Nightfall
A pearoast, but worth it I think...

Many years ago, when I was about 14, I went on a summer "outward Bounds" camping trip organised by my school. A week of outdoors activities: canoeing, climbing, orienteering and so on. I was rather surprised that I'd decided to go on it, as even then I was about as athletic as a sloth on temazepam, but in a moment of madness I signed up, and in the end had a lot of fun.

One night we were sent out on Night Manoeuvres, basically orienteering in the dark - and, as it turned out, the fog. Couldn't really see more than a few metres ahead, so when we came to a fence we simply climbed over it -- there could have been a gate mere seconds away, or it could have been miles. Pressing on, hopefully in the right direction, I noticed that the grass seemed to change just ahead - there were no more long stalks. As I got closer, I realised there were no short stalks, either. Then, even closer, I realised that there was, in fact, no ground at all.

Yes, the towering genius that was our P.E. Teacher and trip organiser had chosen to send us out on night manoeuvres, in the fog, on Beachy Head. Beachy titty-fucking Head. A place not known for its sympathetic treatment of the lost, literally or spritually. I had come within about half a metre from becoming the main story on the evening news that night, a greasy smear down the famously white cliffs, and something of a setback in the teacher's career path.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Tue 3 Apr 2012, 14:08, Reply)