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This is a question The Worst Journey in the World

Aspley Cherry Garrard was the youngest member of the Scott Polar Expedition when he and two others lost their tent to the winds of a night-time snowstorm. They spent hours in temperatures below -70°F stumbling about the ice floes hoping they'd bump into it as it was their only hope of survival.

OK, so that was bad, but we reckon you've had worse. We know how hard you lot are.

(, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 12:40)
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australia to bali
stayed in some shitty little town in north oz, the hostel was ok but the food was shite. got very bad food poisoning. puke and shit was simultaneous.

we HAD to fly to bali so i had plenty of bags with me. as soon as we got on the plane i had to go straight to the toilet. i redecorated the entire thing in puke, then once i had wiped it all down, shat everywhere. repeat times four (i'm surprised they didnt decommission that plane).

get to bali and its that fucking god awful gamelan shit playing in the airport. dingy dong, dingy dong. puked again, left airport, go to hotel, puked, shat for another day or so. got better. worst journey ever.
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 16:23, Reply)
A few years back
I used to go picking acorns atop a local hill (that's the kind of thing we do in autmun in Wales) to provide fodder for the farmer's pigs.

Needless to say, this sort of activity is about as entertaining as cutting your own eyes when you're trying to do it with a hangover and in the full knowledge that your mate has a playstation and Tekken 2 in his backpack. Knowing my house was nearby, we (3 of us) decided to ditch the tree-hugging acorn-picking hippies and take a 'shortcut' back to mine.

I knew it was only a straight line we had to travel in, but this meant crossing shitty streams on flimsy logs, negotiating an actual silage pit that nearly killed us and ended with me jumping over a ditch and losing my balance leaving me teetering on the edge of a 6 foot drop with a freezing turd infested stream at the bottom and the only thing to grab onto to maintain my balance was a fully charged electric fence....

my howls echoed through the valleys...

apologies for length and smell, it's my first time...
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 15:58, Reply)
Bloody Hearse Limo
It was my bf's (now ex) 30th birthday party. Not his actual birthday, but the day he had decided he wanted to go out and party. Fair enough, sez I, being the dutiful gf.

There are limits my duty does not extend to.

So, the night he picked was a night I was due to be working. He tells me to just take it off. But, I'm due to work the Bon Jovi gig at Hampden, and I quite like Bon Jovi, so I don't really want to miss getting paid to watch a concert. I'm also due to be working the next day at 10am (yes, I know I work too much).

We compromise, and I say I'll work but leave the gig early, and then after his party I'll crash at his and go straight to work again. As it turns out, I saw the support acts (couldn't tell you who they were) and the first 20 mins of Jon Bon. Not bad.

I try to get back to my flat to get washed, changed, pick up my stuff for work the next day, and get to the party as fast as is humanly possible. An hour trip tops.

Is that good enough for him? Don't be daft. I get hundreds of increasingly-drunken txt's from him and his mates asking where I am, and drunken phone calls demanding I hurry up. The reason for the panic is that the club we are going to has arranged for a hearse limo to arrive at bf's flat to pick us up and take us out. If I'm late, I'll miss it.

Bear in mind I've just finished a 14-hour shift, I'm stone-cold sober, and trying to do everything within my power to make his birthday as happy as possible. I don't give a damn about the limo, I suggest I'll meet them at the club, but that's not good enough for him, I *have* to be on his arm.

The whiny little cnut.

Anyway. I get to his flat to see the limo pulling up outside. Phew, sez I, I've made it! I go up the stairs to drop off my stuff, and am greeted by masses of pissed stoned mates of my bf, who all want to "assess" me to see if I'm good enough for him. wtf?

Anyway, I announce the limo is outside, and there is a general stampede downstairs. Then it turns out there's not enough room for all of us, and it'll have to make 2 trips. bf decides he'll go in the second trip, so 5 of us stay back, while the rest go on ahead.

Worst decision ever.

We have a couple of drinks and chat, getting on ok. I'm guzzling champers as fast as possible to try and catch up (nothing worse than being the only sober person at a party). We keep clock-watching tho, as we want to get to the club before the floor show starts. We're all dressed up in outfits and costumes for the theme night, and looking forward to generally having a good time. (Club Noir in the Carling, if anyone was wondering.)

We wait. And wait. And wait some more. No sign of this limo returning for us. We get on the phone to find out what's happening.

Actually, no, as I recall, bf whines about the limo, I suggest calling, he says he doesn't have the number as the club arranged it. I make the logical suggestion of calling directory enquiries (how many hearse limo companies do you think there are in Glasgow?) and we get the number that way.

Turns out the limo has broken down and isn't coming back. They tell us we'll have our trip another time.

Ok. Fat lot of use it does us on the night. We trek out to grab a conventional cab. But the city is bouncing and we can't get a taxi for love nor money, and end up walking to the club. In fancy dress. Thru some of the dodgier areas of Glasgow. With 3 drunk friends of my bf. And the birthday-boy-bf himself.

Ah yes. The bf.

