Beach Break was possibly the most fun I've had in a long time. It was as if the gods of happiness (and luck) were looking down on us all. Without a doubt there were some poo points, such as having an 8 hour coach ride and then a 4 hour wait in line to get in. This meant that we erected out tent in darkness and in the tiny area opposite the main campsite and the arena. Still, after lots of swearing and holding a maglite between my teeth, we were done and went out to mingle.
The next morning was boiling hot and seeings as Alex and I had gone for the budget tent from a shop which has questionable credentials as a camping shop (I think I saw boob-tassles on the shelf but they may have just been colourful guy-ropes) the tent also built up so much condensation that it was like awaking in a rain-forest. This savage impression wasnt helped by Alex's insistence on sleeping naked, waking up opposite the last chicken in the shop every morning was bound to have a psychological effect.
That day we tossed a coin to decide if we would watch the Friendly Fires (who no-one liked, except Jack ) or enter ourselves into the Cornish Goblet (in Kent). We had a few beers, argued, then had a few more beers and decided on the latter. The setup was thus: a load of Uni teams entered a team of four players to take part in ridiculous (and sometimes degrading) events and the winning teams went through. We decided on the controversial name of 'Pool Party at Michaels' and expected to get our arses handed to us in the first round by some pumped up guys from Loughborough. We not only got through to the next round, but we also won our group and were through to the knockout semi-final the next day. We had a backwards wheelbarrow race, a blind-folded long jump and a course in the Zorb (giant sphere which we put a reluctant Alex inside). So, with some bemusement we went out and watched the rest of the acts, including a very good act called Dan le Sac vs. Scrubius Pip. They were a very clever spoken word hip-hop act and it was while watching them I realised just how blinkered I'd been about live music before; one of the songs they performed was a commentary on the monotony of working in a shop, the lyrics were poetic and the beer was cold, could it get any better?

The next day we were approached by the guys at the Bearded Kitten, who looked for all the world as if they were on Ketamine and they asked us if we could wear a different costume for the semi-final. We had, previously, turned up in our pants. So, with a bit of brainstorming (namely, the girls being out of their tents) we decided on bikinis. Feeling this was a bit of a cop out, we also got some crazy Zorro style masks and taches painted on to add to the somewhat nauseating effect of us in tight girls swimwear. We won that day as well, one of the events being a grand national piss-take where I was the jockey and Poyner was the horse.

The final day of games was the mighty Pool Party vs some lads from Bath Uni who called themselves 'This is Sparta' and had been in all the other events dressed as Spartans. We changed our costume yet again and in a moment of inspiration we got ourselves painted with Masai Swirls and different colour eye patches. As the Spartans came marching up the hill to the arena we all armed ourselves with a long bamboo pole and started a chant with the hundred-strong Chester crowd: " When we say Sparta, you say 'who?'

The games got underway, our first task was to erect a 2-man tent and fit as many people as was possible inside it. We'd barely got the tent up before it got mobbed by no fewer that fifteen people! After a countdown, the occupants were counted and Sparta had only managed nine. One-nil to Pool Party. The next event was a dance off, which I got picked for. I rock-paper-scissored the Spartan and managed to go second, the theory being that whatever he did I could upstage. It worked a treat: he spent most of his thirty seconds trying to gay me out, so when I got the chance to step up (see what I did there?) I took the sock out of my boxers and planted it on his nose, then backwards-cartwheeled into the only breakdancing moves I can do. After doing my caterpillar into flip-up, I then vaulted over his head and mooned him, knocking him off his stool in the process. Stuck for something to do to finish, I decided that the crowd pleaser of whipping my pants off was the way forward, thankfully I had put on a good three pairs and the top layer I threw at the T.V camera lodged on the viewfinder to the cheers of the boys, never would I manage to do it again even if I had a million years. Needless to say, that event was won by us, making it 2-0. We then had a Weetabix scoffing contest, Jack and Poyner winning it pretty easily. So, with the final looking like it was won, we had a tug of war event to seal it. We lost, horribly. The tie-breaker was a wrestling match, with a twist: The object of the game was to steal your opponent's sock while keeping your own on. We werent allowed to stand up and the tarpaulin arena was covered in fairy liquid and water. I was selected, against the tallest Spartan there and thought "this is the kind of pressure I normally do something stupid in!" Thankfully, the Spartan (who I found out later had never been in a fight in his life) was on the lanky side and I probably gave him the fright of his life when I slammed and pinned him. His sock was tough to get off though, he wriggled like a fish and after nearly ripping it to bits I got a good enough grip to whip it off and as I jumped up to celebrate I was rugby tackled by about twenty people.

So, Pool Party were triumphant. We were awarded the trophy and took great pleasure in drinking beer out of it later on. We also found the Spartans to be a really good bunch and went on the piss with them later on, a bit like how it should be in Valhalla (purists, relax: I know that's Nordic.) All in all a great festival, a thoroughly enjoyable time and possibly the best end to a Uni career anyone could ask for. Peace.