I came home from work one day to a big hole in the front door, as I walked in I asked “What’s happened to the door?”

My son replied very quickly whilst pointing to his sister.
“Its her fault, I threw a brick at her and she ducked!”

We were on holiday once staying on the first floor, we’d been there about a week and never even set foot in the lift, then one day on returning from the beach, as we arrived at the stairway I saw the lift open, I ran and jokingly shouted I’ll race you, I jumped into the lift quickly turned round pressed number one, the lift set off and I was stood there with my nose against the lift door in anticipation of needing a quick exit to ensure victory. The lift stopped, I was ready to pounce as soon as the doors opened........ nothing happened, I pressed the door open button, still nothing happened, I heard the wife say, “Beat you!”

I pressed the button again, still nothing happened, I pressed number one, nothing, the wife said “Come on!”

“I can’t get out!” I replied, she just laughed, “Don’t laugh its not funny the lifts broke press the buttons on your side”, the damn woman was still laughing, I kicked the door, I was desperately trying to prise the doors open, at 30 plus degrees trapped in the lift, panic was starting to set in, I shouted for help, I pressed the alarm, the wife said “What you doing?”

“I’m trapped!” I told her, she was to hysterical to speak, "STOP LAUGHING" .

I could see a chink of light at the bottom of the doors, I was now on my hands and knees trying to desperately claw my way out of the lift, in between shouting for help through the smallest of gaps, I then heard a voice with a Spanish accent say “Most guests depart the lift via these doors behind you Sir”

As I turned around the doors were wide open and what appeared to be all the reception staff and about 10 guest all stood there laughing at me, no sign of the wife other than a water trail that lead to our room.

Many, many, many years ago when I was in one of my first jobs in a shop a young lad was taken on to help out in the stock room. One day one of the older hands said to him, "here is a fiver, get me a meat n tater pie and get yerself summat". He comes back a bit later with no pie and gave the fella a penny change. He asked him what was going on and the lad said "well they had no pies ready and you said get myself summat so I bought a t shirt for £4.99"

When I was a teenager I was 'out on the town' when I bumped into an aquaintance I hadn't seen for over 12 months who was sporting a bald head. I went up behind him and slapped him on the back of the head. "Radical haircut there mate" I said jokingly, he just shrugged and "yeah mate" in a sullen voice. Having had a few beers I couldn't understand this attitude so I piped up "Cheer up Greg mate, it might never happen" to which he replied "yeah it will, I've got cancer and only have two weeks to live". Obviously I thought he was joking at first but the look on his friends faces soon made me realise I'd put my foot in it. Turns out he was actually out on his stag night, got married the day after and did indeed die within two weeks!

I can't remember if I've posted this one on here before. If so, sorry.

In about 1987 the scooter scene was at its peak. Attendances of around 8 -10 thousand were common and as a result camp sites were heaving.
We went to Scarborough for the weekend, arrived there late and had to pitch our tents wherever we could, instead of having the usual encampment.

Saturday and the drinking starts at lunchtime with the then mid afternoon break when the pubs shut and we found an offlicence to carry on drinking. The pubs open again at tea time and more beer is chucked down our throats before we fall out of the 'do' at about two in the morning.
Pished doesn't even come into it.
There's a long walk back to the site and bottles of vodka and strange cigarettes are handed about, resulting in complete and utter intoxication by the time we get back. Everyone is in a similar state, and we say our goodnights before we seperate to find our tents.
After about twenty minutes of wandering round I find my tent, unzip it and fall in. And land on some bloke who's found his way into my tent by accident. I kick him awake, he appologises and crawls out again.
Daylight dawns at stupid o'clock and I wake up and the first thing that comes to mind is the muppet from the night before. The second thought is 'that's not my helmet', which is rapidly followed by thoughts three and four, being 'that's not my coat' and 'this isn't my sleeping bag'...
No prizes for guessing what I'd done. I crept out of the tent, past the still sleeping owner of the tent and vanished off into the distance to find my own, empty tent.

That wasn't the last of it...

About five years ago I was at a rally in the midlands and got talking to some bloke about daft adventures on rallies. I had to make a quick exit when he started on about some bloke who'd hoofed him out of his tent in Scarborough, though apparently I'm a six foot six skinhead who's built like an outhouse.

I wish...

Similiar to Scooter's (and apologies if posted previously). Me and a mate (him of poleless tent fame) went fishing on the Trent and decided to stay overnight. We went the pub and had a few. We then went back to our "hotel" - being an old wooden garage on the river bank, with no front doors and which was a horses home! We get there in the pitch dark and for some reason I decide to go in first. I was more than a bit nervous. The thought of standing on a sleeping horse in the dark and it rearing up in a panic in a confined space was not a pleasant one (and more than likely would have proved fatal). So I'm sticking my leg out feeling in the straw and eventually get right in to the back. Bed down in the straw (presumably full of fleas and worse) and its freezing cold - unfortunately the wind is blowing in the wrong direction - straight upstream and into the open end of the garage. So, we get underneath the straw. 5 minutes later we hear a noise - a group of drunken lads coming our way. Starting to get worried again now. Anyway, they actually come in. So we just keep very quiet to avoid the possibilty of getting beaten up.

Next morning they start to wake up and we keep quiet hoping they'll go. Then one of them, presumably seeing a mound in the straw, gently kicks me and tells me to get up, thinking it's his mate. I emerge and rise Frankenstein-like, sitting up, from the straw and the lad practically shits himself!

I was in Florida one year and was having a conversation in the ice-cream queue with my wife (as she was then, I'm divorced now). Some American woman asked if I was from Scotland, to which I replied "no, North of England".

Her little face lit up as she exclaimed "Yeah!!! Scotland!!!"

I once heard an American say she'd been to "Wales, England." It was just a shame there were no Welsh around to hear her!

Similarly, I was working with some 'murrkens near Gatwick and one asked me where I was from.
I replied "Yorkshire ... it's in the North of England"
She said "Ah, Scotland, right?"

We ended up having to draw a map a paper napkin to show what was England/Scotland/Northern Ireland/Republic of Ireland, what was Great Britain and what was the UK.

She nodded understanding all the way through and, at the end, said "OK, I got it ... but it's all in England, right?"