He had regressed to childhood circa 3yrs old, and was throwing a tantrum. Bitterly disappointed he wasn't getting his limo ride, he decided to take it out on me. When he wasn't moaning and shouting at me, he was ignoring me (frankly, preferable), kicking rubbish bags and bins, and generally being a twunt.

We get to the club and they tell us we have to pay to get in as our guest passes were all used up by the friends who got there first.

Now, if there's one thing I *can* do, it's blag into clubs. Elbow in the ribs to the bf to shut him up while I do my thang, and 10 mins later we're all inside with complimentary champagne.

But we've missed the floorshow. F*cksocks. bf goes off in a sulk. I settle down to get drunk.

The End

Oh wait, it's not over. We leave the club at chucking out time, go back to his where he proclaims undying love and we'll be together forever.

Left him 4 weeks later :o)

F x
Never apologise for anything, ever.
(but, ye gods, that was longer than I thought it was going to be)
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 15:57, Reply)
Longest Trip Home
I was heading to Germany for work, getting off the plane I tripped and fell on my knee. Thinking I had bruised went to work for the day but got it x-rayed later that evening as it was bloody painful to bend. Knee cap broken, full leg cast for 6 weeks. Not only that but I had to give myself Heprin(blood thinning) injections twice a day for 2 weeks because I was flying.

Call Airline to arrange flights home, need medical clearance, which they get. 2 hours before the flight is to leave they call to say they won't take me in my current medical condition. No other flights can be booked over weekend. So finally a week after I break my knee I get to ride an ambulance for 2 hours to Frankfurt to get a direct flight home.
On the plus side got driven around the airport in a golf cart.
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 15:48, Reply)
Well, this one time...
I woke up and I was really hungry, so I shouted "MUM, GET ME SOME FOOD!"
No reply. So I shouted it again, "MUM? I'M HUNGRY, GET ME SOME FOOD!!"
Again no reply, so I had to go ALL the way downstairs to the fridge, get MYSELF some food and go ALL the way back upstairs, WHILE carrying the food.

That was pretty taxing.
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 15:47, Reply)
About five years ago...
...I was on a flight to the States, when low and behold these rag-head guys decide to hijack the fucker and fly it into the North Tower of the World Trade! That was pretty shit I can tell you, but then a few years later I was on this bus on holiday in Turkey...
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 15:27, Reply)
Driving home from work
This is a journey that normally took 35-45 minutes.

Out of nowhere, mother nature decides to dump 2ft of snow on the ground about 20 minutes before I'm due to leave.

"What the hell", I think, "it might take me a bit longer to get home but it won't be too bad."

What I didn't take into account were the thousands of morons who have absolutely NO CLUE how to drive in snowy/icy conditions. Suddenly a minor incline is an impassable obstacle (or at least it is when all you do is try to wheelspin up the hill in 1st gear).

Anyway, 6.5 hours later I made it home safely.

The worst bit? Oh well that was that I was desperate for a piss after the first 45 minutes. It was actually rather painful when I finally made it to the bog nearly 6 hours later.
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 15:07, Reply)
ferries
When I was a kid, living in Belfast, we used to get the Larne Stranraer ferry quite often. I would quite often be copiously sick. I always got sea sick, still do. And air-sick. And coach sick, bus sick, taxi sick. Unless I'm driving.

The worst time was one January going back to Uni. It was very choppy. Stormy even. I tried to stick it out inside, but I knew the only way I'd feel better would be to a) get some fresh air, and b) have a good spew over the side. So out I went, lurching to the railings. I dangerously leaned over and began to chunder. A few minutes in, I was beginning to feel slightly better, when along came the most enormous wave, and I became drenched head to foot in the ice-cold water of the Irish Sea. I was no longer feeling better - I was beginning to think I might be the first person to die of hypothermia on a three hour ferry crossing. As soon as I went back inside, the need to chunder overtook me. Outside was now too cold, so I spent the remaining two hours in a ferry toilet in a gale (if there is a better vision of hell, I can't imagine it) vomiting and shivering. Oh, and then I had a 7 hour coach journey, but I slept through that, thank christ.
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 14:00, Reply)
Not that I remember it.
When I was 3 my family moved from Liverpool to Herefordshire. The removal people took the bulk of our posessions and we traveled in the car with the cat. While my dad was driving at about 80mph in the fast lane of the motorway my the cat began to make crying noises. My mum opened the basket a little to see if it was ok and the cat lept out into my dad's lap and dug all its claws into the various body parts there.
Thankfully during the resulting skid across the lanes towards the hard shoulder the car miraculously failed to make contact with any other vehicles and all four of us made it to the destination fully alive.
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 13:59, Reply)
Never again
Five years ago I was all booked to fly to St Lucia to get spliced with the ex-Mrs PJM. Two weeks of relaxation on a caribbean island sounded great but turned into one of the dumbest things I've done to date.

First there was the small matter of a ten hour flight in economy class. It's not usually a problem, but the journey was blighted by a three year old boy called Oliver. He had the look of a ginger Damien about him and from the moment the plane was airborne he howled, ran up and down the aisles and jostled everyone he could in a hugely successful attempt to make damn sure that no-one on the plane got any sleep. Everytime I shot the parents an evil stare I was met with a smile, a shrug and the comment "Oh Oliver! He's a one". Eight sleep deprived hours later reading the safety card for the umpteenth time I rang for the stewardess. "Can you put the little mutant in an overhead locker?" I asked in dispair as Oliver now proceeded to make airplane noises and engage in a dogfight in the aisle next to me.

