Pearoast - Cocaine is one hell of a drug (or how I was a complete twat when I was younger, rather than just a bit of of one, as I am now)

many, many moons ago, after leaving London for the sunnier climate of Milton Keynes, I nipped back down the smoke to see my mate Scouse Emma one Saturday afternoon. Took massive amounts of coke, stole a bottle of champagne from a pub and exposed myself to a bunch of theatre goers (which must have been well impressive after the substances I'd taken).

The next morning, I fell out of the hostel first thing, to avoid the warden blokey, who would charge me for staying there. I dragged my sorry arse to Euston and staggered up to the ticket counter. "single to Milton Keynes please, sweetheart" I said to the bloke behind the counter. "Certainly sir" he replies "what kind of ticket do you want?". "The one that gets me home earliest, chief" says I. A ticket is produced and suspiciously powdery, rolled up motes are handed over. I say to the fella "when's the next train?". "8:15, platform 9" he says. And off I trot.

After working out where platform 9 would be (in between 8 and 10, it would seem) I showed my ticket to the dude on the gate who pointed me at a big, red, train-like creature, which I duly got on and plonked myself opposite a nice, middle aged couple.

Not long after we left Euston, a ticket inspector wandered along the carriage, doing the ticket inspector thing and inspecting tickets. He took one look at mine and then the converstaion went like this:
Ticket Bloke: "You've got the wrong ticket"
Me: "Eh? Does this train not go to Milton keynes?"
TB: "Yeah, but you've got the wrong ticket"
Me: "Eh? But I got a ticket to Milton Keyens"
TB: "Yeah, but your ticket says Silverlink only"
Me: "Eh?"
TB: "your ticket says Silverlink only"
Me: "Yeah"
TB: "And this is a Virgin train"
Me: "Right"
TB: "So you've got the wrong ticket"
Me: "Run that one by me again, slowly"
TB: "You've bought a ticket that only allows you to get Silverlink trains, this is a Virgin one"
Me: "What's Silverlink?"
TB: "A different train company"
Me: "Oh right"
TB: "so you need to buy a ticket for this train"
Me: "No I don't"
TB: *looks confused* "Yes, you do"
Me: "Why?"
TB: "because you don't have a ticket to be on this train"
Me: "Yeah, but when I bought that ticket, this is the train they told me to get onto and, since this train goes to Milton Keynes, I assumed it was the right one"
TB: "Well it's not, if you were going to New York and had a ticket to go by BA, you wouldn't get on a Virgin plane, would you?"
Me: "I would if I had been told it was going from platform 9 of Euston at 8:15 on a Sunday morning"
TB: "Well, you're still going to have to buy a ticket"
Me: "Not a chance, it's not my fault" (it was, really)
TB: "Are you refusing to buy a ticket?"
Me: "I guess I am"
At this point, I thought I was going to get arrested, but no:
TB: "in that case, sir, I am going to have to ask you to exit this service at the next stop"
I then had visions of them stopping the train in the middle of nowhere and chucking me off. I was even compiling a mental list of people to ring to see if they'd come get me from where I ended up.
Me: "Fine, where's that?"
TB: "Milton Keynes"
Me: "You're a fuckwit"

He actually sat with me to make sure I got off at MK. I gave him a cheery waves as the train pulled away.

That counts as fare-dodging, right?
(ScousersPet, Fri 22 Aug 2014, 13:16, 3 replies)

Guy I worked with
used to keep falling asleep on the train home after too many shandies and waking up in Hastings, needing to get a taxi home.

Next time he had a night out, he came up with a cunning plan to set the alarm on his phone for about five minutes before the train was supposed to arrive at his stop.

Woke up in Hastings again, and someone had nicked his phone...
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Fri 22 Aug 2014, 12:00, 2 replies)

When I was traveling in Australia, this guy was out and about
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ivan_Milat_%28serial_killer%29

Bought a car. Best $500 I ever spent
(LetsGetDownToIt, Fri 22 Aug 2014, 10:28, 13 replies)

when we were about 14, my friend smithy got on the wrong train in manchester and found himself steaming off to london
the conductor said there was nothing they could do, and he would have to pay the full fare for a return. when he emptied his pockets and clearly had nothing other than his young person's railcard, they made the train do an unscheduled stop to boot him off it. it sounds uncaring, but probably better than taking him all the way to london.

when we were about 17, he tried to get to london without a ticket. seeing the conductor coming towards him, he casually headed for the toilet, and spent the rest of the journey hiding in there. needless to say, they were waiting for him when the door opened, and there wasn't even a whiff of vomit to support his "travel sickness" claim.

