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IHateSprouts tells us they once avoided getting caught up in an IRA bomb attack by missing a train. Tell us how you've dodged the Grim Reaper, or simply avoided a bit of trouble.

(, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 12:31)
Pages: Latest, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Grave Mistake
I'm about nine years old, wandering through a graveyard with a couple of mates. We pass one of those big rectangular box-type graves, and notice that the side has fallen in. Looking more closely, we can see that the earth inside has also collapsed down, resulting in a deep hole at one end.

Naturally, we dare each other to climb down into the grave. When it's my turn, I resolve to get in and out as quickly as possible. But once in, I'm distracted for a moment by the site of ancient toe-bones, which I can see poking out of the pile of earth at the bottom of the hole.

Just as I'm feeling slightly weird (!) about being in an occupied grave, there's an ominous creaking noise. I look up, and watch, frozen in fear, as seemingly in slow motion the entire stone box structure keels over, pushing me down and effectively closing me in to the cramped, musty and above all skeleton-occupied hole.

I remember shouts, then blessed light as my best friend (well if he wasn't before, he sure is now!) lifts up the stone slab that used to form the top of the box, and now functions as a very effective cap to the pit. He manages to make a gap just large enough to squeeze through, and you can imagine the speed at which I scramble out. In time-honoured kid fashion, we leg it.

The next day we return, and my mate attempts to lift the slab again. He can't, it's too heavy. It must have been pure adrenalin which gave him the strength to do it the previous day...
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 16:27, 1 reply)
I nearly left my spine in Snowdonia
I was on a 6th Form Geography field trip in Snowdownia. We'd stopped the minibus to eat our regulation hostel sandwiches in a place with lots of hills, grass, sheep and rocks - quite a familiar sight by this point.

Being the attention whore that I was, I decided to show my fellow geographers my ability to chain multiple forward rolls together to create a "human cannonball" effect. I located a hill that didn't have too many rocks (oh and those small black balls of sheep poo), shouted "watch this!" and off I went, floundering like some awkward panda. After about 6 rolls I stopped and stood up, my classmates decidedly unimpressed.

Walking back up the hill I noticed something. About a foot away from the path I had rolled was this smashed, glass fish tank. About two feet long with lots of jagged glass shards pointing upwards. I stopped, paused to think exactly how they would have airlifted my twitching, bloodied body out of the mountainside, and vowed never to do it again.
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 15:47, Reply)
Oh blimey, the previous answer reminds me.
Apparently, I died at birth (I suspect that it is quite common technically speaking but hey, bear with me, I'm not a medical student). I was a very difficult birth and quite large too, some 11 pounds in weight, but at some point I was starved of oxygen for too long and adding insult to injury my heart ceased to function. Doctors advised my parents to start praying and that even if they could restart me I would be permanently vegetative at best. And guess what, they did get me going again. They had still managed to crush my skull with forceps (adding to their fears about brain damage) and I spent some time in special care but by and large am now a fully functioning member of society (NB This last statement is the opinion of the author and may not be entirely true)
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 15:02, 3 replies)
I almost wasn't born
But narrowly beat one hundred million other sperm to the grand prize.
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 14:34, 1 reply)
I could have been deaded!
If instead of getting dressed and going to work this morning I shot myself in head, followed by drinking poison all the while getting stung by killer bees.

Phew, what a morning that wasn't.
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 14:17, 4 replies)
Kitchen Chairs
I almost had to put up with an ear bashing from Mr Freepens for suggesting that we get some new kitchen chairs. How did I avoid a whinging whining 40 mins of complaint. I bought the chairs online and got them delivered while I knew he would be out. Every day for the past week I have enjoyed an hour long 'object objection'. Do you want custard with your grumble?
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 14:11, Reply)
I went to a Roman Catholic all-boys private school.

My mate and I were absolutely tight - very rarely without each other.

But he was the one who, in our early teens, ended up needing "private lessons", in which the priest regularly put his hand down my mate's short trousers.

Did my self-confidence a whole lot of good that did.
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 13:32, 11 replies)
65 Million Years Ago....
We all had a narrow escape when a meteorite killed off the dinosaurs.

Damn we are lucky.
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 13:21, 3 replies)
Smash and Snark remind me of the day a creepy bloke tried to get me into his car
when I was about 19. I was waiting for a boyfriend, wearing a leather jacket and carrying a crash helmet, ffs! but he waved £18 in notes at me and when that didn't work, tried to grab me.

