When I first started with my employer we were staying at some digs near Harrow called "something" riding school for young ladies (our accomodation agency had moments of brilliance like that, back then), the "young ladies" were quite accomodating to say the least except one night the same Irish fella split his banjo string and jumped out of bed, showering blood everywhere. The girl became histerical and ran from the room screaming, clutching a duvet covered in blood. The woman running the place was absolutely disgusted and the following morning was demanding that our manager explain what right we had to go there and turn her riding school into "something" riding school for young "slu*s"
Cue a few years later and the manager this time is me and we end up staying in some awful holiday camp type place called "michaelwood" about 20 miles from Newquay.
I should`ve known it would end in tears and moved us as soon as we got there but it was Sun eve and the booking agency closed. The place was like a run down Hi-de-hi camp in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to do in the eve`s except drink.
We grated along for a few days, `till things came to a head on Thurs night when they refused to serve some of the lads anymore as someone had thrown up everywhere. My assistant manager and two of the reps decided the best way to overcome this "objection" was to go to the toilets, strip off and sit there `till they backed down.
The manageress came banging on my door to sort them out and when I eventually woke up and opened the door, the three of them were streaking around the campsite. The police were called and we had to pack up and leave there and then.
The following week I was sumoned to head office to explain what had happened, and found it almost impossible to take it seriously as my sales director was there and a few weeks before he`d gotten so smashed on a caravan park, he caught a Duck from the pond and shuved it in the oven, he almost blew the park up, as he`d passed out before igniting the oven. I kid you not.