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» Festivals

Good times!
Phoenix Festival, mid 90s.

This was the year that;

1. My mate got food poisoning (I told him the sausages were dodgy, would he listen?)

2. We camped near these guys who kept us entertained with the catch-phrase “Skin-up Graham” all weekend.

3. The bloke in the next tent had the “best dope known to mankind” (turned out it was a legal high).

4. One of the girls had her bag pinched out of their tent, turns out she was sensible and it only had clothes in, so I suggested she tried lost property to see if it had been ditched when the thieving little bastards realized they’d pinched nothing of value. She returned an hour later, big smile, holding the bag aloft in victory. It was short lived, they’d stolen all her knickers!

Random festival memories

A man naked except for a fur rug tied to his back with string, carrying a Stop Children Crossing Lollipop.

Going for a piss in the woods at Donington Monsters of Rock, to be greeted by a young lass dropping her strides and relieving herself in front of me. When I jokingly pointed out this was the gents area, she muttered something in German, at least I think it was German as she had a major bush going on.

My first smell of dope, down the front at Donington 1986, stood next to some Hells Angels, this was closely followed by my first smell of Hells Angels piss as one particularly hairy biker deposited a few litres of secondhand cider over the people in front of him. These lucky people even thanked him for the gift.

Not being allowed to take plastic bottles of beer in, so watching people trying to drink three litres of cheap bitter in double quick time, so as not to miss Warlock. I doubt they remembered much about them.

Being called to toilets to see the biggest turd in the history of the human race. The Guinness Book of Records would later be in attendance.

Talking to a lad who was going to be in trouble when he got home, his Mum had seen him on the TV coverage with “Cunt” written on his forehead in marker pen.

Listening to a bloke describing how he’d just gone down on a girl, this being the third night of the festival.

And finally…

It was at Donington Monsters of Rock in the late 80s where a group of my mates were camping over night. As was the way with this one day events, the camp site was a scene from hell, with wall to wall lager and vomit, which was one of the reasons I never stayed there over night. Anyway the story goes that Kev; a skinny thick bass player, long black greasy hair, skin of alabaster due to never seeing the sun and possessor of the dumbest monotone voice, actually manages to land a girlfriend and not only that gets her to come to the gig. After a few beers around the camp fire, she decides it's time to retire to the tent for some action, drags him off to much cheering from his mates. There is very little privacy to be had in a tent, especially when everyone you are camping with sneaks up and stands next to it. Noises ensue and then the GF's voice can be heard.
"Call me a bitch!"
"Eh?" (Imagine in the dumb monotone voice.)
"Go on, and a slut too."
"Because I like it when you talk dirty to me."
"Do I have to?"
"Yes, go on."
"Come on!"
"I can't, I don't like those words."
The silence is broken by one of his mates who shouts at the top of his voice,
She was not happy!
(Tue 9th Jun 2009, 21:00, More)

» PE Lessons

Inappropriate nudity!
By the time we'd got into the 6th form, our games lessons had improved. We had the choice of a variety of other sports, some of which were taught by the female teachers. One term I picked Trampolining which was taught by a mid 20s woman with long dark hair she wore in a ponytail. Not a looker by any means, but certainly better than the hairy arsed blokes we'd had until then. Now one of the lads had landed himself a job developing photos at a local chemists (this was in 1986) and it was a never ending source of amusement for us, as anything slightly dodgy always ended up being reprinted a few times and dished out to us. One day he came into school and was quite cagey about his findings over the weekend.

"So you got nothing this weekend then?"


"Is that a yes or a no?"

"Well I did, but it's a bit sensitive?"


"We know her!"

"Fuck off! Seriously?"

"Yep, serious!"

"Does she go to this school?"

"In a way."

"What class?"

I'm sure you can see where this is going! Said Pony Tail Teacher had dropped a film off, little realising who would serve her. My mate had waited until she'd left the shop before quickly developing a film full of photos of her on a boat, all very boring, except for the very final shot of her on the sofa, blouse held open, tits on full display! Now she never found out that we'd seen this, although she probably guessed, but it remained our elephant in the gym for every games lesson after that.

Looking back we should have blackmailed her for blow jobs.
(Mon 23rd Nov 2009, 16:28, More)

» PE Lessons

Teapot Parade & other horrors!
To put this in the right historical context, this story is from my first term at big school in 1980, there is no way they'd get away with it today!

In an effort to teach us about personal hygiene, we were forced to undergo a ritual every games lesson called Teapot Parade. The premise being that doing games in the same pants as you'd wear for the rest of the day would lead to unpleasant sweaty smells was a sound one, but the manner in which our teachers performed it was by the usual ritual of humiliation and shame! After we'd got changed, we were told to line up by our pegs in the changing room, and the teacher would walk down the line asking each child to drop their shorts in turn. Should a pair of Y-Fronts great him, proof was instantly required of a second pair, if these were shown, then onto the next lad, if not the boy was told to take them off, thus exposing his Teapot. Lads without a second pair had a stark choice, to expose his cock straight away or strip in front of the teacher. We were prepubescent and so apart from hanging down instead of up, Teapot was an accurate, if not rather disturbing description.

We didn't get out onto the games field very often that first term, be it the awful weather outside or that self-loathing most games teachers had that if only they'd studied hard enough they might be in a nice warm classroom instead, but I seem to recall that we took too long to get changed, so entire lessons were spent getting dressed and undressed in full view of the teacher. I remember one lesson, we managed to do it quickly enough about ten minutes from the end, were we rewarded with an early finish? God no, we were sent out for a run.

Another occasion saw a mud fight break out in the changing rooms, the guilty parties were hauled away and given a 100 lines, not as they'd hoped "I must not throw mud", but something along the lines of "I must not project projectiles in the changing rooms, or a projectile might project into someone's eye."

I'd be interested to know if anyone else had to endure Teapot Parade!

Apologies for length, I was only 12.
(Mon 23rd Nov 2009, 16:13, More)