I went into a phone box and rang the police, who I think thought I was a nutter. When the boyf turned up I don't think he believed me either. I dragged him across town to the police station and reported it, giving a good description and the car's reg number.

When they checked it, turned out the car's owner was a bloke from the next city who was known for his interest in young kids. They hadn't known he could even drive, let alone that he had a car!

So the police learned something new, the boyf knew I wasn't making things up and any local kids would hopefully be safer.

I still wonder, why did he harass me and offer me money? I didn't look like either a hooker or a vulnerable schoolgirl. Perhaps he just wanted to try something different!
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 12:52, 4 replies)
In the summer of seventy three, Gaz, Baz, Beefy and me..
pooled our cash for a big bottle of Corona lemonade from the Spar shop ("standard shared drinks rules" applied - wipe the top with your t-shirt before and after your swig, try not to deposit any of the bits of breakfast still adorning your teeth into the bottle)and set about the day's business - larking soccer and poking dog shit with sticks on the school field. After a while we got bored and wandered further afield, eventually coming across a railway line, which as pre- teens we were honour bound to explore. Any safety concerns were swept aside by Beefy's confident assertion that "They don't use this bit of track anymore." Beefy was slightly older and more streetwise than the rest of us, however his knowledge of train routes proved to no better than ours, as evidenced by the train that appeared from round the bend a few hundred feet up the track. Oddly we all stood stock still and peered in disbelief at it for a second before someone shouted and we all scrambled down the banks, the bottle being dropped in the process. The train shot by with the driver leaning out of the cab to shout at us. (Of course we thought he was just telling us off and didn't give a moment's thought to how frightening it would be for him.) We picked ourselves climbed back up the track and peered after the train. "What's he doing, coming down here?" asked Beefy in a defensively incredulous tone. We noticed that the bottle was unbroken having fallen into the pea gravel between the sleepers, picked it up and decided to head back for more dog shit poking (you got plenty of white dogtod in those days).

A narrow escape? Bloody right it was - we could've lost the 5p deposit you got for returning the empty bottle.
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 12:13, 5 replies)
Every time I take a step
I narrowly escape face planting on to the floor.

The unconcious skill required just to walk is phenomenal, ask anyone who's had damange to their spinal cord and have to relearn how to walk just how hard it is.

Amazing how we take something like walking for granted.
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 11:32, 4 replies)
Rohyping good times in Thailand
Not me but my friend (christ my life is uninteresting) told me this story about a near miss he had in Thailand when he was out travelling about 10 years ago.

He was out one night on his own at the local pub, where he got chatting with a local, any way they were buying each other drinks and getting along, when this guy asked him back to his home for a cheeky smoke, and decided it sounded like a great idea. Anyhoo, when they start getting back to this guy's home, my friend said he started feeling a bit light headed and a bit dizzy, and then it slowly dawned on him that something had been slipped into his drink. He managed to get up and push past the bloke and get back onto the street and find his way back to the pub, where they called the police.

Eventually the police turn up, and he tells them what happened and where this guy lives, so they put him in the back of the car, drive over to this guys house, boot the door in and proceed to kick the crap out of this guy, and even suggest to my friend if he'd like a few goes as well.

Turns out there'd been a bit of a local problem with this going on, and in order to prevent the tourist money from being scared off, the police took a dim view on such things and so dealt with it in pretty rough terms.

He said that he dreads to think what would have happened to his ring piece if his tolerance to drugs hadn't been what is was back then.
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 11:02, 9 replies)
I drove through Stoke once

(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 10:57, 4 replies)
Last Night
A DJ saved my life.
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 10:42, 3 replies)
31st August 1997
Woke up nice and early on a bright Sunday morning, to be informed by my parents of Lady Di's death earlier that day.

Sunday afternoon about to take the stage at Swinton Station Festival, when our drummer points out the problem with our set list. Half way through the set? A Husker Du song that goes by the name of Diane.

The lucky escape? If we'd played it? We would have probably been ripped to shreds by the audience.

Click here for the Therapy? version
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 10:09, 13 replies)
Couldn't help picking up on this story in the media
Not a narrow escape for me but definately for this cat that was trapped in a wheelie bin for 15 hours, due to some evil cunt throwing him in there. This also compounds the fact that you should never judge a book by it's cover!Video included -


PS the cat was 4 years old and definately not a kitten but gets more attention i guess...
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 9:53, 24 replies)
i almost died today.

