» Abusing freebies

Wet Snacks
Long time listener, first time caller.

I was DJing at a wedding a number of years back in a very small town in Scotland, about 2 miles from the very small town in Scotland I used to live in.

It was a stupidly cheap affair, in a pub's back room with tesco value snacks as the meal (and cake), a dress from top shop and, well, me as the entertainment.

I played the usual shite, then after the bride and groom had buggered off, I got to raid the buffet for a bit of an after gig snack. There was a load left as most of the guests were far more interested in getting pissed and hitting each other than a fatty sausage roll or chicken wing. They bought me a lot of beer too though, bless em

I filled a plastic bag with snacks and decided to walk the couple of miles home and collect my gear in the morning rather than spend my hard earned on a taxi. Was rather chuffed as I wouldn't be forking out for a kebab now either.

Bag in hand, I stumbled home alongside a local golf course. The free lager needed out now, so I slipped off the road and let 'im loose. Weird thing was, I could feel it leaving my body, but didn't hear it hitting the ground. Yes, I was pissing in my bag of free food.

If that isn't abusing freebies I don't know what is.

Don't understand what this length thing is all about.
(Sun 11th Nov 2007, 3:37, More)

» The nicest thing someone's ever done for me

The Kindness of Oz
It's not the first thing you think of when you mention Australia but through a strange twist I ended up spending a week in a town called Jindabyne and doing a bit of snowboarding in the nearby resorts.

I always got a lift in the morning and was told that the best way to get a lift home was to stick my thumb out. I think my thumb was used for about 20 seconds as every time - every time - the first car to pass me stopped.

I won't mention the first guy who turned out to be staying in the same ski lodge as me and bought me stupid amounts of beer and invited me to a party at his house, or the second guy who drove me all over the town to get a wee repair done to my board. I want to give a mention to the two lovely girls who picked me up on the third day.

We were idly chatting, 'where ya from', 'ya here on holiday', 'what do ya think so far'?
I answered 'Scotland', 'sort of' and 'it's brilliant ... although I've been here for days and haven't seen a kangaroo yet!' I added jokingly.

They talked amongst themselves for a bit and then pulled off the road up a side track which I assumed was some local short cut. We speeded along for miles, the road getting worse and worse as we drove, then it started to climb high into a part of the 'Snowy Mountains' (they're really called that).

We'd been off the main track for about half an hour now, longer than it would take to get to Jindabyne over the main road, so was getting ... well not scared ... they were lovely people ... maybe a bit worried.

We started driving through a heavily wooded area then stopped as we approached an old looking trailer. The driver got out and approached the door which was opened before she got there by an old scary looking guy. They talked and both looked back at me a few times before he dissapeared back in and the driver came back to talk to me.

She came back over and said, 'as quietly as you can get out the car.' Starting to get a bit scared now but did as I was told. The old guy came back out and beckoned for me to come over, gave me a handful of brown pellet like things. 'Walk over there and hold your hand out.'

I did, and out of the trees came a tiny little kangaroo, then another, and another, then loads ... all coming up to me and eating out my hand. I got out the shotgun and managed to blow off most of their faces.

No I didn't, but someone was moaning this QOTW wasn't funny. It's all true up to the gun ... these girls, who I'd known for about ten minutes, drove on an hours round trip out of their way so that some stranger could see some kangaroos! For no reason other than that they knew where to find some. It was a magical moment that meant a lot ... it was over 11 years ago now and I've got a huge grin on my face typing this.
(Wed 8th Oct 2008, 10:36, More)

» Public Transport Trauma

Russian Nightmares
Not strictly public transport ... but ... went on a holiday to Cyprus a few years back and my mate and I decided to do the wee, two day, three night cruise to Israel and Egypt. Depart Cyprus night one, cruise to Egypt, wake and have the day in Cairo/Giza, cruise to Israel that night, wake and have the day in the holy land (buy cheese) back to the boat and cruise overnight back to Cyprus. If you can, do it! Well worth it.

You can pay shed loads for it and get a view, or you can, like us, pay pennies and get a tiny room near the engines. Sink you couldn't wash both balls in at the same time, storage enough for one shoe and fold down bunks that had inches of cleance space from either person above you or the roof.

Me and my mate didn't care ... we drank up on deck until the sun started to come up then stumbled a mile back down into the bowels of the ship to lie down for a few hours. We were sharing a room back on Cyprus so were fairly comfortable with each other, and it was only for two nights.

Not so for the guy we met on deck on the third night.

In fact, we met loads of people on the third night. The Cruise was mainly populated by older people, but as the bars closed all over the ship, there was a larger and larger group of young people gathering together in the search for booze. We made it to the last bar just as it was closing but managed to get a few armfuls of wine and beer bottles to drink al fresco. By about 2 or 3am the deck was populated by two Scottish blokes (us) two girls from Israel (pals, one Arab, one Muslim), some German girls, a HUGE Russian guy (more of him in a moment), a few Asians from the West and South East of the continent, the ubiquitous Oz bloke, a few randoms we never identified ... and it was fecking fantastic. A veritable United Nations, all happily drinking with each other, putting the world to rights and trying to get off with each other. Brilliant night.

Anyway, back at the point. One of the folk there was a guy from Liverpool who was joining in as much as he could, but was quiet plainly exhausted. He'd turned up on his own as his mates didn't fancy the trip, and had been assigned a bunk mate. He was in the same financial bracket as us, so ended up sharing his tiny bunk room with the aforementioned HUGE Russian guy.

He hadn't slept for the two previous nights and told us why ...

