The Worst Journey in the WorldAspley 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.
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chthonic, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 12:40)
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Calling this the worst journey in the world seems an exaggeration......but if you'd been there, you'd feel the pain.
On the return drive from Scotland to Wales, camping. Two people and three dogs in a small hatchback. In order to protect the fine Renault upholstery I'd lovingly tucked in a blanket for all three dogs to perch on on the back seat.
Motoring cheerfully down the main roads, past Gretna Green and onto the motorway. A sudden realisation steals over the two human occupants of the car (and probably the canine ones too, but who's to say?) that there is a nauseating smell so thick you could almost chew it. At least one of the dogs has passed wind. The kind of wind that surrounds its perpetrator in a greenish cloud. The driver and passenger exchange glances and open windows simultaneously. All is quiet for a while, until there is a kind of tearing noise and a whoopee cushion sound. There is a time lag of two seconds and then the front half of the car is enveloped in a smell so bad the driver swerves and the passenger scrabbles ineffectually at the window mechanism. One of the dogs has had an attack of explosive diarrhea.
Fucking, fucking motorways with no junctions for miles.
All three dogs are now panicking trying to crawl out of the way of both the cow pat on the seat and the wrath of their owners, and therefore spreading it over the parcel shelf and getting it into their fur.
Finally after a period of wide-eyed speeding down the fast lane we reach the Carlisle services. We screeched to a handbrake stop in the car park and jumped out of the car, followed by three guilty dogs sqeezing through the windows.
At this point I would like to apologise to Carlisle service staff.
Out comes the dribbly blanket. The offending dog is easily identifiable by the blast radius in the long butt fur. Cue twenty minutes cleaning the dog's butt hair using paper towels from the men's room and cups of water from the vending machine. Passers-by repeatedly witnessed one person holding the dog still whilst the other flung a cupful of water aimed squarely at the dog's rear end. I was torn between laughter and the urge to vomit.
We travelled the rest of the M6 in outraged silence with watering eyes.
(, Thu 14 Sep 2006, 12:48, Reply)
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