and a few months after that, we'd all been out in town, and were sharing taxis home. smithy refused on the basis that it was too expensive, and toddled off to get the nightbus by himself. he woke up a bit later, fast asleep on the floor at the back of the top deck of the 192, which had just gone back to the depot for the night. yep, he'd been all the way home, past it, to the end of the line, and all the way back. he had to bang on the bus door to be let out.

and then had to pay for a taxi all by himself.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 22 Aug 2014, 10:04, 18 replies)

I was hitching in the bleak conemara in Ireland when a rather pretty woman in a porsche gave me a ride
now as a very experienced hitchhiker I can tell you this pretty much never happens, the pretty woman/sportscar combination.
Anyway after telling me where she was going we'd maybe driven a mile when I pointed out that she'd missed the turn-off. She braked and started reversing back to the intersection when Bang! she backed straight into a telephone pole, doing a fair bit of damage (to the car. the pole was ok)
We got out and she burst into tears moaning "It's my boyfriends car and I'm not even supposed to be driving it". I didn't know what to say.
And that's pretty much where I left her, by her fucked porsche, thumbing down another car while she sobbed. My dreams of flying across the Irish countryside listening to Kraftwerk and doing lines of coke off her naked thighs in tatters.
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Fri 22 Aug 2014, 0:28, 4 replies)

Scotland!
I used to drive to Aberdeen quite regularly from the home counties. Had quite a few entertaining hitchers in with me, often university students heading home, but I always preferred to pick up red-platers, those guys who carry a personal numberplate that can be put on any vehicle to make it legal for them to deliver it.

Often they seem to be engaged in moving fleets of cars for corporate users to and from servicing businesses or fleet exchange places. One great trip was when I picked up a biker-looking guy with a red plate, just south of Perth, and had a sleep while he drove my Mondeo most of the way to Aberdeen. Arrived much more refreshed that time.... (He was engaged in returning a fleet of cars owned by a hospital to the dealers premises and had no return transport, he'd already got 3 of them to Perth and hitched back by the time I picked him up)

It may go wrong for me sometime but for now I'd recommend picking these guys up any time you see them - they usually have fascinating stories...
(Carpe Cyprinidae, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 23:10, 6 replies)

August 1984 - Glasgow to Burnley, I am 17
News headlines. Miners Strike, The Fox burgling rapist hostage taker with gun.

I sold my coach ticket and Walkman for booze and so I had to hitch homewards.

First lift (8ish pm), Glasgow - lorry driver and going to Lanark. Oh well, it's a start. The tractor unit is very loud and he is incomprehensible but I get the gist that all miners are cunts and Maggie is the best thing since sliced bread.

Second Lift, Lanark to Lockerbie - lorry driver. tractor unit is quieter. I am able to ascertain that miners are all cunts and fucking labour party are fucking useless cunts. That 'the fox', string 'em up. Then a brief respite before he told me about the terrible abuse he suffered from his father.

Picked up by two men a Charnock Richard. Their conversation about North West Clubs alerted me to the fact that they were homosexuals. That and all the schoolboy uniforms that were covered in blood on the back seat. I said I was also an illegal boy, as at that time the age of consent was 21 (quite right) but this did not stop them propositioning me for sex and I agreed to their lewd invitation. We stopped at one of the guys father's house. In the morning I walked from Accrington to Burnley.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 22:40, 11 replies)

Do people still hitch? I can't recall seeing a hitcher for years.

(DBT became a fruitarian on, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 20:24, 38 replies)

42

( GeordieJay Bummers are deaf, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 19:19, 9 replies)

Long distance
Epic hitchiking from mate's house in London back up to Leeds. First lift was in a 1967 Lotus Elan - absolutely gorgeous car. The guy had restored it by hand over the previous 3 years and was running it in. Never went over 50, but awesome nonethless. Next lift was a truck driver who, as luck would amazingly have it was actually going within about 400 yards of my house! Not funny, but very, very jammy.
(SquidFish, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 18:39, 5 replies)

In 1958 me and my mate decided to try youth hostelling.
We headed for North Wales on our push bikes and lodged for the night at a cabin atop a small mountain. (No camping see).
In the morning we set off down the cart track but ended up going too fast, slipped on the gravel and collided with each other, mangling one of the bikes beyond repair.
We wheeled the bikes to Bangor station and put them on a train home.
No choice now but to hitchhike and walk for the rest of the fortnight but we got lifts easily from the few cars we saw. Never missed a destination and had a great holiday.
Bonus, we were sitting on the battlements of Harlech castle and found five halfcrowns in the grass.
The bikes arrived home three weeks after we did,
( edjogs Collared doves are shit., Thu 21 Aug 2014, 17:15, 9 replies)

After a discussion in my local bar the night preceeding the opening day of camp bestival
2 friends and I joked about breaking into camp bestival in a home-made ghillie suit. Earlier in the day we had bought a type-writer from a charity shop, so began to construct a document explaining how we would get in. The landlord printed off a map of the grounds and we phoned a freind who was already inside with an artist pass to give us a recky on where the gates were etc. Before long, the joke had become a reality and "operation white chocolate" was born. After scouring the map, we decided the most effective chance of entry would be through the campervan field which backed onto some woods. Now all we needed was a way of getting to lulworth, when as if fate had called him, our freind turned up, a local fisherman. He said he was off for bass up by the isle of white and would be going past lulworth, leaving at about 10, he'd let us jump aboard, Excellent. Shit had now got real, so we downed our pints and headed home to begin work on the ghillie suits before it was too late.

