A working holiday pea first posted in 2009
Ted and the Cocky's daughter

Back in the great depression me and my mate Ted where both hard up for a crust. The local businesses needed no workers and we was down to our last brass razoo. In desperation we decided that the time had come to hit the road and try our luck in the bush.

We walked for 100’s of miles and apart from the occasion bit of work for food chopping wood or fixing fences type of thing and living off wild rabbits it was a long hard slog until we came across a fruit farm. The cocky (that’s farmer for your non-depression era, non-Australian types) was growing all types of produce, apples, cherries, paw paw, pineapples, and oranges amongst others. He was hard up for help since his son had run away with the local priest to start a new life in New Zealand and he was in need of a couple of workers. He offered us 3 meals a day, a shed to sleep in, Sundays off and 2 shillings a week and his only caveat was,

“if either of you city drongos touches me daughter, I’ll fuckin’ have you”

And so it was, Ted and I hunkered down and fair worked our arses to the bone harvesting his fruit. From sun up till sun down we picked and packed in the hot sun and when Saturday afternoon rolled around he paid us our money, handed us a longy of Emu Bitter and told us he reckoned we had a bit of ticker for town galahs.

The following week was the same, except on the Saturday arvo when he paid us our money he told us he had to go to town for the night to call on the Johnson widow and then sternly warned us,

“touch me daughter and I’ll have your cock and balls to hang over me fire place”

Now I don’t know about Ted but it had been so long since I had had the touch of woman my old fella was like a rooster crossed with an owl (a cock that stays up all night) and despite the warning from the Cocky I just had to try my luck on with the daughter. And as luck would have it she was a right goer, she sucked me knob till it felt like my guts where going to come out the japs eye and then rode me like a brumby in the local agricultural show till she had fair rubbed six layers of skin off me pecker. With knees a trembling and my toggher about to draft a letter to his union rep in protest of cruel and unusual work conditions, I waved the white flag and legged it out the window but, farmers daughter was most definitely not satisfied and lay on her bed bellowing,

“MORE COCK, MORE COCK”

I hobbled back to the shed and told Ted to get his arse in there and finish up the job. And as the sun broke over the horizon next morning Ted struggled back to the shed, his tackle torn to ribbons.

“Don’t worry” he said “she promised not to tell her old man”

Later that Sunday when Ted and I where resting in the shed, the farmer burst in with eyes of furry.

“You flaming mongrels have rooted me daughter, I’ll have youse” he screamed. And after walloping Ted across the back of the head with a shovel he came for me.

“How do you know” I stammered

“She’s an idiot” he screamed “she fucking told me”

“Surely we can work something out” I cried back, and the cocky stood back and started to think.

“You and your dead shit mate get out and pick me 100 pieces of fruit and bring em to me in the kitchen” he growled before storming off.

So Ted and I slunk out to the fields to gather the 100 pieces of fruit. Ted was well pissed with me, he reckoned it was all my fault and after telling me to go fuck myself walked off in the opposite direction. I was near the cherry trees, so I picked 100 cherries and took them to the farmer.

When I showed him the fruit, he told me to,

“drop your strides and stick em up your bum” and the menacing look on his face and the loaded shot gun in his hands told me it was best to just get on with it and not argue.

So I start sticking the fruit up me arse, one cherry, two cherries and so on but, I couldn’t help myself and when I got 34 I burst out laughing and the cherries fired out of me like a rat out of a drain pipe. The farmer waved the shotty at me and indicated to start again but, it kept happening, when ever I would get close to the 100, I would laugh and out the cherries would fly.

After this had happened about 10 times the Cocky was fair dinkum fuming.

“What’s so fuckin’ funny you suburban dingo” he yelled.

“Sorry boss” I replied “It’s just when I was on me way back here I saw Ted in the back paddock”

“So what, that’s not funny, the little cunt better be picking fruit is all care about”

“Oh he is” said me “he’s picking pineapples”
(bad_advice QOTW survivor from the first trollocost!, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 23:10, 2 replies)

i don't have a funny or interesting story about my travels
like most b3tans
( mictoboy shitting in your cunt since, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 22:58, 2 replies)

Zante
If you ever go there (we were in Kalamaki) and need a Taxi, agree a price to your destination before you get in. Just sayin'....
(Outrun Is it the weekend yet?, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 22:23, 2 replies)

Proper mugging in Rizal Park
On my second day working in the Philippines I got mugged by two wee fellas with knives.

