During the summer of 2006 (or 2005 or whatever) my friends and I would camp out every weekend in the vast woods a few miles out of town. It would always be the same spot, close to the edge of the woods, and with a bunch of dead trees nearby to kick down for fire wood.
So we're up there this one week, about 15 of us, getting lashed, when this guy turns up out of nowhere with an axe and a bottle of white cider. Usually the two things you don't want a complete stranger to be carrying through the woods are a blade for chopping wood up and a bottle of Frosty Jack's. The guy is pretty friendly, and also pretty fucked, producing a can of beans from somewhere and giving it to us to cook on the fire, and giving hash to people, saying he doesn't smoke it so we can have as much as we like. He's a nice enough guy but he's too nice, and often a little cautious when we return the kind attitude, changing from someone who tells everyone to roll joints from his stash to someone who thinks we all wanna fight him. I assume he was on a lot of coke or something.
Anyway the guy eventually wanders off and we spend time musing over how odd he was. Some time later we hear a massive thud and then he comes staggering out of the shadows with his axe. He has a lump on his head the size of a snooker ball. You see, the spot where we were was surrounded on one side by a really steep bank leading up to the rest of the woods, (steep as in about a 70 degree angle, about 20ft high) and the guy had fallen all the way down the bank and smashed his head on a disused gas canister. Mostly there was just bushes at the foot of this bank but of all the places to fall, he fell right onto the gas canister and smashed his brains in. So he's telling us this story, and then he just walks away, axe in hand, continuing his adventure.
FIN
