Once upon a time,
back in the era when I could be classified as "but a nipper," I attended a boarding school for a few years.

This was before the days of readily-available alcohol, as we were a bit too young to be able to pass off a proof-of-age test. Nevertheless, some of us decided that it would be a good idea to go into the nearest town and "frolic." I use this term as I feel that it applies equally to the SU booze-filled antics of uni. In the sense that we decided to temporarily liberate some street furniture and associated roadworks paraphernalia. And temporary it would turn out to be.

First stop was the supermarket on the other side of town, where we borrowed a couple of shopping trollies and proceeded to the nearest steep-ish hill. On the way we acquired some of the aforementioned traffic cone helmets and barrier lances and chariot-jousted our way to a good time. And all without serious injury.

Eventually tiring of this pastime we repaired to our school, now some miles away, pausing only to discard our trollies full of orange lights and temporary speed limit signs just before we reached the school gates. In a roadblock. Across the whole road. Just as the police drove past.

Unimpressed with our attempt at passing ourselves off as teenage, mid-night road-workers, they threatened us with arrest and we sobbed out our story. They then offered us an alternative to a formal dealing-with: that we were to return all the items we'd taken to their respective places. Fair do's. They took one of us in the car and drove all round the surrounding area, as we retraced our steps along the epic and circuitous route (no booze-clouded memory for another few years). We even, helpfully, picked up other stuff along the way as directed by the law.

As the sky started to get light we reached the supermarket and neatly parked the trollies. "Ok," says one officer, "I'd like to watch the sunrise from here with you boys, it's a beautiful day and I'm clocking off in a few minutes."
The other added "it's only a couple of miles back to your school, and if you run back after, then you might just make it before they find out you are gone. Eh?"
It was a strained half an hour of watching the sunrise, with our finest no doubt cracking up in the car, but they eventually let us go, and we returned without notice to the school authorities.

I realise that it could have been worse, but at the time it seemed like the worst night out we could have inflicted on ourselves - a ten mile forced march at night, fully laden, and a full day of school on either side to keep sleep at bay for more than is recommended.

Length? I was a bit too young for you to be worrying about that.
(IdlePeAcEsign if trouble were my mistress, i'd send her to them, Tue 29 Mar 2011, 19:58, 2 replies)

Is "watch the sunrise" a disgusting sexual practice I haven't heard of?

(sabre-tooth monkey, Wed 30 Mar 2011, 11:00, closed)

No
That's "watching the sun set" when the chafed red arse hole gradually disappears at the end of the session/day.
( SteamedCleaner, Wed 30 Mar 2011, 13:37, closed)