Just to be clear: this is actually a genuine true story, not fictional. I swear. I'm reliving it over in my head as I type. I've posted this before somewhere but wanted to share it more widely.

I lived in this little English village, and they put on a village fayre one year and I think my heart skipped several beats when I saw the words "Gunge Tank" on the flyer. Couldn't believe I was really seeing those words at first. Reread it over and over. Like, of course. A gunge tank at a village fayre. Yes. Hell yes.

The day comes, I agonise over what to wear and since it ends up being the hottest day of the year but I'm worried what a summer dress would do, I don't want any accidents, so I go with a pair of jeans and a flannel blouse, because apparently my aesthetic for that day was Default Lesbian. Wavy brunette hair, down, because I am not doing my hair on a hot day and also I know what might happen to it if this is, like, real. Purple wellies, because it's in a field, because of course it is (it didn't rain, but it's England, so you never really know). Was very careful to pack little bags for keys and phone and stuff... you know, planning ahead, just in case.

I turn up. Lovely place. They have a fairground on, there's some stall with owls, a bouncy castle, someone selling homemade jam, crocheting, amateur dramatics group... gunge tank. My god it's real. Bright yellow metal hopper, perspex walls, and it's got "The Gunge Tank" on the front in case it wasn't already obvious enough. I vaguely remember seeing the same tank somewhere, maybe on the Splosh forum back in the day.

Heart in mouth I walk up to the guy I have definitely seen before somewhere on a forum, and ask, are they accepting volunteers? Because I'd like to go in and get slimed, it looks like it'd be fun! (While this is omitting an important fact, it is also true.) Yes they are, he said, but only for a donation of £20 to cancer research. I've never found a note in my purse so fast. No problem, it's for a good cause! OK, he says, come back here at 4pm. I smile and nod enthusiastically, and walk away in a haze.

It's a couple hours away. In a couple of hours, I'm going in that, and I'm going to get slimed in front of everyone. Words fail me in describing that feeling and knowing that it's really going to happen. I got to pet the owls. I bought jam. I chatted with a friend in the am dram group and I casually told her what was going to happen to me at 4pm and her face just lit up and somehow She Knew what this was to me and maybe she will take the secret to her grave but for now, she is going to have fun taunting me and she is definitely going to get it on video. It is a very hot day.

And now it's just coming up to 4pm, and I walk up in trepidation. My friends have gathered. He tells me only one other person volunteered but they chickened out so he's filled it with both buckets he mixed up. He opens the door and I step inside, and sit down on the stool facing everyone. The floor's like grating, I guess it just runs through into the grass, that's fine. It kind of feels like getting in one of those fairground rides, only ...not.

The nerves. The excitement. I can hear my pulse in my ears. I'm biting my lip. I glance up. There's just the tiniest drip. This is really going to happen to me right now. There is a countdown. I don't remember who pulled the chain.

My world goes pink. It's heavy, and actually does that cone thing where it splats over my head and the walls of the tank at first. It's cool, thank God it's cool. It's the hottest day of the year and the gunge is light pink and blissfully cold and squishy and slimy and pouring all over my head and I'm just getting absolutely covered in it. My head goes back and I look up into the stream, just to get myself really covered. I know I'm giggling and squishing it between my thighs. It's all through my hair and I'm just absolutely soaked and destroyed and it is THE BEST ride in the fairground, by far, log flumes have nothing on this kind of fun. And you, all the assembled people outside that tank watching my sloppy fate at the fete, you didn't dare know this blissful ecstasy, even though you could have just asked, but I'm glad you're finding it funny, because so am I.

It drips to a stop and I know I'm running my hands through my hair in disbelief that I really just did that, and he lets me out of the tank and I carefully step outside and offer my friends a hug. For some reason, only one of them accepts! Rude! They definitely got it on video and god only knows where it'll end up. Probably on YouTube, and some fucker's probably going to post it on the UMD. How dreadfully embarrassing. I kinda hope they do. They won't enjoy it as much as I did.

There is no hose. There is no way to clean off. They were much worse at planning this than I was. It's okay, I can actually walk home. Happy to do my bit for charity. So I do. Maybe a quarter mile, not far. Covered in pink gunge, my wellies squelching the entire time. A few people are still walking to the fayre and I do get a fair few weird looks, including someone who very nearly walks into me in their everyday haze because one does not usually encounter the monster from the pink lagoon on the pavement, until their world shatters and they realise and recoil to avoid actually touching the goo. That's right, they were, in fact, not kidding on the flyer about the gunge tank.

I got home. See, I had the foresight to put plastic down, you know, just in case, and I just close the door, slithered my way into the bathroom, remove the jeans and just... you know... took a long time to really cherish the sensation of a once-in-a-lifetime experience, as you do. Three or four times, it's a blur. My legs were jelly by the end of it and then I finally had a nice warm long shower. And you know gunge, it's like hair conditioner; it washed off fine, smells vaguely of poster paint and celery and it leaves a slippery coating you get off with the edge of your finger and make sure you clean your ears and anything inside and all that stuff. It washed out of the jeans and flannel fine, I just binned the wellies. Got into silk pyjamas, turned all the fans on, opened the windows, and just spent the day replaying it in my head. The jam was gooseberry and redcurrant and it was great.

For the record, I've never actually seen the footage, and I don't know if my friend actually kept it but they never messaged it to me or mentioned it again. They might be keeping it for blackmail material, but I'm not sure if they KNOW know or not. If someone by some chance did post it, please link it to me. I fucking love watching my own content back: it's cringe, but duh, I'm into embarrassment.

But I remember that day clear as crystal, every tiny detail, because you never forget your first public sliming.