not reside in a tent.
(The Curse of Millhaven. Pretty little mouth underneath all the foaming, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 16:39, 1 reply)

Have you ever seen your own testicles? Not the ball sack... Your actual nuts?
My mate Phil has.

Running full tilt down a steep hill when he was a nipper noticed that he was about to plough into a barbed wire fence. Rather than trying to stop he decided he could vault it. He was wrong. As he describes it,"I pretty much slid down the length of that wire on my nuts."

Fortunately they were able to sew everything back into place but he has a VERY nasty scar that runs from his barse down his inside leg. He say's when he was a teen it was an interesting talking point whenever he got a new girl into bed.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 16:06, 10 replies)

Chinos
Last year went camping with a few other families for the August Bank Holiday. I purchased some wonderfully bright cream chino's especially for the event.

The tent went up a treat, the campfire was roaring and the lukewarm beer was flowing. The chino's looked just the part. A few beers later and I felt, what I thought would be a rather audible botty cough coming. Hoping for a fantastic humerous response I offered my finger to my fellow campers to pull.

Upon pulling I squeezed with all my might, to get the best sound... I was confused rather than the sound of ripped curtains, I, and all the other campers just heard a dull squelch, then silence.

That's right I had just followed through whilst wearing a pair of unblemished cream chinos. I was hoping that it wouldn't have shown through, but I was sadly mistaken. It left an almighty mess.

Emptying out your own mess from said chinos into a portaloo at 1am isn't much fun I can tell thee.

The next day the in-laws came to visit us at the campsite. Which was very nice. When they came to leave the mother-in-law asked if there was any washing we wanted doing, without thinking my wife passed over the carrier bag containing my shit-stained-chinos. She washed them and gawd bless her, never mentioned it.

I supposed that will teach me for thinking Cream Chinos are in any way acceptable.
( Wildyles is back to rimming chimps, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 15:42, 20 replies)

Taking a long stroll with a mate through the fields of Brittany...
Armed with a big pack of chinese bangers.

Oh how we laughed as we used up 20 or 30 of the noisy little bastards, one per stem into a long row of corn-on-the-cobs and then watched on in glee as one by one they exploded sending their tasty payload crashing to the ground like a Shuttle with a faulty o-ring.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 15:30, 2 replies)

Most years I go on a camping holiday in darkest Wales
There's a group of about 20 families, and it's been going on for at least 30 years. We all camp around in a massive circle, there's a massive fire in the middle, and for the long weekend it's almost perfect communism - everyone shares everything, and everyone chips in a couple of quid to the local farmer for a couple of whole lambs for the big roast on Sunday.

The sort-of aim, apart from community, is hill-walking, and each day two expeditions set off - the long one first thing at about 10ish, for a walk of about 10 or 15 miles, and then in the afternoon the short one, which is generally a couple of miles over the hills to the nearest pub.

Those who want to remain in camp, and do chores - collecting wood for the fire, cleaning gear, etc, and then in the evening, those who are sober drive around to the pub and ferry back the walkers, who are invariably half-cut by then.

We all have our tea around the big fire, chatting about this, that and the other, and as the wine and beer flows, the songs start, and then by about 4am most of us are in bed.

It's a truly lovely thing, and I'm looking forward to going again this year.

Funnies? Last year I had to put my 75yo father to bed at about 12, as he'd collapsed into our tent and was singing about how the hair on her dickie-dido went down to her knees.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 15:29, 8 replies)

My father-in-law was big into hill walking
When my wife was in her teens, she and her sister would be dragged into the depths of Wales to spend a cold, wet Sunday getting to the top of a hill, discovering there was no view, and climbing back down again.

Like most fathers with their daughters, he was very protective and would point out the areas of slippery rock and mud for them to avoid. Unfortunately, he normally did this by stepping on one, so his feet flew from underneath him and landed him on his arse, after which he slid a few feet down the hill and eventually came to rest lying on his rucksack.

It happened with such monotonous regularity that we considered buying him a pair of padded trousers.
( Snappyuk gets BIGGER with free sample., Thu 29 Mar 2012, 15:24, 1 reply)

I think I may tell of the time I was getting back into a dive boat a seal popped up and bit me on the arse.



I was getting back into a dive boat a seal popped up and bit me on the arse.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Thu 29 Mar 2012, 15:12, 1 reply)

Camping in 'The Middle Of Nowhere' ? Careful where ya erect ya tent.
Wife and I went wild camping in the hills one weekend for some chilled beats, quality druqz and a bit of the old 'ows yer father. Like you do.

We put the tent up in a well chosen strategically remote location, giving us good sunshine, good cover and a proper sense of seclusion.

One morning, we were outside the tent, on the grass, her on her back, me bestride her on the vinegar stroke, carefully aiming for the tits/face area.

Just as I finished we became aware of two wimmin' ramblers traversing a hitherto unnoticed footpath just five feet behind our tent.

They saw *everything*

We didn't hear their approach and we'd been at it for some time.

Wonder how long they waited before pressing on ?
(sham-il-eer-tak-tak noes better but still can't give a fuck at, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 15:12, 5 replies)

Taking time off today
and building a greenhouse.

By the time my neighbours get back I'll have a fake crime scene tent over the top of it and convince them that the previous owners of the house buried a murdered prostitute in the back garden.

They were Christian Fundies after all.
(magic the cat will someone please think of the kittens, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 15:11, 2 replies)

You insensitive bastards
my gran died outdoors.
( M3rx likes the Asian ladies, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 15:01, 3 replies)

I'd love to say 2nd! from the top of Pen y Fan
But I can't, I'm at work.
(SpangoTheWonderBadger is brewing beer, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 14:57, 6 replies)

You're seriously asking a load of shut-in's about what goes on outside?

( Fucking hell Jeff I am not a robot, Thu 29 Mar 2012, 14:51, 16 replies)