Two weeks, one marriage certificate, no sex whatsoever as the air conditioning was on the blink, a new wife who began to make my life an utter misery and a morning spent vomiting over the side of a boat instead of taking pictures of dolphins later I'm boarding the plane carrying our luggage when I feel some extra resistance dragging on the heavy suitcase. I turn around and see Oliver, staring at me while trying to remove my baggage tags. I give the parents a pained look to be met with "Oh Oliver! He's a one!". When I made the check in point I attempted to bribe the check in girl with my remaining caribbean dollars into making sure that the annoying fucker was put at the back of the plane. To my lasting gratitude, she took pity on me and the one satisfying moment of the whole trip was seeing the hyperactive little shit being dragged off to cause misery elsewhere.

And Mrs-PJM? I divorced her a year later. Meh.
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 13:53, Reply)
Nice little beach trip
Picture the scene, Essaouira, Morocco, beautiful place. Not much to do though so we all (6 ppl) decide to do the nice beach walk as recommended in the guest book, takes about 5 hours but there are a couple of little towns on the way to stop at. Why not. Take camel-backs with water, but decide not to take food as we can stop at the towns.

30 mins in, and one couple has to turn back due to one of them getting sand rash...hindsight says lucky cow.

Me, o/h and other couple decide to carry on.

Four hours in, no bloody little towns, no food, all knackered and wondering where the hell we were (no map due to instruction "just follow the beach"). See small dot on the horizon at the top of a large hill that looks like civilisation "woo-de-hoo" home safe...no, no, it's an abandoned bloody lighthouse. Four and a half hours of walking dressed for the beach (i.e. flipflops and ballet pumps), no clue where we were, no mobile signal. Crap.

Carry on walking in the same general direction which takes us across 30 foot sand dunes and dessert, in which I mean wasteland, rocky ground, couple of half dead shrubs, no wildlife apart from a few funny looking flies. Start to panic, just a little bit.

Another hour or so and several desert like hills later, we reach a crest and see, low and behold a REAL town! Well, I say see; we had to squint.

Down another hill we go and back onto the beach for another two hours of misery as we get blasted by sand (itís not called Windy city Africa for nothing) and most of our skin is separated from legs (and other exposed body parts).

Get to the town seven and a half hours after departure to find out that we had walked over 20 miles.

Got a taxi back.

*pop*
Apologies for length - it's nerves
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 13:48, Reply)
Worst journey
A few years back I was driving home alone late at night from a gig in a totally unknown part of the country. I stopped for petrol, which involved unlocking the filler cap with the ignition key. The key stuck in the filler cap and a passing motorist stopped to help. The key snapped off. Eventually I got the end of the key out and got the car started by selotaping the two halves of the key together. If I had stalled the car at any point on the long journey home (a fairly likely occurrance given the age and state of the car and the fact that I didn't have a clue where I was going) I could never have got it going again. God knows how, but I made it.

Another time in this same car the heater packed up in sub-zero conditions (again late at night after a gig). I was woken by the car bouncing off the central reservation at 3am.
Fortunately my foot had slipped off the accelerator and no real harm was done.

Got a new car.
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 13:13, Reply)
Planes, Trains and Automobiles. Plus one big boat.
A couple of years ago i spent 3 weeks in Croatia, which was nice, but the journey home soon became an absolute farce.

Apologies in advance for length, girth, etc.

We had our flights home booked from Ljubljana (capital of Slovenia - cheaper to fly to and from there with easyjet than to fly to and from Zagreb) on the Tuesday afternoon, so we thought that if we got the slow ferry (22 hours) from Dubrovnik to Rijeka on Monday morning it would get us into Rijeka with plenty of time to make the three hour train journey to Ljubljana.

The ferry itself was the best journey ever as there was me, my brother, and this guy from Leeds who we'd met in the youth hostel in Dubrovnik and had been hanging around with for the past few days, and all we had to do was laze around on deck sunbathing. Plus there was the added bonus of meeting some crazy German people who actually were fans of The Hoff.

It soon went from the sublime to the ridiculous though when we got off the boat.

We knew the train journey was 3 hours as we did it the other way 3 weeks ago, and we had about 7-8 hours until the flight so we weren't in the slightest bit worried. Until we found out that there was only one train that day, which was in 5-6 hours time. Shit.

Oh well, we'll just have to get the bus. It'll take a little bit longer and be 100% more unpleasant, but we don't have any choice. Sorry, no buses to Ljubljana today. Shit. Oh holy fuck.

At this time, our new mate Andy had to leave us to get his bus to Zagreb (capital of Croatia) which we soon found out was also 3 hours away. So, having no other idea of what the fuck we could do, we got on it with him in the hope that we could catch a connecting bus/train that would enable us to get our flight.

So we get to Zagreb, and finally a stroke of luck. There's a bus to Ljubljana in 20 minutes. The tickets were quite expensive as it was a border crossing, and worked out at about £40 each. Off we go to the cash machine.

