Camping extravaganza!

And so I return, victorious, from a two-and-a-bit-day camping extravaganza, with what can only be described as:

• A 'healthy glow' (pink as a lobster)
• A shopping basket.
• A model windmill.
• 'Camping hair'.
• A small goldfish named Keith, in a sweet jar. Bonds' Nut Clusters, to be precise.

Observe! The empirical evidence of a brilliant weekend:



The weather, despite being forecast to be shit, was actually brilliant, as proved by this rather glorious picture of yours truly wearing some really rather ridiculous sunglasses:



During our epic scavenger hunt, we came across this:



The tiniest ice cream van in the world! In case you can't read it, the writing on the side says 'Minghella's'. My mum reliably informs me, the company is owned by relatives of the film director, Anthony Minghella. One can't help but think, then, that they could have afforded a slightly roomier van. But, islanders can't be choosers (dear anybody-from-the-island-who-might-be-reading: that was a joke) so I think the 'little van that could' should be applauded for its ice cream selling efforts.

The following picture is one of my favourites from the weekend: Dave, chilling out with Keith, our newly acquired fishy friend (who is sitting next to me as I type.)


I like to imagine the dialogue thus:
Dave: Yo Keith, how you doin'? You like the sunshine?
Keith: ... Fuck off.

Ben masters the new dance move that everybody's talking about - The Sprinkler.

Ben was on something of a roll with dancing, what with having invented 'Fish Raving' only hours before. Videos, hopefully, to follow.

I am the epitome of class.


This looks like some kind of rip-off of the promo shots for 'Skins'.


Some of the more memorable moments included Manley rolling around in the popup child's tent with his third beer at about 1pm on Saturday before we started to set up camp, yelling gleefully "This was thirteen quids worth of pure genius!"
(The tent later became Keith's tent. That's one well looked after bloody goldfish, I can tell you.)

Also, last night, after returning from our slightly (ha!) drunken bus quest to a rather piratey pub, Dave and I went to bed shortly after we got back, then Adam and Ellie went to their tent, and as Ben, Mark and Manley were still moving about getting ready we hear Ellie yell:
"Eugh, someone help me, I can't get out of the tent because Adam's being sick!"
The tent unzips and we hear Adam stumbling about.
Ben calls out, "Adam, are you ok?"
"I'm fine."
"Have you been sick?"
"I'm fine."
"Have you been sick?"
"No."
Followed very closely by *BLAAAAAARORGH*.

Lovely.

All in all, an absolutely bloody brilliant weekend.
Scavenger hunts FTW.

Duuuude.

Next time Catherine says "Want to come out for an hour" I will know what I'm letting myself in for.

Go out 'for an hour' at seven.
Get in at two.

It was a great night though. So much dancing! So much... sweating, actually. It was very hot in there.
Rock and roll!

Belated birthday times

"Get the sleep out of your eye, it's gross."
"That's true friendship, that is, being able to say to someone in the middle of a nice restaurant, you look like shit, sort it out."

"Wonder how much wine the three of us will get through tonight?"
"Two."
"You drove! Shit. I guess that's just the two of us then."
"Honestly? That probably means we'll drink more."
"Heheh. Bring it on."

"Could we order some wine please?"
"Certainly, I'll get the wine list."
"No, don't worry, just get us a bottle of your cheapest Rose."
".... now THAT was classy."

"Wow, I look retarded!"
What exactly the fuck did you expect when you uttered the words "here, take a picture of me with the 'reserved' sign on my head!"?

The morning after.

I need to go out on Wednesdays more often. Last night was awesome.

Vodka and coke at 50p a go is both a brilliant and a terrible idea.

Brilliant because... well, I don't need to explain it how vodka and coke for 50p is brilliant, do I? And terrible because - and I'm sure you can get this one too - it means that if I get £10 out for the night, entry is £3, stashing your bag is £1, I have £6 left, which is twelve (twelve!) vodka and cokes.
Not that I drank twelve vodka and cokes. Because I didn't realise this until I'd had four SoCo (god I hate that contraction) and lemonades, at £1.70 each.

I make that sound like it's a bad thing, but let's be honest, I would probably be swimming in a sea of pain right now if I had drunk twelve vodka and cokes in the space of four hours. So let's just all be grateful that I have expensive taste.

In any case... I had a brilliant night. You know sometimes you just feel like dancing... well I'm not a great dancer, but sometimes I get the urge. It was a lot of fun.

See? I can have a life.

The only problem with this plan, though, is the day after. Which, of course, isn't at the front of your mind while you're squirming through a dingy, sweaty club in platforms with a vodka and coke in each hand at 1am.
And this is where I discover the downfalls of flexible working hours.
It is all very well to wake up wishing you had actually drunk the pint of water you got yourself at 4 o clock that morning (a mere three and a half hours ago), and think, "I know, I'll go in at half nine and just lie here quietly moaning for a while." Until you realise, this means you will be working until 6.

But still. I stayed in bed til nine. On a weekday.
I rule.

Mullets...

Business in the front, party in the back!

This quote makes the idea of a mullet quite tempting... just so I can get to say it, all the time. You know I would.

Well, actually, Dave will tell you how difficult it is to get me to cut my hair into anything even resembling a style - even a nice one - so maybe I wouldn't.

Ok stop worrying, I was joking, I'm not getting a mullet.

Sheesh.


"All I've had today... before this obviously... is some pasta."
"Wow. Why?"
"I don't know. I could have done without it though."
"Why?"
"Because then I would just have had wine and chocolate all day, and that would be pretty much brilliant, I think."

Once in a lifetime

I would just like to say, also, I saw the most amazing thing the other night.

It was about seven or eight. We were sat in Bar Risa. They had just switched to 'nightclub' mode, lights down, music up. We usually sit near the door because it's a little quieter there so we can actually have something resembling a conversation if we feel so inclined.
Suddenly, Ben gets this huge grin on his face and points to the raised area behind us and yells OH MY GOD LOOK AT THAT.

Yes.

It was, a genuine dance-off.

"I have waited my whole life to see this!"

You just haven't lived until you have actually seen two men vying for the alpha male spot... through the medium of incredibly camp, incredibly crap, dance.

Awesome.

Good times.

"I... I think he broke my side!"

"There! Now the roof is down, you can't slag it off!"
"I could point out that it's more secure now than it is with the roof up."
"You can walk home."
"Big deal, takes ten minutes."
"Ok, I'll break your ankles, then you can walk home."
"Oooh, that's cold."

"Get a meaty to taste it."
"I resent that."
"Ok then, James can do it."
"James is head meaty! Haha... hahaha... ha."
"I will kick you, Jenny."
"Haha... I know."

"STOP WHIPPING ME IN THE VAGINA!"
"No."
"Ow... my reproductive bits."
"How many do you have?!"
"Ten... backups."
"... right."