Glastonbury
Now, you may think that a trip to Glastonbury would be full of vomit-related hilarity, however, being of a collectively strong gastric constitution, my friends and I escaped the muddy hell-hole of fancy wellies and unused cooking paraphernalia without so much as a hiccup.

The horror occurred on the dreaded post-festival coach ride. It was warm, very warm (like being in a forest with Heather Locklear) and the journey was to take us all the way to Manchester. It was the usual collection of poor folk with the mandatory soul-ache that comes with a few days of merriment away from the prying eyes of the law.

Having gotten a little bit sunburnt, my friend had applied after-sun lotion. Pretty smart you may think, but combined with being unwashed this left her smelling a little funky. Like nappies. This did not sit well with the kid sat next to her on the coach. Oh no. The delightful young cherub turned and un-ate his lunch all over her.

This did not improve the journey.
(Chairman Lmao Something something your mum, Sat 9 Jan 2010, 17:47, Reply)