(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 8:56, 1 reply)
My old Dad ...
was born and raised in Glasgow. He lived in a tightly packed tenament building, just two floors down from a young lad of the same age, Billy Connolly.

And like his old childhood chum, he decided to join the Army at the age of 16 to see a bit of the world and to make himself a bit more windswept and interesting.

On Friday November 22nd 1963 he was stationed on the Berlin Wall, listening to the radio as the news of JFK's assassination was broadcast.

He later said that the next few weeks were the most tense moments of his life. He and the other British soldiers spent a lot of time in bars in West Berlin talking drunk, angry American GIs out of their loudly declared intentions to go up on that Wall and shoot as many fuckin Commie bastards as they could.

Good job Dad. He and his fellow squaddies narrowly avoided WW3 right there.
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 7:42, 1 reply)
.working late you get the bleeders?.
I've worked cash at enough different stores... hazardous to health? Even though I've had a some scares in my younger years- I'll stick to the employment related?, may as well start with the worst.

.Leaving at the end of my shift, sitting in the passenger seat of my coworker's car, the last thing I remember is buckling my seatbelt and talking about a bigmac... next thing I know I'm in my mother's house, not mine, in severe pain and a bandage over one eye- not an awesome pirate patch, a full head bandage. Some idiot was speeding with his lights off(it's dark out my dear- candles are for storms and romanticism) and just happened to find .us. in the massive empty parking lot, and drove right up the front of the car. I was informed later if his car would have been 2 inches in either direction- toast. Ended up with a major concussion (still don't remember the accident today 8ish? years later,), stitches in my eyelid, and above my brow (they told me I had to wait a month to see if my eyeball worked, thanks modern healthcare, wonderful for a young girl to hear), sprained shoulder, amongst other minor injuries. All I know is that girl's car was trashed; and my blood was streaked crimescene style all over inside and out.
.Another store, working the late shift, a youngman came in drenched in blood. Turns out he had just minutes before, one house down, mutilated an older man, which included pulling his intestines out through a tiny hole, slicing open his scrotum, etc. Loverly. Wanders in and is bound I'm going to go on a date, well I thought he was attempting to hit on me(either that or on x). Now I don't know about you girls, but creeper covered in blood, not a turn on. He was getting pretty aggressive, when my lucky day a police officer wanders in for his coffee/donut...arrests him hour later at another location, blah blah history.
.Same store, year later. I was craving a cancer stick and wandered outside to indulge....when I hear some raving lunatic screaming at the top of his lungs some filth about his woman, a couple screams, some breaking glass, good old fashioned talkshow material. It's coming from an infamous apt complex, so I thought nothing of it until a young man comes running out straight towards me. Extinguish cigarette, slowly backup into the store (no sudden movements, wouldn't want to draw any unwanted company, ha) while this man is still running fullspeed into said shop. Once again covered in blood and wants one of my cigarettes... hand it over, hand on the emergency button, and he goes into a tirade about someone screaming at him being a womanbeater (was it me he asked, because he'll find out who, god no sir!) and starts yammering about his horrible life. Me thinking was a suicide attempt(?), try to be a good citizen and calm him down. He leaves, and ten minutes afterwords said girlfriend wanders in with A SCREWDRIVER IN HER HEAD. Yes, sticking out of her skull, and apparently she is unaware. Called the ambulance, etc etc, she's fine now, but what if I said it was me?
.Just recently, new store, locking up for the night, just about to set the alarm when I realize my keys are out back. In the time it took for me to walk to the office to retrieve them, I come out to a stringyhaired greasy man whom I thought was drunk, standing by the counter. We are closed sir. I need a pack of cigarettes. We are closed sir, all the money is sent to the bank, and the till is locked, you have to leave. Suddenly irate, yells at me that if I knew him I'd sell him a pack, and in his flailing arm movements I notice his whole arms slashed up, bleeding all over my nicely mopped floor. At this point I really didn't care about the till and was about to a) either knock him out with a chair or b)give him cigs to leave. Instead I gave him the option to leave in an ambulance or a cop car, chair at the ready. He panicked, tried to go out every door, except for the one he came in (each one being locked for the night) and at each failed attempt to leave, got increasingly angry. Leaving a csi bloodtrail smeared over every touchable surface, he realized wow I came in through the only door I haven't tried and promptly ran off into the night. Turns out he was an actual suicide attempt- and it took over half an hour for our lovely police force to come, and the officer sent was the 'rentacop' drug enforcer from the highschool, the town's most unintelligent cop, lisp included(I should have knocked him out with said chair).

