I say involved, but I wasn't so much a participant, as in instigator and observer.
Several years ago I shared a house on the outskirts of beautiful Cambridge with some not so beautiful friends. As with all rented accommodation, every room that you could fit a bed in was technically a bedroom, so as to maximise income for the landlord.
I was lucky enough to have a downstairs bedroom, backing onto the garden. I say lucky, because it was nearest to the kitchen - a far greater priority than bathroom proximity - and it was graced with patio doors.
This meant that on a summers morning I could simply roll onto the floor, kick open the doors, and sunbathe in the low morning sun. As the day passed, I could drag my armchair out, and still be able to see my tv, which I'd hooked up to the Sky in the living room with 30 feet of under carpet wiring for a pre Sky Multi-room world.
And best of all, come the evening, I had the largest en suite in the world, because the world was my en suite.
No drunken wandering about the house for me in the middle of the night, just stand up and turn right. I would generally wander down the lawn a bit, but if it was pissing it down, then I was pissing where I stood.
One balmy summers evening, I'd spent a very fruitful
An hour later and I'm tucked up in bed, and everything starts to swim....
Fortunately, the en suite was as ever, unoccupied, and ready to face the full brunt of whatever I could throw at it, and boy did I throw.
Flame grilled lamb with assorted salad, wrapped in lightly toasted flat bread, all in a Broadside jus was served up on the patio. Taking care to try to remember that it was there if I needed to use the en suite facilities again, I left the doors open, and collapsed back on by bed.
I'm not sure how long after that it started, as I had started to drop off, but I was suddenly aware of noises outside. Panting and grunting, getting louder and louder, from somewhere in the darkness. I peered round the curtain from my prone position, but could see nothing in the darkness.
Now standing, I scanned the garden. The noise seemed to be coming from everywhere but I could see nothing. I braced myself to step out into the void, taking care to step over what I'd recently voided, but when I looked down - it was gone!!
And then I saw the first of many pricks.
In the shadow of the doorstep were two hedgehogs, their messy footprints led back to my messy foodstuffs, which it appeared had now been largely consumed.
Like a couple of cheap chavs, wankered on someone else's booze, and stuffed on a discarded donor, they had thrown caution and abandon to the wind, and were going at it like there was no tomorrow in the nearest doorway. Mine. And by God were they loud.
So next time you hear the classic joke 'How do hedgehogs make love?', before you leap in with the obvious 'very carefully', check first whether they are pissed or not.
Because if they are, I can guarantee there's not a lot of care, or affection shown. Just a lot of grunting, and a complete disregard for who's watching, or gratitude for the free night out.