Oh look, we don't have any money left.

Oh fuck, we don't have any money left.

Oh holy fuckitty fuckitty fuck, we don't have any money left.

Que standing around for ten minutes staring blankly at each other, wondering what the fuck we could do.

Eventually our lovely new mate from Leeds had to lend us £100 so we could get the bus. God bless him.

So we get to Ljubljana with about 45 minutes before take-off time. The airport is a half hour bus ride away. We'd just missed the bus, next one in 20 minutes. Surprise, sur-fucking-prise.

Taxi. Airport please, and fucking step on it. Surprisingly, he actually knew what that meant.

We didn't have enough Slovenian currency left to pay the fare, but luckily we had some Euros aswell so we just gave him a handful of notes and he said "okay!" with a massive grin on his face, leading me to believe we'd given him double the fare, or something. Never mind, he deserved it. He'd got us to the airport about 5 minutes before check-in was due to close.

No prizes for guessing what happened next. Flight delayed 2 hours.

So we get back to England and get on our train back to Leeds (we'd pre-booked our tickets thank fuck). On the train we get talking to yet another guy from Leeds who'd been on the same flight as us. Nice enough guy.

We get close to Leeds and we realise that my brother had forgot to arrange a place for us to stay that night. He was between flats and was going to arrange for us to crash a mates place that night but he'd forgotten to do so. We ring him and it turns out that he's out of town for a few days, we try a few other people but some of them are out of town with him and others we can't reach.

So then this nice enough guy from on the train proves himself to be more than just a nice enough guy and lets us crash at his place.

So that's pretty much it. If it wasn't for one saintly guy from Leeds we would have been stranded in Croatia, and then if it wasn't for another saintly guy from Leeds we would have had to sleep rough that night.

The next day my brother picked up his car and drove me to Nottingham so i could move into halls of residence and catch the second half of freshers week, so i got quite a few free drinks on the strength of this story. Every cloud, and all that.
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 12:31, Reply)
Quite possibly this morning...
...It's my daughters first day at Nursery school, but I've also just started car sharing the route to work with a neighbour (who is also my girlfriends boss, since she nanny's their kids).

SO, I arrange to get picked up round the corner at the nursery. I've just come out of there having had a brief "Hi, I'm the dad" talk so when i pick her up they don't think I'm a child snatcher. Leaving daughter I am a little upset (but not as bad as her mum)...

Neighbour pulls up, I get in car with the pointless question "Hi, How are you this morning?".

The reply: "Not so good, I've just told my husband to pack his bags and I think my marriage is over".

Me: "Err..."

Cue a 35 mile motorway journey with her crying, swerving in and out of lanes and telling me how much her husband upsets her.

Awkward does not cut it, try a twenty something trying to calm a crying forty something at 70mph who I don't really know that well.

Was glad to get to work and get out of that car.... just the homeward journey to look forward to now!
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 11:13, Reply)
the worst "virtual journey" of my life
Spent about 6 months playing World of Warcraft. Started off as an undead rogue in a graveyard, then going out and discovering brave new worlds.

This was all well and good, but as my journey progressed, the areas got less and less friendly. The enemies become more and more evil, and the money and quests become harder to achieve.

To make matters worse, the other players started turning into "l33t5", where they'd brag about finding anything slightly rare, and insult the newbies (or n00bs as they were named) until they left the server. It was a world of biased pisswater, and no mistake.

But I stuck at it, and eventually myself, in the middle of a farm at about 5 minutes walk from where I started, and 6 months worth of playing later, I hit the elusive level 60. No fanfare, no congratulations message, no ending. Just a small announcement on the bottom-left corner in yellow, and I'm still standing in the field.

I turned the game off, and immediately went down the pub. Haven't played since.
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 9:37, Reply)
Las Vegas Monorail..
While I was in Vegas, I got to try the Las Vegas monorail.

Not really bad, but I get irritated on our local trains where the train just tells you periodically what the next station is. The Monorail does this, and when it's not, all you hear is adverts.
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 9:35, Reply)
trains trains trains
just been interrailing for a month in europe and there are some things i want to clear up

people do not gas you on the train from prauge to krakow, and if you believe that you deserve to be mugged
so unfortunately no matter how attractive those irish girls were, their inteligence on the matter was enough for me to ignore them*

i spose i could reel off about all the shit journeys i had but i doubt telling you about a boring 13 hour train would be any more interesting than taking it


*ok they ignored me


"penis"
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 4:13, Reply)
When in Rome
Roman public transportation is utter shit. Went there last summer as part of a university program. This resulted in many oh-so-humorous incidents involving the Roman Metro and/or bus service.

Our apartment was on one line of the Metro (there are only two), so we hopped it every day to go out sightseeing and finished our day about 10 in the evening. Then, we headed back to Termini station, where the vast and complex system that is the Metro originates, only to find out that our entire line has been closed for maintenance starting a 9 o' clock. Did they have this sign posted that morning? Of course not.

