They dropped me off, and I wandered up to the roundabout, and chose the appropriate turning.
The traffic seemed to be light for a while, but I had all day, and took the opportunity to roll a fag and have a wander around, checking the back of the signs to see if any of my mates had left any messages, or if there was any good stuff going on.

It was here that the B-movie music should have started. The only messages on the back of the signs were "THIS ROUNDABOUT IS SHIT - ROB N' BEFF 5 HOURS STILL WAITING" "I FUCKING HATE THIS PLACE JON 3 HOURS" "I'VE BEEN HERE 4 HOURS NOT EVEN A VAN PAUL" "GOING TO FIND SOMEWHERE ELSE THIS PLACE IS SHIT".

Ah.

As far as I knew, I was somewhere between Oxford and Edinburgh. I had no idea where to aim for, and as I stared across the flatlands surrounding me, the nearest I could garner civilisation to be was about a two-hour trek across muddy, spring-soaked fields.

Trying not to be disheartened, I went back to the sliproad and waited.

As the sun sank lower, so did my tobacco and water supply, and I was starting to consider the logistics of a night under the stars with the threat of rain.

Finally an old guy in about his 60s or later pulled up oh dear gods he's stopped he's stopped I picked up my bags and ran full pelt to him dear gods thank you thank you thank you.

The car was warm and dry, and as he talked I listened politely, just grateful to be heading at least to somewhere where there might be a building or two I could crash the night in.

He'd had a hip replacement and had to exercise regularly with good weights to strengthen it, which he did by carrying his friend on his shoulders for 300 yards each day.

I was staring out the window, watching the countryside pass by, and drifting off into my own little world.

He bet that I couldn't do that and I was a young man I couldn't do that eh could I he bet I couldn't even carry an old man on my shoulders for a hundred yards could I eh? I should show him I could he bet I couldn't.

"Hmm?" I asked.

He pulled over, stopped the car, took the keys out, and said "You. Carry me 100 yards on your shoulders."

"What?"

"You. Carry me 100 yards on your shoulders."

It seemed that there wasn't really a choice in the matter. We were in the middle of nowhere, I didn't know where I was, and dusk was falling.

"Erm ... OK, then."

So out we get. I crouch down, he gets onto my shoulders, I stand up, start walking.

Which is when I feel movement on the back of my neck.

Which is when I crouch down, tell him he's won, get my pack, and walk off, him calling to me to come back and finish.

I spent the night under the stars, and as I settled down with the last of my tobacco, it started to rain.

Length? About 3 inches by the feel of it.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 13:45, Reply)