Vimto
Not me but on my feet. Day spent enjoying the French hospitality at a little airfield in Northern France after flying over with a few friends, much beer, much wine, some cider, some brandy, some barbecued food, a few demis to settle our stomachs, some go karting (drunk and in t-shirts and shorts...health and safety Gallic style!) and then to bed. Awake to glorious sunshine filtering through the zip of our tent and the smell of stomach contents. My nameless friend had evacuated his guts orally into what can only be described as a Vimto purple cowpat upon my feet whilst I slept. Delightful. At least he had the decency to fly us home a couple of hours later...I did mention that he was the pilot didn't I?
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Thu 7 Jan 2010, 19:27, Reply)