So, we milled around a while trying to decide what to do and finally boarded a bus known as Rome's Pickpocket Express. Fortunately, however, the bus was only at about half capacity, and no one was robbed or seriously groped. After that, we walk about an hour trying to find a bus line to take us home. It was about midnight at this point, and we finally happened upon the correct bus. Upon seeing us, however, the driver shut his door and sped away. So, we embarked on a three-hour walking tour of residential Rome, which is surprisingly boring at 2 in the morning. Oh, well, no one died, which is a shock really.

The same week, was riding a bus with my face in the armpit of some Italian man who apparently had not showered since Mussolini was in power. The driver stops and tells everyone to get off. Grumbling and muttering and headed for the nearest Metro station, we happen upon a giant open-air concert put on by MTV. Fucking James Blunt forced me off my bus! It rained torentially an hour later; I laughed.
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 2:56, Reply)
Crosscountry
A few years ago I had just finished at a function. Without going into the details, I was left without any form of transportation besides my two pins...

Anyhow, home was approx. 8 km away as the crow flies with some really tough patches right in the middle (which I was totally unaware of at the time). Throughout this story, just bear in mind that I'm in a dress suit and shoes.

I set out, and left town to strike straight across the paddocks for home. All is good going for the first half of the trip, as I put my head down and jog leisurely across people's properties. The ground wasn't too bad either and I could see my house at the top of the foothills to which I was heading.

After coming to the crest of a hill I noticed that the ground seemed to disappear about 400 metres ahead of me. Nonplussed, I proceeded further and came to the top of what at the time seemed to be a monstrous cliff.

Though it was quite overgrown with trees, blackberries, and quite muddy, I managed to get to the bottom without any major mishaps. It was just hella scary. ;)

Next up was a nice flat paddock, though somewhat marshy and wet. Crossing that I noticed a tree line and heard the familiar trickle of running water. Groaning inwardly, I hopped over a fence and came to the creek.

By this time I was getting sick of the whole thing and I couldn't be bothered looking for a better place to cross. The creek was deceptively small in width (probably 8 feet wide, I thought it was 6). Going back to the fence line I prepped for a jump...

It wasn't until I was in the air that I realised I was going to land a foot away from the bank. Instantly my lower half was completely drenched and muddied. Jumping up the steep bank I decided to get home as quick as possible. It was getting very cold!

Little was I to know I was in for one more shock. Literally. Jogging across the next couple of paddocks I came to what seemed to be a very complicated electric fence (I had come across others already but this one seemed to have two extra live wires on either side and jutting out from the fence itself).

Not bearing in mind that I was dripping wet, I hoisted myself up and STOOD on the live wires. The moment my wet dress shoes touched the wire I flung myself up and over with the shock and fell on the ground with my leg trembling from the jolt that had just passed through it.

Getting straight up I headed for the next few barbed wire fences, got through them with no problem, and got on the uphill home stretch (another three Ks of one more tiny creek crossing, two extremely steep hills, and a valley crossing). I got home feeling exhausted, chilled, shocked, and VERY dirty. Nothing a shower didn't fix, though my mother was less than happy with the state of my clothes...

If you don't like the length, don't read it!
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 2:42, Reply)
A day at the beach.
Had a great day. Got sand in my eye... loads of it. Can't remember how. I was just one of those kids that would injur himself on a bouncy castle...

Anyhoo...

Spent the next hour and a half driving home in complete and utter agony. T'was the loooongest hour in my life. My eye was streaming, my eye lid bloated freakishly large.

Next day I woke up and couldn't open that eye. That freaked me out. Still have nightmares.
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 2:09, Reply)
Repost!
No ticket.
After road tripping the US and Canada for a while, I decided that it was time to go back to Blighty. Thing was, Iíd lost my Virgin Atlantic ticket from JFK to London. Both me and my folks at home spent many a long a weary hour on the phone trying to organise a replacement ticket from both ends of the Atlantic. No dice say bransonsí lot - Iíd have to buy a new ticket, and get a refund for the old one. Fair enough, but I didnít have the £1000 to get a new ticket.

Next best thing, get a cheap flight using a cheaper airline. Cheapest available? Pakistani international airlines.

By the time this lot get organised my visa has run out, so Iím now overstaying my welcome in the US. (If US immigration are reading, Iím making this part up) So, 2 weeks after my visa has run out, I turn up at JFK to board my PIA flight, this time to Manchester. Iím ok with that, I happen to live in Manchester with my girlfriend, so its all good. This ticket was bought online, an Ďe-ticketí if you will, something flyers with easy jet are familiar with. During queuing, and feeling the whitest Iíve felt in my life, a little Pakistani lady comes up to me asking me to carry several items onto the plane for her. Thatíll be a no then. She looks like Iíve slapped her in the face. So I get to the desk, the man asks for my ticket. ďIíve got an e-ticket!Ē say I. ďI donít know no e-ticketĒ. Bollocks.
Can you look me up? No. Piss off. You donít have a ticket. Desk closes, plane takes off.

Pishflaps.


So, Iím in new york, with approx. $4.00 in my trousers and no way to get home, and in the country illegally. Goody! With nothing much else to do I decide to lag all my kit over to the virgin desk in another terminal to see if I can blag it.