So moral of the story? If you work the late shift- bring a heavy chair.

P.S. My other half jokingly requested I include my severe allergy to penicillin... in which my cat was prescribed antibiotics for a wound she inflicted upon herself biting an electrical cord. Not knowing it was my krypton, I gave her the alotted dosage, rinsed out the syringe, and proceeded to break out in hives. He adds, "she can take out the crazies -but she was almost done in by a cat."
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 3:29, 1 reply)
My favourite story! I STILL torture my mum with this.
I grew up in Adelaide, it's the sex-crime capital of Australia, possibly the universe, with more unsolved murders against kids, particularly young boys, than you can poke a stick at*.
One of the first things parents teach their kids is BE CAREFUL, AVOID STRANGERS.
Anyway, Adelaide is also bloody hot in summer and they have a rule that if the temperaure goes over 100 degrees fahrenheit (37C) kids get let out of school and sent home, presumably to go to the beach or eat ice cream.
So one day I'm in primary school, about 8 years old and the temp goes up, the bell goes off and the tannoy crackles to life: "OK brats, go home". Everyone packs up and files out, mums and dads collect their kids, busses fill up and everyone goes home.
Except me. I'm left standing on the footpath by myself in the sweltering heat.
Eventually a car pulls up and a voice says: "Hey little boy has someone forgotten YOU?" *sob* yes. "Come on then, get in my car and I'll give you a lift home... here, have a lolly..." *sob* OK.
So ignoring everything I've been told all my short life, I climb in the stranger's car. And got a lift home.
Mum, it should be pointed out was sitting in the pool with her mates, enjoying a nice glass of wine when this total stranger walked through the back gate holding my hand.
To say she was horrified, embarrassed and so bloody thankful is an understatement. I spent the next decade being told what a lucky day that was.

*This is not hyperbole, Google "Adelaide City Of Corpses" and take a look at the facts.
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 3:14, 6 replies)
About 15 years ago
My girlfriend at the time broke up with me to pursue (of all things) an American sailor and I was devastated.
Years later I ran into her again and sweet Mary mother of God what the hell had happened? Gone was anything even remotely resembling the girl I knew and in her place was a bitter, nasty, mean to kids, screeching, bloated, drunk who looked alarmingly like her hag of a mother.
Think Vicky Pollard crossed with a pitbull chewing on a wasp nest.
A couple of acquaintances who work with her confirmed she's become a complete and utter bitch who regularly makes their lives hell and is widely regarded by those in her office as one of the nastiest pieces of work they've ever encountered.
Considering I'm married now to the most beautiful girl I can imagine and our fantastic son turned one last week, I rightly consider getting out of that previous relationship to be the narrowest escape of my life indeed.
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 2:52, 2 replies)
Born three months early
I weighed in at a whopping 1 pound 13 ounces (thought it was 2 pounds 10 ounces for ages, but my mother corrected me recently -- 2:10 was my birth time), spent 2 months in the NICU and was in the top ten lowest surviving birth weights that year in the hospital where I was born.

Aside from plain old not dying, I also managed to survive with no brain damage, no debilitating neurological conditions and only asthma and a heart problem to show for it (the latter would provide me with another brush with death 17 years later), which I'm told impressed the doctors just as much as my living in the first place. The story goes that after I was whisked away from my exhausted mother's arms and secured in an incubator, the doctor popped in to warn my mother that I'd probably die before the day was out. Much to my grandmother's horror, my lovely mother told the doctor I would live and he could fuck off. In the 33 years since, her attitude toward doctors has yet to improve.
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 2:09, 7 replies)
Three years ago I got a phone call out of the blue from my brother
To put it in context we get on fine but my brother almost never calls me, there is no animosity but we lead separate lives him up in Scotland and me down in London, we never talk about the meaning of life but have great shared sense of humour.

The only time we do talk is if there is something specific we want to ask and even then it was almost always me calling. Even at Christmas he would never pick up the phone to me.

Which was why when the phone rang with his name on the caller id and I heard his voice I was bit taken aback, Mrs N who was in the room at the time saw my reaction and I mouthed silently ‘it’s my brother’ with a quizzical expression’

We were just about to go out and meet some friends but I just felt it was important to take the time and just have a chat as this was so rare an occasion.

We chatted about things in general, how our children were what we were both up and a lot of what we watching that was making us laugh.
This went on for about an hour and at the end of the call I sensed there was something he wanted to say, but being him he never showed his emotion or admitted to any feelings about anything and we just skipped over it and said goodbye.

