Wedding bowels

“While on holiday in sunny Fuerteventura a mate took his missus off with the intention of proposing to her. He took her for a nice romantic walk along the coastline, and spent the day looking for the perfect spot, all the while running through his carefully practised spiel. Eventually he found a deserted cove that fitted the bill perfectly and took her down to the water’s edge. Starting things off with a bit of a speech about their relationship he began edging downwards, towards the one knee territory, when, just as the realisation of what was happening dawned on his girlfriend, he spotted the human poo that he was about to kneel in. Cue an immediate back track, no proposal, and a confused woman standing ankle deep in polluted seawater.
But he sealed the deal later on, right? Wrong. She dumped him (excuse the pun) on their return to England.”

Ted H, West Yorkshire

Burn baby, burn

“I was in Marbella and very, very stupidly fell asleep in the sun, without any sun lotion on and with my head to one side.
When I woke – in a lot of pain – my face looked like a Fruit Salad sweet, one half was bright red and the other was pasty white. And if that wasn’t bad enough, it was only my first day there so I looked liked shit for three days until I got my other side the same colour.”

J Stern, via email

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“A lot of my formative memories involve dicking about on the South Devon coast and in the sand dunes. Literally in this case. One summer a girl and I were having a roll in a secluded area of the dunes, when I heard some kids’ voices. Before we could get ourselves together, a troop of cub scouts found us, with one saying loudly, ‘What are they doing?’
About then their Akela caught up to see the two of us legging it off into the dunes while scrabbling to pull on our clothes. It was an educational day for everyone.”

Spike, Redruth

Beach warfare

“Growing up in a small seaside resort you quickly run out of things to do and have to start creating your own fun. Around the same time that WWE was getting really big in Britain, we started an impromptu fighting league on the local beach. This involved digging a sort of pit in the sand in which two ‘fighters’ would slug it out until one gave up. It was all very light hearted; no punching, just chucking each other around with a few ‘chops’ thrown in as crowd pleasers.
Things started getting nasty when the grockel (west country for ‘tourist’) kids started coming down from the local holiday park looking for a scrap. The fighting got a bit more intense as each party looked to outdo the other. The fighting ended abruptly when, during one match, one of the outsiders jumped on the biggest lump of a local, who proceeded to slam him to the ground so hard he had a fit and the police got called.”

Jenkins, Exeter

Vinegar strokes

“My wife and I had a whirlwind, international romance – we lived on different continents when we met, and were married within a year. And as anyone who’s had a long distance relationship will tell you, moments spent together are intense – you pack a lot in to a short space of time.
Which meant that when we spent a few days together in Bintam, a small Indonesian island off Singapore, we only had one thing on our mind.
Our first day was spent at the beach – sunbathing, paddling, a long romantic walk along the beach, and finally a dip in the sea. But, well, it had been weeks… so despite the water, we didn’t cool off. No, in fact we got hotter. So hot in fact that we had to remove our bathers… so hot that we needed to be in deeper water, further from the beach, out of view of the hotel towel attendants. So hot, that the conclusion was inevitable. But just at that inevitable moment, an excruciating bolt of pain shot through my body… and judging by the scream coming from my fiancée, hers too.
‘Shaaaark! I’ve been bitten in two,’ I yelled, and, in panic, I started to help my fiancée to the shore… before another bolt of pain hit us and we discovered that our legs were intact, and the ‘shark’ was in fact a jellyfish.
Frantically, we stumbled to the shallows and pulled our bathers over the evidence of the stings – huge red welts, right across our undercarriages. We ran up the beach to the towel guy who took one look at our agonised expressions, and, broad grin spreading across his face, handed us both a bottle of vinegar with which we doused ourselves with. And then we hobbled back to our room to await the certain death which would surely be a relief from the agony.
Four hours later, we dressed and went to the bar, and allowed gin to soak away the shock. But the red welts put paid to any further activities over the long weekend.”

Tim, via email

Sea or sorrow

“My mate Jon swallowed a human turd – strange but 100% true. We were at Barcelonetta beach in Barcelona, man made for the ’92 Olympics. In hindsight we were asking for trouble. He was doing handstands in the sea, so had his eyes shut because of the salt water and an otter slipped into his gullet – he had to go to casualty on his return to Blighty for injections against Hepatitis A and B. Grim.”