I find it and talk to a girl called Lisa (Iíll never forget her, I swear) who after hearing my story looks at me and hand writes me a ticket (hand writes!) a ticket to London for me. And the fee? ďIt leaves in 30 minutes, runĒ


Honestly, I had tears in my eyes. I told her I loved her very loudly and ran.


The man at the checking didnít look at my visa date, and I found my seat Ė the last empty one, right at the back Ė and flew to London.


Iíd had 4 hours sleep in the past 3 days by this stage (good old road trips) so I was a little messed up. To get home I had to spend 8 hours in a national express coach to Manchester. I wasnít feeling any better. My girlfriend meets me at the station, and I hug her, almost in tears. Then she informs me she wants to break up.

Good trip.
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 0:27, Reply)
N.I.R.
A goodly few years back, I board the Northern Ireland Railways train from a certain town in mid Antrim to the north coast, to attend a beach party. This was during the north west 200, a large motorcycle race taking place on public roads. Now this race attracts 3 types of people:

1)bike nuts
2)families with kids and
3)every drunk arsehole in a 200 miles radius.

Since that just about covers just about everyone in the entire county, the trains were VERY full. The guards really has just given up, no one was looking at tickets, they had barricaded themselves into the drivers compartment. Empty cans were flying everywhere, fags being stubbed out on seats, people writing on walls - total chaos. So I'm on the train, alone, looking like a likely target for drunken yobs with my long hair and 'god, donít hurt me' expression. How I managed to avoid getting bottled in the face I don't know.

Eventually, I reached my stop. In a flash, I leap up to the door. I'm the only person getting off at this hole-in-the-hedge station. I try to open the door (interlude - NIR trains are old. To open the door, you have to open the window, lean out and twist the handle on the outside) except someone had smashed the window, somehow resulting in the door being jammed shut. Then the train starts pulling away. I can't get out. eeek!

The ramshackle train is gathering momentum quickly, and soon it will be moving too fast to do anything about it. Right, drastic measures, and I fling myself out of the smashed window before it reaches the end of the platform, land and bounce a bit, all to a mighty "YARRRRRRR!!GOOOO OOONNNNN!!!!" and clapping from the drunks on the train. And I walk coolly off the platform, looking for all the world like I jump from moving trains all the time. When the train is out of sight, I stagger, clutch my knees, and begin to sob a little, as Iíve just royally shagged them up. So much so then they still twinge sometimes now, 7 years later.

Jumping from moving trains is very, very silly.
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 0:21, Reply)
Gromit Vomit Rocket...ship
When I was 16, I decided with a couple of mates to go on a boat trip. Being intrepid explorers (see under:overenthusiastic nut-bangers) it was decided that it couldn't be an ordinary boat trip, oh no. In the increasingly cold and inclement weather of October we were going to SAIL FROM HULL TO PORTSMOUTH IN A TALLSHIP.

Exotic locations aside, a brief note to the uninitiated. A tallship is a traditional sailing ship, complete with masts, canvas sails, rigging, etc etc. and a full crew. We weren't on a cruise - we were volunteer crew! Oh, and you must NEVER call the ship a boat, on pain of pain - she's a ship...and female, apparently.

The entire journey took a week. We were taught to climb the rigging, haul in the sails, heave in unison, weight the anchor and steer the ship at the wheel. Every morning we had 'happy hour', which consisted of 'Always look on the bright side of life' being played over the tannoy while we scrubbed the entire ship with brushes for an hour. We worked in shifts through the night, the worst two being the midnight to 4am, and the 4am to 8am. Despite all this, the hard work was rewarding - the sea-sickness was not!

Some of the volunteer crew were sick for the entire week. My mate Cat was. I had a slightly extreme way of getting over it. I was sick non-stop for the first three days. On the third day in, I said I was feeling really bad - worse than normal.

"You'll get over it" says one of the permanent crew...
"mnnnrgh" I reply, before up-chucking over the side, wandering away slowly, then failing to vomit anything except yellow bile and collapsing flat out on the deck.

They carried me back down to my bunk.

I spent half a day recovering, but it turned out that not eating anything at all was rather effective. By the time night fell, I was awake and coherent enough to overhear all the guys in the bunk who had no idea I was there talking about how they watched all of us sleep at night and how creeped out we'd be if we knew...and they rated us.

After that, the trip was fine, except for Friday Night.

Being somewhat Jewish, I wanted to bring in shabbat somehow. I was meant to light candles, but lighting candles on a wooden ship with canvas sails is not generally a good idea. I decided instead, that I would just stand on deck and wait for it to get dark. Duly, I went up to the mainmast and stood, singing quietly to myself while the other crewmembers took fag breaks. The sun started to set, and the sea started to get choppy. It got VERY choppy. I tied myself onto the mainmast so I wouldn't fall of the ship.

Before I knew it, It was pitch black and raining hard, occaisonal bursts of lightning silhouetting the ship in eerie white electric light. The ship was sailing at 45 degrees and rolling from side to side as huge waves formed under it, then loomed over it and broke onto the deck, washing over it...and me! I was stuck tied to the mast of a sailing ship in the middle of a force eleven gale thinking

"WHEEEEEE! HAHAHA!! I'M GOING TO DIE!!!"

as the waves crashed down onto me and soaked me down to the bone.

