Lsst summer we enjoyed the Dad's and Lad's camp at the rugby club. Cubester and I were camping in my 2 man Robert Saunders tent, a tiny low profile backpacker version. Being a rugby club event, with the title hinting at "no women allowed" , it was of course compulsory to sit around after the day's fun events, drink loads and loads of tinnies to replace the fluids lost etc etc. It started raining at abut 9pm so we all went indoors where the bar does a great range of real ales. I therefore got stuck into some Fartbreath's Old Horizontal or whatever, and the club put on a big greasy chilli for supper.
Fast forward to 3am. I'm woken up by the urge to dash to the bog, and as I frantically try to extricate my sozzled carcase from the sleeping bag I let one go. It was long, loud and proud. I'm still fighting with the zip on the outside of the tent at this point, but Cubester has beaten me to it. He fought his way out past my shoulder, physically retching, desperately trying to escape the frankly toxic interior of the tent.
Bonding? Hmmmmm!