Mrs N immediately asked if everything was ok and this was so out of the blue, I just was left with the feeling that something wasn’t quite ok with him but was happy that he had called just to talk and left it at that.

A few days later my dad called and I mentioned him calling me up and he said ‘you don’t know how much that phone call meant’ and despite me pressing him on what he meant, he wouldn’t elaborate.

I left it at that and about a year later at a family party my parents came down to London from the little village they live in Scotland the same one as my brother and with a mixture of drink and emotion my mum told me what had happened.
Not being one to share a problem or deal with an issue, my brother had got himself into debt, a combination of a low paid job, a younger pretty wife with a spending habit and deperate not to lose her he had put his head in the sand and ignored the letters and demands till finally the bailiff had come round to repossess the house. He was out but my dad who has the same name and lives around the corner and they were directed there by the neighbours.

While this was going on my brother had gone to the woods to hang himself and that is when he called me, a final goodbye, and we had chatted about this and that having a laugh all the time not me not having a clue at what he had planned for himself when he finished the call.

My brother had disappeared and In the hour we talked my dad had found his suicide note and had sent out his 2 brothers in law and the police to try to find him and luckily one them did.

My dad had to plead with the bank and the creditors and promised he would pay the debt and avoid the eviction. They were actually very good and did everything they could within their rules to help as they see too many cases like this. They saved the house and my parents had to give their savings to pay it all off.

I shudder to think what would have happened if I had said I was on my way out or not even picked up the phone.
The amount of debt was about £9k, to consider suicide over that just leaves me bereft. Had I known and given a few days I could have paid it easily, but me being the younger brother and his stupid pride he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

He has not talked about it since, not a single word, and it’s as if it never happened to him but it’s all still bottled up.

Life is so full of things that hang on the flimsiest chances and opportunities, I’ve gotten over worrying about the choice I might have made a long time ago and am very glad that I did make the right one.
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 0:52, 4 replies)
Once I sat next to an unmarried woman!
My only near miss.
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 0:21, Reply)
'There was a busker at the top of the escalator. I thought of him later and realised he probably died.'

My memories of childhood holidays and days out have a common thread through them - my mother not being able to walk very far at a time, due to being rather large and incredibly unfit, and all the joint problems etc that come with that.
It was bloody frustrating as a child, having to stop for her to sit down when all we wanted to do was run off, but if she'd been a skinny exercise freak in her twenties, I may never have been born.
My parents were in London for a few days, back in the mists of 1987 when I'd never been thought of. My brother (then a year old) had been left at my nana's house while they were away. On their last day there, they left their luggage at Kings Cross while they had a jaunt round town. True to form, my mam got tired and they decided to get a train back an hour earlier than they planned to. Hop back on the tube from wherever they were, collect the bags, on the earlier train, sorted.
By my Wikipedia research (forgive me, my memories are a bit fuzzy, having only been born a little over a year later), that would have been around 6.45pm.
It's about three hours on the train from Kings Cross to Newcastle. Maybe then it was a little more. Maybe the trains were slower, maybe it stopped at more places, who knows. Then once they were back in Newcastle, they had to drive to my nana's house in Sunderland, where they found her frantic and watching news reports of a large fire in King's Cross tube station.
Had they been on the train they'd originally booked on, they'd have been caught in the fire.

My mam is somewhat healthier now, having lost seven stone and taken up exercise, but if I remind her of this, I've got an excuse to bake and feed her cupcakes and pies.
(, Tue 24 Aug 2010, 0:01, Reply)
the snark's sad tale just reminded me
when i was a child, i grew up in an area that had many parks. as it was the early 80's, mums were a bit less paranoid about stranger danger, including mine, which was why i was allowed to go to the park on my own.
on this particular day, i'd had a lovely walk, picked some flowers, the usual girly shite. lunchtime was fast approaching, so i decided to go home. as i headed towards the park gate, a tall and bearded man approached me.
"hello," he says, "can you help me find my dog? i think he's hiding in the bushes."
even as a child, the alarm bells were ringing. i had seen him walking up and down the path for at least 20 minutes, yet he had not once called to his dog, nor did he have a lead(leash for the merkins). it suddenly became very apparent that something wasn't right.
"sorry, i have to go home, my mum's expecting me back" i muttered, before scuttling through the gate.
i hurried down the road, heading towards home. looking back, i saw that the beardy man was following me. even worse, he was close and catching up.
i darted into a nearby phone box and called the police. i told them where i was and what the man looked like. he must have heard me, because he turned hurriedly and headed back to the park.
luckily, the police station was only at the top of the road, so a squad car was at the phone box within a couple of minutes and i was escorted home.
some time later that day, a police officer called at the house. they'd stopped the man, who claimed e was waiting for a friend and hadn't seen me, nor did he have a dog. they took him in for questioning. it seemed he was wanted for questioning about a string of indecent exposures in the area.
i dread to think what could have happened and am very thankful that, even at that age, i had the sense to know when something wasn't right.
(, Mon 23 Aug 2010, 23:40, Reply)
The time I was almost kidnapped in Thailand...
"Go gentle, its my first time..."

