It's some years since I last did this, but a few times I went for hikes in the countryside attired like this, in full K.D. My army surplus haversack would contain a few cans of strong lager and at various points in the hike I'd stop for a drink - sometimes going into a pub if there was one around. There'd usually come a point when I found that I'd got myself a bit sloshed and, consequently, randier as well as a bit braver.I'd try to hitch a lift in this 'uniform', which was quite eye-catching anyway, people thinking I was an overgrown Boy Scout (Yes!), a big-game safari hunter, or a World War II British Army 'Desert Rat' fighter from El Alamein. Whatever they thought it was certainly conspicuously unusual enough for passing cars to notice - even before I raised my thumb..I did usually get a lift - eventually - but I think it scared off at least as many as those who were curious enough to stop. The togs I was wearing probably gave the impression that the wearer was somehow 'unstable' or, at least, not to be trusted.
(My particular experiences while getting a lift will have to wait for another blog, otherwise this entry will be getting too long.)
Anyway, once when I'd got myself pissed enough I had the idea of walking along the side of the country road, thumb out, and just as I heard a particular vehicle approaching behind me I'd 'accidentally' let my shorts slip down - and make a great show of trying to get them back up quickly (as well as making great show of my arse!). As in my Scout Troop, where we weren't allowed to, I would never wear anything under the shorts. But it all needed perfect timing which, in a half-befuddled state, wasn't always easy to achieve. First I'd have to look out for the approach of the car or (better) lorry or van by finding a vantage point where, with my pocket binoculars, I could spy on vehicles coming towards me from a distance away - and make sure there was only one male, the driver, in it. (Two men would have been a nice idea but under the circumstances was too risky) These were the only ones I wanted to give me a lift.
With alcohol coursing through my body, sometimes I made a clumsy mess of the plan. The vehicle's driver would sense that I was half-drunk and after maybe slowing down, would be scared off and speed away again. Sometimes I'd get a honk of the horn, (No, I don't mean THAT horn - at least not yet.), but I wouldn't know if it was an acknowledgement in friendly fashion or a hoot of derision. Sometimes I'd even hear them shouting out something, but never managed to catch the words from the moving lorry etc.
But very occasionally (stressing the 'very') things would work out close to what I'd intended. Once in the cab or car I'd mutter an apology about my shorts slipping, which would get a response of the "It doesn't matter, ha ha!" variety and I knew then that there were 'possibilities'. If he HAD been shocked or offended, he certainly wouldn't have stopped for me. Then, wearing shorts and sitting down beside him with my bare knees and thighs, I'd edge closer to his left hand, far enough for him to 'touch' my leg as he went for the gear lever (again, accidentally, of course). In addition, having drunk all that beer I couldn't last long without needing a piss so I could also work that round in my favour.
But on a couple of occasions the driver sussed out what I was up to and, suddenly stopping the vehicle, ejected me, with some choice words ringing in my ears. I did come close to being beaten up on at least one occasion. That's the trouble with drinking - it makes you bolder but it simultaneously clouds the judgment. However, just once or twice (well maybe slightly more than that) the guy was willing to 'play'.....
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As I say, all that will have to wait for a future blog.