J Nawten, via email

Poo sticks

“While staying in a beachside hotel in Puerto Rico for work, I threw a bit too much toilet roll down the pan and ended up blocking it. So just call maintenance, right? Right, if my poo had been of a decent size and I wasn’t paranoid it would’ve been that simple. But I’m not, and it wasn’t. It was a tiny, tiny ball – the sort of thing a rabbit would produce. And thus I was too embarrassed to call a man in, so tried to fix the problem myself.
After using the room’s complimentary cups to dispose of all the brown water and sodden tissue, I tried another flush. Same result, lots of water, one tiny poo. Bollocks. Time for a different tact. This time I picked the poo up in the cup and went to dispose of it. But where? Out the window? Uh-uh – my seventh-storey room was right above a bunch of sunbathers. In the bin? Maybe – but what about the smell? Aha! The shower. I lobbed the faeces onto the floor, turned on the power shower and… the bloody thing wouldn’t break up. It was like it was made of dark matter. So, after 20 minutes of chasing it around the shower floor like a putrid brown marble, I resolved to finish this thing once and for all. I grabbed a teaspoon and began chopping it up. Excited at it working and by now a bit giddy, I decided to indulge in a little bit of fighting talk – ‘Not so tough now, are you? Take that, bitch.’ etc – then finished the job and turned to find, you guessed it, a very shocked maid standing in the hallway outside the bathroom door. Fuck my life.”

Stu, Belfast

Hog tied

“I was in the Caribbean a few years ago looking for fun and relaxation a while ago, but what I found was the wildlife, which was intent on killing me. It happened when we were having a big BBQ on an island we’d taken a boat to. It was beautiful. Sunset, fresh fish, and lots of beer. Beautiful – until an enormous wild boar came storming out of the bush and bit one of my beers. Fuelled by lager, I larged up at him and the bastard snapped at me, biting my leg before bolting back into the brush. I claimed victory. That’s the magical power of Stella… though saying that, I was so desperate for a slash on the boat back that I quietly pissed into my towel in a cramped speedboat, thus slightly diminishing my hero status.”

J Torrence, via email

Out of the frying pan

“My mates and I award a ‘golden frying pan’ to the person who’s been the drunkest on a night out. This was usually a metaphorical award, but not if we were staying somewhere with a kitchen. One such occasion involved a place in Faliraki. I’d got slaughtered and woke up in the night needing to puke. I rushed across the apartment and unleashed a stunning projectile vomit that lasted for two minutes. I finished up, slumped against the wall, then stumbled back to the bedroom, where I found my mates and their conquests laughing and cheering while pointing out the frying pan on my pillow. Great joke, huh? Yes, but somehow I failed to see the funny side, so threw the cooking device off the wall. It came back at me and bounced up nicely for a volley. I leathered it right into the knee of one of the girls. We both spent the night in A&E, me with a broken metatarsal and her with a swollen kneecap. Few words were exchanged.”

Tom, via email


“My sister’s wedding took place on a beach in Scotland. A strange choice, but it was very warm and the day worked out really well, right up to when I went to open the champagne. The bubbly had been sitting in the sun for a few hours so was ready to explode, and when I unwound the cage it did so – right in the face of the chief bridesmaid. The cork shot out at something like the speed of light and smacked her on the cheek bone, causing a huge black eye. I’d love to say she saw the funny side, but she didn’t, partly as her eye was quickly swelling shut.”

J Bridge, Stoke

Red faced, red handed

“While holidaying with my girlfriend in some poncey hotel on the idyllic island of Barbados, we ended up ‘getting intimate’ in a private beach hut. It was good too, but just as I was about to climax I spotted an arm reach through the door and grab my girlfriend’s handbag. Instantly, I threw her off me and, forgetting I was naked and had a stonk-on, set off in pursuit of the thief. He made it about 100 yards up the busy beach, then he tripped on a man bag, allowing me to dive on top of him and wrestle the bag from his grasp. I did this successfully, told him where to go, then turned and, suddenly realising my predicament, shuffled past 50 or so of my fellow guests, while using the handbag to cover my dignity. Must have been the adrenaline.”

Paul, Newcastle

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