Eventually, one of the permanent crew realised I was still out on deck. He burst out of the door that led down below, and shouted at me to catch the rope he was going to throw. I did, and tied it securely to the mast. He told me to untie myself, but then realising that I'd get swept off deck, he hauled himself hand over hand to where I was, clipped me to his belt, and only then untied me before retreating below decks.

When we finally docked at Portsmouth, we learnt that a small hurricane had hit the South. Guess who met it first?
(, Mon 11 Sep 2006, 0:15, Reply)
Brazil
Whilst in Brazil with my mate Debs on a working* holiday, we had a large number of plane trips. Virtually all were fine: on time, clean and punctual. I suppose when a country is so fucking vast it could fit mainland US in it 1.5 times, then you need to rely on planes.

When we were in Manaus (a really, really odd city, but that's another story) we were due to catch a flight with TAM (Brazil equivalent of BMI I suppose) to Salvador. On arrival at the airport, we noticed a large number of police and other vehicles with flashing red lights on the roof. Knowing that security can be a bit tight, we thought nothing more of it. We went to check in, to be told "your flight will be delayed by a couple of hours. There has been an incident just outside the airport." OK, we think, and make ourselves comfortable in the airport bar. At this stage we notice:

1: there are very few people here.

2: everyone seems a bit subdued.

3: there is a bit of a bushfire near the airport.

We assume that the fire is causing the delays. I am aware that landing planes in smoke is a bad thing, so we order some more cheap Skol.

About an hour later, the smoke clears and we board our aircraft. On a 737, there were about 20 of us.

It is at this stage that we are told the fire is due to the fact that a TAM aircraft had crashed on arrival at Manaus and killed everyone on board. Fucksocks. Still, never mind. We're here now, so let's get on with it.

Anyway, flights in Brazil are like buses, and land at every small town to pick up passangers. We're happy, as this means more outings for the drinkie trolley, and we top ourselves off.

On arrival to Sao Luis (one of our stops) the weather decides that a thunderstorm would be in order. As we approach on finals, a downdraft drops the aircraft about 50 foot in ten seconds. At this stage, the oxygen masks drop and I hear shouted Brazilian from the cockpit, which I assume meant "brace." I decided to start praying instead. We then made a perfect landing in Sao Luis. I got off the aircraft and started kissing the tarmac.

We completed the journey by coarch.




*drinking and smoking weed
(, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 22:46, Reply)
Going to Washington via Newark
Had the opportunity to go on a business trip to our HQ in Washington with work - something unusual as the furthest I usually get to is the lake district and lovely places such as Widnes and Crewe.

Anyway, woke up at 4am to get to Manchester for the 7am flight. Lucky me I got taken to one side whilst checking in my luggage in and had to unload my suitcase for a search. I was the only fecker they did this to. Flight over to Newark was fine.

i got off the plane and went to the terminal for my connecting flight. Looked at the board and it was cancelled. This is the first time I had flown on my own and the first time I'd ever got a connecting flight. Bugger thought I so I went to the Continental airlines desk (which was in chaos) and after being in the wrong queue three times finally got seen to after about an hour.

I was perfectly polite and the very obviously stressed and hassled fella at the desk scribbles on my old ticket and says that I'm fine to use this one for the next flight and I should just go through to the departure lounge.

Here I am taken to one side, have my laptop bag swabbed, the full pat down and baton check and my mouth swabbed. I ask the fella why - as i'd also been checked in Manchester - and he replies that I'd been marked down for a more throrough search.

Well, safety is safety so after the search, I go in to the departure lounge for a couple of beers and to catch the tail end of Portugal Vs Holland in the world cup.

Next thing I notice a kerfuffle at the Continental desk so now nicely relaxed with a couple of ales in my gut I go over to see what's happening.

Turns out Washington is suffering from torential storms and my re-booked flight has been cancelled.

A few of us make the point that we need to be in washington by the next morning - it was now around 8pm US time and and 1am UK time. After several calls and much haggling me and one girl get booked onto an Amtrak leaving at 9.47pm.

We find the station only for that train not to be listed so we use a customer service phone that tells us we need to travel out to Penn station to then get onto the train. Having not a fucking clue where Penn station was and with the prospect of having to fork out a few notes we decide to wait on the off chance that the train passes through Newark airport.

Sure enough one passes through that the board says had come from Penn and was going to union station in Washington. So we jump on the next one at 9.15 even though we had no legit ticket. I managed to avoid detection and ticke checks by pretending I'm asleep.

Around 11.30 and having seen us storming through Philadelphia and several other cities and taking the scene in through one eye the train stops. Half an hour later a guard comes on and tells us all to get off.

Confusion abounds, not least be cause the platform we were on was under repair and there was no way to actually get off it. After installing some temporary walkway over the tracks we are all taken to the main concourse where we are told that we can't go any further as the Potomic had broken it's banks and the line was flooded. In fact we'd arrived in the worst rainfall that Washington had ever seen and a state of emergency was declared.

