The fellowship depart (you couldn't make this up!)

A weapons advisor, a driving instructor and an RE teacher...
After some foraging we retreated to our yurt to watch the raging storm, thunder echoing round the valley. The gentle pitta patta drops of rain on the felt roof outside layer a rhythmic reminder of our humble dwellings. The yurt reeks if damp, a hint of smoke (Martin) and animal. All that could be seen was the faint glow of Martins head torch through the smokey haze. As I get ready for bed I hear a strange rustling, a jjaggard scrapping cutting through the storms gale. I turn to see Martin hacking away a three water bottles with a red Swiss Army knife fag in hand. He hacks off the bottoms and places them in a row atop the door. Afraid to question my new found travel companion I remain silent at the per cultist sight. He slowly withdraws and ancient battered trespass bottle, "anyone for eye whiskey?"

He measures 3 bottle ends and we sip the caramel goodness as the eye of the storm settles upon us. The world goes quiet, we sit in sleeping bags surveying the open valley floor. "Time for bed."