I woke up at the arse crack of dawn, finished making my attire and packed the completed ghillie suit into a suitable suitcase and jumped on the bus down to the local pub to meet my freinds.
Upon arrival, it turned out I was the only one who had actually bothered to make a suit. Gibbs was dressed as Hunter S Thompson, complete with the charity shop typewriter, and Clarky hadn't bothered at all. We typed the final itinery, complete with estimated times. We planned to land at lulworth, storm the beach, then walk a couple of miles up to the festival grounds, where we would determine our position, and begin the assault.
With a crate of premium lager, and already half cut on mojitos we walked the harbour and boarded the small fishing vessel.
Our freind Tom guided us up to lulworth bay, but as we begun to approach told us he couldn't get in too close because of the rocks, we would have to jump aboard. So in we jumped, Hunter S Thompson, a bush, and an old guy with a large camera, luckily it was only waist deep.

We stormed the beach as anticipated and were met by the tutting of a crowd of disgruntled tourists.
This was all thirsty work, and we'd sunk the majority of the beer on the boat ride over, so we went to the pub, who were as accommodating as they were baffled considering we were three wet and drunken idiots. After a couple more drinks we began the walk.
After getting about 50 metres up the hill, we decided walking wasn't doing us any good, so decided we'd attempt a hitchhike.
Perhaps it was the majesty of Gibb's thumb, but as if by magic the first car to drive by pulled over and told us to get in the back. He was a london geezer on holiday with his 10 year old daughter, who was in the front seat.
He told his daughter she was never to pick up 3 strangers in fancy dress, half-wet, and drunk when she was older, then drove us up to the festival.

At this point the map had been lost, and we'd abandoned any thought that things were going to go smoothly, so we jumped into the forset and walked in a random direction whilst cracking open the last of the tinnies. About 40 minutes later, we found the perimeter fence, and found that somehow we'd ended up exactly where intended. we sat and watched the gaurd at the opening to the entrance of the camper field and decided I should go first as I had the camoflague. Off I went on all fours, shuffling a few metres at a time, and stopping when he turned round, when I noticed he had walked to the further side of the entrance, it was my chance, I sprinted through the gate, slipped between a couple of campervans and immediately discarded the ghillie suit. When I looked back toward the entrance my two freinds had been rumbled.

I made found our mole on the inside and explained the situation, asked to borrow his mobile telecommunication device and made contact with the rest of the team.
Turned out, they told the security they were meeting somebody who had the tickets but had got lost, so security drove them to the main gate where in the confusion they slipped away. Unaware that they were inside the festival, they drunkenly stumbled to the heras fence and broke out of the festival.
They were now walking the fence looking for another way in when they stumbled into a group of chavs, who had wristbands but wanted to break in anyway. They found a gap in the fence and rushed it, the security caught the hoodlums, leaving my freinds to slip in unnoticed.
Once inside the festival we begun to have fun, but hadnt counted on the split camping and stage area, they had security on the entrance to the camping who were checking wristbands. All the music was finished and the arena was being cleared out.

So we were sleeping rough in a hedge on the edge of lulworth castle. The first night was ok, but after aquiring some MDMA on the second day, and dancing our tits off to house of pain and blondie (she had a keytarist!)all night, the second sleep was hell, we were caught by security and had were chased for ages before diving into a hedge. The gaurd walked right up to it and we could see his feet turning as he was looking for us, finally he lift, but we didnt want to risk moving out of the bush unitl the morning.
I was coming down hard, had no water, or booze,was shivering and was stuck in a hedge. I didnt think things would get much worse, but I was wrong. Turns out I was underneath a nest of somekind, I found out when a bird shat on my face, grim.

The following afternoon we decided we couldnt last another night in the cold hedge, some freinds of ours were leaving and agreed to give us a lift home, so after an adventurous weekend, we set off home, but not after stopping off at the local to tell our tale.
( Glovington, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 16:12, 7 replies)

Albert Marshmallow saved a fortune on airfares to Miami by making the whole holiday up in the first place.