A while back, on my gap year, I went travelling. Did a standard route with a few variations, ended up meeting a friend in Thailand, 4/6ths of the way round. We rented motorbikes and explored the hills above Chang Mai. One day, riding (read racing) back from a waterfall, I had an explosive blowout, thankfully (-ish, I think) on the rear wheel. Cut to me fighting the now fish-tailing bike to a slower speed, before going into the ditch. Ankle deep in mud, and possibly some of the erstwhile contents of my bowels, I looked up to see the now-distant speck of my friend flying over the horizon like the proverbial bat-out-of-hell.

“Shit.” I think. “He wont stop until he gets back to the guesthouse (10 miles away), and even then he will wait for a while, assuming himself to be the victor, before even considering what had happened to me.”
Long story short, I pushed the bike. It was mostly downhill and the bike wasn't too cumbersome. I passed through several villages and no one batted an eyelid, except the kids. And of course they chased me and occasionally threw things at me. I realise now that I should have stopped and asked someone in a house in one of the villages – a loud white boy in distress would be (and was) a good way to be rescued.

Anyway, about half way back, and I'm clear of the the latest mobbing and ritual humiliation meted out by the 6 year olds. I'm pushing the bike still, and a pickup truck drives by, and stops. At this point I am tired, hot (did I tell you about the heat, and the humidity...) and ready for any angel to rescue me. There were three of them and they didn't speak much English, but I shouted the name of the village I needed to go to and indicated in its general direction. Much smiling and nodding. Bike is put in back of truck, which contains chains, knives, ropes and cages – no joke of a lie – although maybe just coincidentally.
I am put in front, with two of them, the other rides with the bike. Another mile or so and we get to the crossroads; it is right to the village and they go left. Naïve, I turn to the driver and say “no, that way.”
The guy between me and the driver (perhaps placement is their first mistake?) says “no, give me your bag.” He's smiling, but he is talking in a cold, clear voice. This is the moment I begin to want to re-texture my trousers. He tries to grab the rucksack out of my hand, the driver slows the car as he fumbles for his knife, and I panic and go for the doorhandle. It's an old Hilux-type vehicle, and there's no central locking. I fall out of the door, dragging the tnuc who is still holding the bag halfway out, me dragging on the track as they pull to a halt. Right outside someone's house. BONUS.

Cue, screaming, people emerging, tnuc letting go of the bag, man on the back swiftly pushing the bike off the pickup, leaving the tailgate down to obscure the numberplate as they high-tailed it out of there (-scuse the pun). In all fairness, I owe the safety of my bag and its contents (and possibly my life) to these people, but they just walked back into their houses as if nothing had happened. Perhaps it is a regular occurrence around there?

Anyway, I continued to push the bike, back to the crossroads and onto the (only) road leading to the village where the bike shop and guesthouse was. I get to the bottom of the hill, push the bike along a flat bit, and then the road starts to rise. It starts to rain, big, fat droplets of monsoonal deluge. I say this because I happily could not tell if I was crying or not (pussy). I climbed onto the bike, and slipping and sliding on the dead tyre and now increasingly damaged rim, I rode up the hill, taking a cars width of the road as the rear of the bike slid. About a mile away from the village I meet my friend riding the other way (through the storm, coming to find me, bless him). That was the moment when I felt that I was safe again, although, to be honest, I think I had my narrow escape a lot earlier.

Apologies for length, in appeasement and consolation, it was much longer if you were actually there. ;-]
(, Mon 23 Aug 2010, 23:17, 2 replies)
The power has been out here for over an hour now
It's a good job I found some candles, otherwise I'd have been in serious risk of being eaten by a grue
(, Mon 23 Aug 2010, 22:45, 11 replies)

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