"MONEY" said the talkative one, prodding the knife towards my midriff. I handed over my wallet.

"WATCH", more knife prodding motions. I handed over my Casio. So far all was going to plan.

In quick succession I was releived of "SHOES" and then "CLOTHES", though to my relief he didn't demand "UNDERPANTS".

Retaining as much dignity as I could, I strolled back to the Hilton. Every person in the lobby was pointing, laughing or looking shocked, the guy on reception handed me my key without any comment at all.
(Brigadier an old boot sitting on a man's face - forever, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 21:01, 1 reply)

I had some excellent advice from a Datoga cattle baron by Lake Eyasi in Tanzania.
"Simba!" He said, for I had quite the handsome mane of curly hair at the time. "Simba! You must remember one thing when you go back to your country. If you ever find yourself telling an anecdote that involves an uneventful trip through an airport security scan then you must take your kisu and cut out your own throat. If your life has become that dull then you have no life."
Then he wrapped himself more tightly in his blanket, spat on the ground, and said. "Cheers."
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 20:34, 8 replies)

Deadly weapons
On first holiday with girlfriend (now wife). We'd gone to Israel simply because it was hot in February. Once there we took a sightseeing trip to the Dead Sea, Jerusalem and Bethlehem - we're not religious, we just thought 'why not?'
It was all very interesting and I managed to get some souvenir spoons for my mum who, for some reason was a collector.
Bizarrely, instead of getting back on the bus for the return journey, we were to take an internal flight. Security was high and we found ourselves separated and interrogated by large military ladies with machine guns.
"How long have you known your traveling companion? How far away does she live? How often do you see her?" It was all getting a little scary and I started to panic.
My interrogator barked her final question at me, all the time rubbing her hand over her massive gun. "Do you have anything in your possession that could be used as a weapon?"
Well I didn't want to lie - she might shoot me, so I confessed.
"I HAVE TWO SPOONS!"
The impossible happened and this bear of a woman cracked a smile and sent the British idiot on his way.
(Mr McKenzie Mr McKenzie, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 20:21, 1 reply)

I went West.
I got eaten by a Grue.
( stuj (^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM SPIDERS!(^(^;;^)^), Fri 19 Apr 2013, 20:07, 1 reply)

Here be dragons
Prepare yourselves for a journey into the heart of darkness. A tale of hardihood, endurance, and courage which should stir the heart of every Englishman.

Yes, I broke through the M25 barrier and then on past the mythical Northampton into the wastelands.

After half a lifetime I arrived at a native dwelling hole known locally as Dewsbury. The savages where friendly enough and eager to please in a dull eyed animalistic way. At time for luncheon my request to be taken to the nearest Waitrose was met with incomprehension. Some of them grunted 'asda asda' but I was unable to ascertain the meaning.

One of the more intelligent creatures understood my need for sustenance and took me to a local a feeding location. It was a grim affair. A huge she-cow was in charge and she pointed to some scrawl on a blackboard by way of communication.

My eyes settled on the horror.

THE HORROR.

Mucky Fat Sandwich £1.20
(Brigadier an old boot sitting on a man's face - forever, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 20:05, 12 replies)

I went to the Solomon Islands for my medical elective. The day I arrived they elected a very unpopular new prime minister.
There was mass rioting. The locals burned down half the capital including the only nice hotel and the internet cafe so I couldn't tell my relatives I was still alive. All the other medical students were evacuated by military transport planes to Australia and the bastard government cut off the electricity and banned alcohol. I was left locked in a hut in the dark drinking foul tap water that I had to sieve through a sock to get the bits out.
It took me 3 weeks to work out that Honiara is a shithole anyway and buy a ticket to Gizo, a nearby tropical island paradise with beautiful coral beaches and plenty of cheap booze where they didn't seem to care at all about politics.
I was told I'd had a lucky escape as during the previous riots they'd decapitated tourists and played football with their heads.
( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 20:03, Reply)

[disclaimer: contains disappointingly little 70s comedy chinese impersonation]
Restaurant in Hangzhou. No menu for forriners and not much forrin spoken by the staff so we aimed for the dishes with longer descriptions and higher prices.
"What's this one?"
"This ... errrrrr ... fat pig."
"Lovely. And this one?"
"This ... yes ... this ... very fat pig."

