In 2001, I got a phone call from my then girlfriend
"I really need to see you, I want to rip the clothes from your fucking body. Get here NOW"
I grabbed a towel, rammed it into my bag and dashed to her house.
She was living in Birmingham, and I was in Portsmouth.

I wanted to catch a train, which means changing at Southampton. However, they couldnt get to Southampton main and I end up at some godforsaken out of town provincial train station, with one other bloke, eagerly looking for a taxi when a DHL van drives past. The other bloke flags him down, throws 100 notes through the window and says "I need to be at southampton airport NOW!"
"Is your mate coming too?" asks the driver, looking at me. "Fuck yeah!" I shout (as the airport has a train station too, where I can get my connection to Birmingham.)

"You'll have to climb in the back," says the driver, so I yank open the side panel and dive in, landing on the deck and propping myself up with poster tubes.

It's not a long drive, but that DHL driver earned his money by pulling off more than one handbrake turn in a full-wheelbase Mercedes Sprinter. I was thrown around in the back like a 6-year olds corpse in the back of a paedophile's Volvo. Best free ride of my life, and for anyone who got a package marked Fragile that had visible bumcheek patterns on it, I'm very sorry but I got some really good sex after that trip, so your broken Derby china figurine was a small price to pay.
( Grrrmachine the indifference engine, Fri 13 Oct 2006, 18:29, Reply)