There is an old mine in Somerset somewhere where a mate and I camped out.
He showed me how to make a rope bridge with two lengths of thin plastic line, one for the feet and one for the arms, and we bridged a small stream and I went across first. Only his knot gave and the foot wire released, casuing the top wire to ping up my nipples before catching under my armpits, lacerating me and leaving a straight red line across my manly chest which fucking stung like a bitch. The cunt left me dangling there for a good ten minutes as he howled with laughter as well, the bastard. Then we went back to the bivvy and got drunk and I moved to Poland four days later. My nipples still ache occasionally with the fond memories of that old mine.
( Grrrmachine the indifference engine, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 17:23, archived)

great times

( mongychops, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 17:40, archived)

the bivvy was an old brick hut with a tarp spread from it like a porch canopy
and we had a fire and drank Golden Sun whisky from Lidl's.
( Grrrmachine the indifference engine, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 17:43, archived)

sounds good enough
right all this bivvy talk has excited me, i need beer, pub times

great
( mongychops, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 17:45, archived)