Best restaurant ever.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 19:17, Reply)

Back Home In Hartlepool
I work away from home a lot - usually in the firm's main office in central London, rather than the branch office where I'm based and officially employed, waaay up in the North East.

So actually, I'm not home that often - just now and again to touch base with my staff manager. It's a bit like Clooney's character in Up In The Air really; I have a flat there as my home for paperwork purposes and to keep up appearances, but for all intents and purposes, I live where the real action is: London.

On one of these rare trips home, I took the boss out to show him I'd really not been affected at all by being dispatched away to civilisation, and after a few drinks (beer for him; G&T for me), we ended up in a local fast food joint. Being keen to impress, I thought I'd have something authentically local, so asked for Fish & Chips. But I was relieved to see that even in the far outer reaches, they still served Guacamole.

Tasted a bit vinegary though. Must have been the face I made that annoyed the boss.
(MartinB9999, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 18:30, 6 replies)

It's not
actually much of a story as such, but the worst family holiday we ever had was at an apartment complex near Setubal in Portugal. Short version: I was bored *shiteless* for two weeks. So you can imagine my joy in later life when I discovered that the complex in question was so brutal and grim that it was actually used , largely unaltered, as the set for a Portuguese movie version of JG Ballard's post-apocalyptic short story Low Flying Aircraft.
(Wong Fei-Hung - now with added flickr.com (see profile), Fri 19 Apr 2013, 16:56, Reply)

Photo ops in China
About this time last year I was hanging out in Chengdu, China which is rather out of the way as far as most western tourists are concerned. So as two white, and one black person my small group got quite a bit of interest from the locals.

Usually this was just in the form of curious glances but it came to a head when we we were hanging around in the main square one evening and a young couple came up to us holding a baby and a camera. After a few seconds of hand gestures and nodding we get the gist that they want a photo, so my friend takes the camera off them and starts to take a photo of them with their baby. NO NO NO they shout/signal, grab the camera back, give my friend the baby, take a photo of us with their baby, reclaim the baby, smile at us, then wander off.

Somewhere a child is now growing up in China who will be proudly shown a photo of the day they met three confused looking westerners.

As a bonus claim to fame we had seen Karl Pilkington filming 'an idiot abroad' earlier that very day and I am even a very brief figure in the background on the show.
(Big_Dave_from_Mansfield, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 16:55, 1 reply)

I have travelled to Tibet on a number of occasions. It is achingly beautiful, and I'm typing this through the tears of my memory of it's serenity.
And yet my heart is heavy in the certain knowledge that I shall never return to the bosom of it's plateau, or to gaze meaningfully from the ancient walls of the Potala Palace to the mighty Himalayas. For just like the Dalai Lama I too have been exiled by the cruel and unjust regime of the Chinese. For, knowing that my very presence there brings credibility to the usurpers how could I return? Thankfully I draw strength from the buddism that I picked up there as part of my spiritual awakening.

Farewell Tibet farewell. My heart will always rest there, farewell. The prostitutes there aren't worth missing though to be honest, personal hygiene is lacking and a bit too hairy, if you know what I mean and I think that you do. Still you can't have everything eh.
( Light In Chains maker of the ikea sofa, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 16:30, 4 replies)

i went on a journey spanning a handful of european countries with ssg once
i nearly got kidnapped, we partied with a murderer and numerous other funny things.

just be done with it and vote this as best, it's all really funny and true.
( The Doveston haunted by the memory of his own amnesia, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 15:46, Reply)

All you need to travel the world is a black umbrella.
If Johnny's too lazy to understand his own bleedin lingo, simply prod him in the chest and say loudly "NOW LISTEN HERE!"
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 15:22, 2 replies)

China - The Deep South.
On a visit to China, I went out drinking with family-in-law and friends, and friends of friends.

Some of the friends were from the shady side of life. Others were officials and senior law-enforcement figures in the region. There is far more than fifty shades of grey up there. The good guys and the bad guys have found a happy way to continue a polite (?) and happy existence, without infringing one another's requisite duties of their roles or resorting to corruption, but also co-operating to ensure stability.

That evening was meant to be the same as many others I have enjoyed: a good night out at a KTV (karaoke) lounge, but no one was singing, thankfully. Everyone was just smoking cigs, drinking, talking and playing drinking games. Everyone was happy and respectful and very cheerful.

