Yesterday was quite easily one of the finest days, (weather wise) of the year so far. A true classic example of how beautiful and serene an English Summers Day can be. The majority of us were no doubt lazing in gardens and enjoying the sunshine, listening out for the stillness and birdsong. A wonderful calming effect that lifts spirits and takes away our work stresses that have been gradually building up since the last relaxing summer days. So, whilst my good lady lie in bed suffering from what can only be described as, a shocking and violent allergic reaction to the events of the night before with â€˜Tâ€™, I decided that it would be nice to enjoy the day, and get out to see some good friends. The scene was typical, a terraced garden with a handful of friends, lazing in the sun and discussing everything and nothing, important and meaningless matters all with good humour. With regards to the hosts, the dayâ€™s events were planned perfectly. A firing pot and large amount of wood and tinder was already built up, in preparation for sunset and the cold that will come with it. With the mood beginning to lull a touch, a fantastic idea to purchase a few bottles of wine is suggested, and agreed upon almost immediately. The wine and talk flowed, us all laughing and enjoying each others company. It really was a good scene, and enjoyable place to be. Friendships were renewed and cemented, and, as the sunlight began to slowly fade, it was decided the time had come. Start the fire! We all gathered around, watching the fire consume the wood and burn on, giving us warmth and a feeling of security, warding off creatures that only dwell around Northamptonshire terraced streets. As the fire consumed the fuel, we consumed the wine. Some consumed more than othersâ€¦. One of the lads there was a young fellow named James. He is currently on Easter leave from the Army and has so far enjoyed his military career for 2 years. Rouge. Being an ex-Minewarfare rate there was a natural rivalry between us, nothing severe and absolutely no hatred of any extent, more a healthy banter that only serving members of the Forces can understand. After goading each other, a bit of dit spinning (â€˜Pull up a bollard son, and Iâ€™ll spin ye a yarnâ€¦.â€™) and some more goading, bravado eventually got the better of me. â€˜Come on then Pongo, letâ€™s settle the score. How long dâ€™ya reckon you can be branded for?â€™ It was a bold and stupid statement. A challenge had been set, the gauntlet had to be run. A set of tongs was placed in the fire in preparation, and wouldnâ€™t be pulled out until it was burning brightly. To be fair to le Percy, he did try to say â€˜This is a bad ideaâ€™, although I was having none of it. The wine had significantly taken its toll, and was therefore, ruling my judgement and running the show. The tongs were pulled from the fire, and true to form my right buttock was presented to Mel, the â€˜Branderâ€™ for the evening. I swear she took a lot of pleasure in doing this, it has probably given her such a taste of power that her sexual pleasures will now be distorted for the rest of her years. I am now in possession of 4 second degree burns on my right arse cheek. The longest of which was branded for 5 seconds! You could smell the flesh burning. The Pongo has 1 burn. A pathetic 2 second effort. Victory for the Andrew, for once and for all. Due to the amount of wine, I passed out about an hour later. Fackin nails or the intelligence of a dog biscuit? More to the point, could you pass the Savlon.