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 16:00, 8 replies)

I never get a "free ride"
I get called a pederast ALL THE TIME and it doesn't bother me in the slightest.
( spanishfly is so fucking sexy people impersonate him, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 15:42, 50 replies)

Travelling for free
not really a "funny" story but a rather nice one instead.

In 2008 I went to New York with my (at that time) girlfriend.

On the last day we visited a kind of all American Diner (I have no idea where about in New York this was). As we were eating our lunch there was a bloke stood near the door of the restaurant, a rather intimidating fella with the slicked back black hair and white shirt pressed to within an inch of its life. An exceptionally smartly dressed and loud bloke, also this was probably the only real true New Yorker i had seen while we had been there.

As we finished our main meal and ordered another drink and dessert (or pudding if you prefer) he approached our table and asked us where we were from, what hotel we were staying in, when were we flying home etc etc. As we had all our documents with us for the flight i was able to give him lots of details. He nodded and explained that he was the owner of the fine dining establishment we were in. He left us to dessert and disappeared.

When the bill (or check) came he brought it to us, told us that the meal was on house and that he had arranged for a car to pick us up from our hotel, he also told us that he had been in touch with the airport (this bit i am not so sure about) and that our flights were all scheduled to land and to take off at the right time.

We returned to the hotel, a little confused and also arguing over whether we arrange a taxi now from the hotel to the airport or actually wait to see if this car arrives that he had arranged.

When the time came lets say 7pm we were in the lobby of the hotel all packed and ready to go when a very large black limo pulled up in front of the hotel, the doorman came to speak to reception, who in turn pointed to us as we were informed our car had arrived.

Free booze in the back of the limo, magazines to take with us on the flight in little travel bags on the back seat, snacks, you name it...COULD I FUCK RELAX..this was the most stressful trip to an airport i have ever had. All the way to JFK i just kept thinking that we were going to get stabbed and raped for our passports and identities etc. Didn't have a drink in case it was drugged, did not eat any of the food I did however take the magazines. Needless to say it was all harmless and the guy just genuinely helped us out.

Yeah it may not be as funny as the other rib cracking, asthma attack inducing shite some of you lot post but AT LEAST ITS FUCKING TRUE!!!!!!11!
( spanishfly is so fucking sexy people impersonate him, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 15:13, 1 reply)

I tried to get a reduction on a 'go to the home counties' train ticket by trying to argue that Romford isn't in the home counties.
Cunt charged me full fare.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 15:09, 6 replies)

Back in the 90s,
when this sort of thing was apparently easier, a mate of mine claimed he never bought train tickets. He'd get caught and fined once or twice a year, at £80 or so a pop, but he claimed it still worked out cheaper than spending over a fiver a day on train travel.
( .Yeti. El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 14:50, 5 replies)

I got a free limo ride in new york in 2008 going back to JFK
i was raped in an alleyway on the way there but i don't really class this as "payment"

does this count?
( spanishfly is so fucking sexy people impersonate him, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 14:37, Reply)

Scudding it right up your mum
For well over an hour and she neglected to charge me the standard £50 fee.

Fare dodged.

STI's not so much though. hello GUM clinic.
(Moag_R_Brainbow kicks the mods dog to death out of pity, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 14:30, 3 replies)

I once went on the Waltzers and the Gypsy never came to our one to collect the token.

( Fork Has lost his bash virginity!, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 14:11, Reply)

i didn't think i was rehabilitated, but i guess they needed the extra bed

( The Doveston haunted by the memory of his own amnesia, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 14:01, Reply)

can someone give me a lift to first?
aw go on
( ferret -> twitter.com/syfyautocorrect <-, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 13:57, Reply)

[MOD EDIT: Dullness]
(^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM FARE-DODGING SPIDERS!
www.bbc.co.uk/news/blogs-magazine-monitor-27246823
( stuj (^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM SPIDERS!(^(^;;^)^), Thu 21 Aug 2014, 13:56, 14 replies)

FIRST!!!!!!!!!!!! anyway. when we were students, we got caught fare dodging on the driverless miracle, the DLR
it seemed very unfair to us. it was quicker to nip out to zone 3 and pick up the central line than to piss around changing to get to zone 1 on the DLR. but one particular day, the DLR had a conductor on board. we saw this nemesis coming, so we slipped out of the carriage and ran down the platform to get on at the other end.

unfortunately he saw us and made a beeline for us. in front of everyone. my friend, who was studying law, gave him a great eloquent speech that would have wrung tears of injustice from a brass monkey. but the conductor was having none of it. he simply handed us a fine each and booted us off the train.

when we checked the fine, he'd written on the back: STROPPY TEENAGERS DODGING FARE.

"fare" play really...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 21 Aug 2014, 13:36, 210 replies)