I was invited up homers to Bristol with an oppo whilst serving at Whale Island in 1970. The bloke he was going to take had gone for a swift 28 in the big house, so I was first reserve but his pash had a friend she wanted fixed up, and I was the sacrificial lamb. Anyhow on the Friday night we steps out for a jar or two and it kicked off in the boozer. I got dragged into it and ended up drenched in blood, mine and other peoples. His mum gives us a talking to and tells me if we don't behave, I won't get invited again, so I tells her I am a good boy and it won't happen again. The night is great on the Saturday and I ended up in a remote bus shelter by the suspension bridge with the young woman, who after ten or so tots looked a bit like miss England. (Well same sex at least) In morning I awake on the oppos sofa with all the family around and brekkie on the go. I scrape myself up from under a blanket and I say good morning to one and all. Filthy looks all around and his mum says to me that did I remember my run ashore. Yes I say most of it. Including the fighting she says. I wasn't fighting I say, remembering the night of sucking and sighing in the bus shelter. Then why are you covered in blood she asks. I exit sharply to throw up and pick hair from my teeth. Have you had raw meat?