So we stood around for a few hours and then at 5am a Greyhound coach arrived having had to go all the way south from DC and then working its way from the southeast, east and then northeast of Washington to pick us up in some place called newcaroltown.

I ended up getting to the hotel, via a taxi from union station, at 6.30 am - 1 hour before I was due at the introductory breakfast meeting. I'd now been awake for around 31 hours with a full days work ahead of me plus jet lag.

Not to mention my bag was somewhere in New Jersey, I stank of sweat, ale and the general scum of someone who's been on such a journey. I went to the hotel shop, at least I could brush my teeth, shave and then have a shower, but they were closed for stocktaking.

So, one quick shower later and getting back into my rank combats, t-shirt, sockless and going commando I head up to HQ for the meeting.

Of course everyone was wearing suits and I looked a proper cunt as I was wearing the type of clothes i wear when lounging around the house.

After hearing of my predicament I was kindly taken down to the corporate store when I was fitted out with a red corporate polo shirt resplendant with a lovely hawaiian print.

Day over with, and still without a change of clothes I decided the best course of action would be to simply get pissed on my own in the hotel bar. By the time I went to bed I had been awake for over 48 hours and looked like shit.

Next day I got to meet the CEO of one of the biggest newspaper and media companies in the world in my lovely attire with a hangover and two day stubble. Nobody had told him about my predicament and he looked at me with the kind of shit on the shoes reserve that Prince Philip does when meeting mental patients. I also got pride of place on the corporate broadcast that they did to announce the project I was there to work on.

Finally got my case on the day I was due to go home. The journey back was simple - no problems at all - until I got back to Manchester, picked up my suitcase and there was a massive fucking hole burned in it which ruined my best suit and going out clothes.

Back at work on the Monday, my colleagues, jealous that i got a trip to corporate, had potato shopped various images from hurricane Katrina with me and various rednecks showing our valiant toothless pride in the face of adverse circumstances.

It was only a few days later that I realised the full extent of their mirth when I was asked if I really was raped when I was taken to the local stadium for refuge.

Sorry for length but it makes up for an inverted cock
(, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 22:31, Reply)
ach no
I once had to travel to scotland
(, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 22:24, Reply)
Guess what I did this time?
Not in a car though.I'd been to a birthday party of a friend of a friend with 3 other lads.I was in Wythenshawe I think and we'd got off the train at Manchester Airport.As per,I had a skinful and as we were sat on the train,waiting for it to leave,I needed to spew.I staggered back to the toilet with such an unsteady gait,you'd have thought the train was doing 100 mph over large rocks.I had a little spew and obeyed the sign telling me not to flush in the station.I wander back to my seat,whereupon I immediately need to empty myself again.I did this about 4 times in all,filling the loo with more and more lager and bile.Eventually,it stopped.I needed a drink ,as my throat felt like I'd been gargling battery acid and sand.What's in the machine on the platform?Mountain bloody Dew.More like pissy antifreeze.Anyway,I sat semi-comatose on the train for about an hour more,waiting for it to leave,can of fluorescent cack in hand.We set off and I must have fallen asleep,because my next memory is waking up with a wet crotch saying,"I didn't piss meself.It's me can of pop."Thankfully it was.All that remained was the peculiar taxi driver who complained in his comedy Jamaican accent about "All dem Girls be coming in me cab after dey one night stands,all smelling a fish"
And so to bed
(, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 22:12, Reply)
More Spew
Almost the same as last time,except this was after a wedding.And I was 31.And I puked all over the inside of the nearly new motor of my best mate's dad.Seriously,who spews in the car of a friend's parent aged 31.I'm a fucking disgrace.
(, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 22:02, Reply)
First of several
Many of which involve vomit.
Coming home from a 21st birthday party in a black cab with a bunch of people I knew from school.Halfway home,it hits me and I start to puke.Down inside the sleeve of my suit,so as not to make a mess.Obviously,it didn't all fit,so I had to try and swallow the rest.Some of it,regrettably,may have spilled onto the floor.My mates,bless them,covered it up.Unfortunately,I was the last stop and the cabbie saw what I'd done.By this time,I could barely speak.I know he asked for money to clean it,but I only had about 4 quid on me.After that,all I remember is waking the next morning with very sore ribs.I'm sure he twatted me a good one.Don't blame him either.
(, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 21:59, Reply)
LAPD Blues
A few years back I spent a working summer in California. I flew into LA, and on our first day there a bunch of us went to visit Hollywood (for the record, not very exciting).

On the bus back from Hollywood to our youth hostel near LAX, it suddenly stopped in the middle of the road. Surrounded by cop cars.

A voice came over a megaphone ordering us to put our hands on our heads and leave the bus 2 by 2.

As my turn came I got off the bus to find no less than 5 cops pointing guns right at me.

I crossed to the side of the road where another cop searched my bag. Turns out they'd had a report there was a man with a gun on the bus.

They didn't find anything, and they let us all back on. The driver who knew we were visitors, said to us "I promise this doesn't happen every day in LA".

We got the bus out of there to San Francisco that very same night.

(an overnight Greyhound - come to think of it that was a pretty nightmare journey too!)
(, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 19:28, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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