The HUGE Russian bloke had turned up in the room about midnight, just as our pal was bedding down. He was about 25, and 6 foot square, a scary combination of fat and muscle ... probably couldn't run after you for very far, but you were fucked if he caught you. On the other hand, he was sweetness and light, very quietly spoken, with a very gentle manner. When he came in, the Liverpool guy had to get out of bed to let him manouver into his, but was very apologetic and polite ... even offering one or two little vodka shots as nightcaps from his hip flask.

After a bit of kerfuffle, both were bedded down and the lights were off ... the guy from Liverpool slipped into a gentle doze. All was well.

Then around 4 in the morning the Russian guy started having a nightmare. A. NIGHTMARE.

I've woken up in some unfamiliar places before, but imagine, just imagine, waking up in a tiny space with an enormous bloke inches below your head screaming at a big imaginary scary monster. In Russian. In the dark. Then the arms started flailing.

The Liverpool guy shat himself. He didn't know what to do ... there was no way out of the bunk without standing on a part of this guy, who was now dreaming about having Godzilla in a headlock and shouting about it at the top of his voice. He stayed put, and fortunately Godzilla died not long after, making the Russain snore loudly in triumph.

Our pal didn't get back to sleep again that night.

The second night he stayed up drinking as long as he could and as he got to his room door, he heard the fight starting again ... he went back up and stayed on deck that night. It gets cold out there!

By the third night he'd given up and was trying to sleep with his rucksack tied to his leg and all his spare clothing around his body. Shame he'd camped out next to us as we cheered everytime he managed fall asleep.

It's not the size but what you do with the enormous bastard that counts.
(Thu 5th Jun 2008, 0:12, More)

» That's me on TV!

I arrived home utterly exhausted ...
It was about 8 o’clock on a Monday morning and I had just got off the London to Glasgow sleeper train, which wouldn’t have tired me out so much had I actually used my bunk and not spent the whole journey in the bar talking. My bag thumped down on the bed, bounced off it and tumbled to the floor, spilling bits of leather, metal axes and resin cast weapons on the floor. I swore as I noticed a little bit of decoration fall off my disruptor pistol and roll away, but the thought of bending down for it was too much. I let it stay where it had landed and climbed on top of my quilt with the idea of lying down watching some early morning TV for 10 or 15 minutes to relax and get up to speed with the rest of the world. I clicked on the telly, put my head down, and fell into a deep, deep sleep.

I awoke about 3.30 in the afternoon, in a fairly befuddled state, and slowly sat upright. I opened my eyes, and found myself staring … at myself. I blinked. The mirror never used to be here. I blinked again. I was silent and yet my reflection was saying something. I closed my eyes and rubbed them. My reflection wasn’t even wearing the same clothes as me. My reflection was wearing a substantial amount of latex on his head. I touched my forehead, it was smooth, it was skin, and it was mine. I made a moaning noise. I thought I was still dreaming. I couldn’t deal with this. I had words under my head, the mirror never usually gave me a caption. What was happening? I blinked and took a deep breath. It was dawning on me. Slowly. I was on the TV. No matter how hard you prepare, nothing in my life will ever prepare you for waking up to find yourself face to face with yourself on BBC’s Newsround dressed as a Klingon.
(Tue 16th Jun 2009, 22:31, More)

» Festivals

Glastonbury behind the scenes
I worked for Oxfam at Glastonbury in both 95 and 97. Instead of employing loads of stewards, what the organisers did was donate a load to Oxfam who in turn would recruit volunteers to do things like direct traffic, take tickets at the gate and stamp hands on the way out. (or direct ticketless people to the latest area where we heard the wall had fallen over)

The benefit was that you got to the festival for nothing, got a field to camp in that was a bit quieter than the main throng and got a few free meals in exchange for three shifts on the gates or car parks, only one of which would be during the festival itself.

We also got to wear a big yellow bin bag and see some pretty scary attempts at getting in for nothing. AT one gate there was a huge collection of ropes, grappling hooks and home made wall climbing equipment that the security guards had collected in the last hour alone!

One night we were over near a section of the inside wall when a few bags came flying over. This was usual, they'd chuck over any luggage then attempt to scramble over. We weren't security and were under strict instuctions not to apprehend anyone, so if they made it we usually gave them a cheer or marks out of ten.

Security patrolled in land rovers that drove in a circle round the site between the outer and inner walls, so some unlucky punters who had made it over wall one, chucked thier luggage over wall two, suddenly found themselves in the headlights and had to scarper with nothing but the shirts on their backs.

This time though, the luggage wasn't followed by people, but by a huge dog that had obviously been lobbed over. It soared over the wall, ears flapping, and a slightly surprised look on its face. We then heard the roar of an engine, some swearing and some footsteps running away. They had chucked over the dog first and got caught! I'm sure the poor thing had a great time on its own though. I saw it a few times, happily getting fed by most people who passed it, don't know if it ever got re-united with its owner though, but if you had been thrown over a huge security wall by your master, would you want to go back?!


Other notable moments were ...

A welsh guy turning away Page and Plant, because he'd 'never heard of the buggers.'

Constantly walking into the slam door toilets to see a girl perched on the seat, open to the world

Using some of the found rope to tie a drunk bloke to the chair he had fallen asleep on, then watching him wake up and stagger off for a piss, not knowing it was still on his back

Smoking something I shouldn't have in 95 and falling asleep in my tent, with my bare legs outside in the sun for most of the afternoon.

Turning up in 97 with a small backpack full of shorts and tee-shirts, and a hope that the weather would improve.

Giving people tips as to how to improve the UV stamp they'd tried to draw on the back of their hand.

I'll watch it on the telly this year!
(Wed 10th Jun 2009, 13:49, More)