"all these wet leaves keep smacking me in the suede"

this may be a much overdue blog, but golly do i have some tales to tell you my little creeps. my summer, as i mentioned in said previous blog, probably did shit all over yours, surprise surprise. my liver is now a raisin like formation thats sitting somewhere in the lower quarters of my body, heartily complaining about the beating its been subjected to, my lungs are protesting over every simple breath with a ball of flubber and my every limb feels some sort of disease, but im not complaining, no regrets from the summer. ive come back from italy with my war wounds, from the plethora of scars across my left hand from playing five finger fillet and getting malled by alex to the dent and bruises across my shin from stacking it whilst climbing a waterfall and landing bodily onto a large boulder, to the two pierced holes of skin from being bitten by a wild vole. its all character building and its no wonder i feel shitty considering i didnt get a tetanus jab or any form of medical relief during the onslaught. while i hear stories of people from reading and other festivals going outside at night, pumped full of mdma and smart price vodka to commit the scandalous act of dropping a stool in mother natures lap, some of us up in the mountain were doing it by choice. represent. so, for novel purposes, i am going to tell of tales from up in Rio Vaiano campsite, and see how one could pursue to try and top these stories. so, during the time that my loving boyfriend was in italy with me, things were never too wild, we spent a lot of time mashing our braincells into a menial nothing by playing nintendo ds (still didnt manage to complete pokemon diamond, despite being there a month playing it pretty much solid) so the first month was a total relaxation period, bar one night when my alcohol tolerance peaked and i managed to consume a mix of beer, red wine, brandy and rum, which, not surpriseingly, appeared in the form of a behemoth pile of purple rice at the foot of our tent later that evening. however, i topped all expectations of excessive stupid behavior with the arrival of alex the brave, joshuuuuwah and peter. im not trying to say i was mislead by this tribe of new blood on the campsite, but the simple fact is, i just was. it would seem that all madness was unleashed upon their arrival. ant had managed to keep me tame and civil admirably well, but all hell broke lose when he left. me and the crew hit up irish bars, terrorised locals, become tribal and boarderline hostile/feral. within a few days of being on site, we hit the date of friday the 13th, on which we spent the day on wood craft activities to personalise our new walking sticks and make jewellery from the skeletal remains of a wild boar. you might think we're sick puppies but we had a distinct tribe up there in the cruel natural world. we thought josh was going to die that night, simply because he seemed the most plausible of the tribe to get snatched and torn apart by wild animals (sorry josh). though somehow he survived, some voodoo tricks saved him no doubt. anyway, another one of our adventures included going to a local irish bar called the Grind House. you'd expect it to be full of grungers and goths having it large to sabbath etc, but it would appear we were the most threatening and elite group of freaks there that night. all behavioural pretences had stayed safely zipped up in our tents, along with our common sense, as we sat there for the night drinking... well whatever they gave us really. the outcome was a messy one, me and alex were left on a table swearing at some man from finland, who turned around and happened to speak english, much to alex's horror. josh got pinned by a new fan club of "alternative" italian teenage girls, to which i immediately put the kibosh on , much to the girls disappointment, as josh was dragged away vainly shouting "ADD ME ON FACEBOOK" to the girls silhouettes. the evening progressed to grinding halt and i hit rock bottom, whilst sat on a curb singing to city and colour with josh, serenading passers by, whilst taking a break to projectile vomit onto the pavement and curb just right of me, and joining back in for the chorus with a bitter taste of bile in my mouth. not only did i manage to piss a canal across the italian streets of castel nuovo, i accomplished total moronic behaviour by becoming paralysed with the strenuous effort to throw up more, with my head wedged out the side of the car on the way home, eyes tight shut and doing little dribbly sicks down the side of the car for the duration of the journey. towards the end of this journey, as we approached the campsite and entered the green forest area where the road is overgrown, i remained with my head out the window and eyes shut, and endured every over hanging branch of shrub to slap me square in the face with its dewy leaves. at the time, having my eyes closed and being non the wiser, i proclaimed that the sensation of wet slaps to the forehead was because there were frogs in the road and we were running them over, resulting in there guts being sprayed and splattered onto my face. it was all very serious to me and almost upsetting for the amount of dead frog i assumed must be patted across my face, much to everyone elses amusement as they could see the approaching foliage in the headlights. other examples of crippling alcohol intake include a night of drinking vodka, jager and lemoncello. might aswell just downed a few pints of diesel for similar effect. nothing quite tops the night of drinking 70% rum until 7 in the morning, like some outer body experience of being pickled. 70% rum, 100% wasted. climbing waterfalls, walking 8km in 38 degrees, catching fish with home made fishing rods and being hardcore as fuck is nothing compared to endurance of our lungs and livers. respect.