The following story is true. Names have been kept the same to shame the guilty.
Before I share my story with you, let me first fill you in on the background of this epic tale. Around the age of 18 me and my friends seemed to do the same activities daily. These activities included drinking as much as we could and smoking as much weed as possible. This all took place in Graham’s caravan. Graham was not a gypsy, although he resembled one greatly, but his family had a caravan on their front yard. I’m not sure why, because this caravan was terrible, it lacked heating, I doubt that you could hook it up to a car and more it without the axel being torn off and the body of the caravan collapsing into a heap. To say that we had demolished this piece of shit over the years was an understatement. Homeless people would not set foot in this caravan. Readers of ‘Practical Caravan’ would have had a nervous breakdown if they had ever seen it. We had consumed so much cannabis in the caravan that the ceiling was constantly sticky from the resin, this caused no end of entertainment for us while we were stoned, due to the fact we would try to discover what items would stay stuck to the ceiling for the longest, and if you are wondering I think a mouldy biscuit held its position for months. Now I’ve painted a picture of the caravan and activities that take place their, I can continue with my story.
If I remember correctly it was a winter night that it all took place. Sadly I can only remember a few people that were in attendance for this historic moment, one being Graham, he was their (because it was his caravan – that is how he always claimed he should not chip in money for weed or beer because he providing the caravan) and Dale was one of the other people. It was a cold night, and being in the caravan was not much warmer, the heating was broke but we did have some heating; the oven. We would put the oven on the warmest temperature and open the door. It was a gas oven too, probably not the best idea to use gas in a small confined space with a bunch of idiots smoking weed. Looking back I’m surprised that we never cremated ourselves. Anyway, after quite a few drinks and joints I needed the toilet. There were two options for using the toilet; the first going inside Graham’s house and using a real toilet or going outside the caravan, walk between Graham’s dad’s car and the caravan to behind the caravan and relieve yourself on Graham’s front garden. There were two drawbacks to both of these places. Firstly going into Graham’s house meant that you were likely to bump into his family, they were good people, they knew what we got up to, but it never nice to walk threw someone’s house high as a kite. Secondly, if you were to use the front garden it was extremely likely that someone would see you, because people were often out on Graham’s street. I decided to opt for the second option, I was two high to even try and walk up a flight of stairs. As I stumbled out of the caravan door (which was voted the World’s Most Rickety Door 2005) I made my way between the car and caravan, bouncing between them both. I made it around to the spot we all used to piss at. Undid my belt and jeans and took one of the longest pisses I’ve ever took. Once I was done I tried to zip up and button my jeans but my hands were too cold, so I thought I’ll sort myself out when I return to the caravan. I began to make my way back, holding my jeans up. As I again walked between the car and caravan I began to realise I was not in the best shape, it was like hitting a wall. I was overcome by the drink and drugs. As I made it to the door I swung it open. I looked at the step to the caravan and thought it looked like too much work. The next thing I know I’ve fell threw the door way and landed flat on the floor. As I lay on the filthy floor, with my legs hanging out of the doorway my friends burst into a fit of laughter. I could not move. I was paralytic. In the mist of the laughter I heard those words, which become iconic with this story. “He’s got his fucking trousers ‘round his ankles! He’s got his trousers ‘round his ankles!”. On my way to floor I had let go of my jeans to soften the blow to my face, leading to my trousers falling down. The laughter went on constantly for about five minutes, while I lay on the floor, with no energy to get up. Finally I came around and was able to stand and fix myself up.
There were many classic moments of my youth that took place in the caravan; this story is most likely in my top three. I have shared it many times. Although it was quite embarrassing, I believe it sums up much of what I (and my friends) used to get up to. So hopefully you have learned from my mistakes. When you are getting wasted, wear trousers with an elastic waistband to save on embarrassment.
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