We had rented a huge private room, but it didn't have a private toilet. We had to share a toilet with all the other rooms on that level of the building. That means about seventy people to one bowl. At three or so beers per hour per head? That's not a good thing.

Someone from another room was using that one shitter and taking far too long. One of the guests in our room, having queued for a while, decided to knock and kick on the door, very loudly, and reprimand the occupant for being in there for a very long time - and for causing a long and unhappy queue. After all, they had been in there for something north of twenty minutes. The inconsiderate local lass hurried herself up and headed back to her friends' KTV room.


Aaaand that's when the trouble started.


One of toilet-girl's friends, a guy in his early twenties, who obviously thought himself either important or invulnerable, decided to storm our room and tried to raise a ruckus. He exploded into a room of about thirty people and started yelling blue murder. At five foot nothing and about fifty kilos, he was either brave or foolhardy, or most likely liquored up.

My brother-in-law went to him, calmed him down politely and invited him to sit with him and have a drink. The offer could be seen as an apology. The boy sat, and a beer was opened for him by my BIL, honouring the 'guest'.

The lad took a swig, outwardly calm, but probably shitting bricks to be inside a place with known public figures on both sides of the law, some of them looking quite displeased.

BIL stood up, took the beer from him and poured it on his head. The look of shock on the outsider's face still sticks in my mind. The kid stood up, ever so quickly, dripping wet, from head to shoulders and chest.

My BIL then went off, yelling at him, in a way I have never seen him do. He is usually so calm and peaceful, logical, cool and quite unshakable. The invader's friends were at the door of the room, but didn't enter. They too looked shocked and babbled quietly.

At that moment, most of the men in our group stood in a menacing manner in support, myself included, fists clenched low, up on the balls of their feet and ready to rumble. Fucking with friends and family is not taken lightly in those parts. The moral code is very unobfuscated. The look on that young man's face was sheer terror, and filled with doubt that he might walk the five metres to the door of the room unmenaced, or at least without urgent medical requirements. At least a dozen men, most more than 170 tall and more than 80 kilos each, and all looking very displeased, would cause most sane people to question their earlier decision. That interloper considered his chances of immediate retaliation, wisely. Mostly.

The unfortunate guy, after being humbled so publicly, especially in front of his friends, walked to the door, beer-soaked, dampened, yet with some kind of dignity. At the door, he screamed out that he and his friends would find us all and do unspeakable things. He left.

Phones came out of pockets all over the room. The music stopped. Hurried calls were made and the local lads on our side of affairs were marshalled. It's not about fear derived from an inividual's words. It's discomfort that his many friends and relatives may have less of a love for life than someone else, especially when gathered in numbers.

The night at KTV, having been spoiled by foolishness on both sides of the argument, was over. It was decided we would go immediately to a late evening meal at a restaurant, walking distance from where we were. As we left, a group of the other guy's friends followed at a distance and shouted taunts.

Our reinforcements, having been phoned in, arrived in drips and drabs, scattered over a radius of a few blocks. As we walked further away, those interlopers inserted themselves into the gap between ourselves and those who raised threats. The threateners dispersed along the way.

We arrived at the restaurant. It was a shabby affair with a cracked concrete courtyard that looked to have once been a service station, and many private rooms off small corridors, leading to his'n'hers bathrooms that would scare even the most ardent scat, klisma and urolagnia fans...

Our back-ups on the streets slinked off to hawker stalls and dai pai dongs, in wait, leaving a few cockatoos on the corners, while we all enjoyed our repast.

Someone asked for the large private room for the twenty or so who came to dinner. A wiser and older mind, the local fire chief, prevailed. He ordered the big table to be dragged into that courtyard at the front of the building. His reasoning was so that we could eat in the open air and show defiance to the threats. It was done.

There was still tension in the air. As the only gwailo in town, apparently I had a bullseye on my face. BIL made sure I had company when I needed a slash - one or two of his cohorts blocked the doors when I had to go. Considerate. I would have been happier if he had ordered a respirator or gas mask... or a couple of litres of bleach so I could clean the joint!


We ate an enormous meal, sank much more Tsingtao and some local hooch, and ended the evening nicely. The food was excellent - fresh and tasty - and not an endangered species in sight on the menu or the table. That's another story.


tl;dr local and imported pissheads avoid needless violence over mutually inconsiderate behaviour. Apols for length.
(EffinNitWit asks his tobacco where his whisky is, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 15:18, 6 replies)

Mugged at knifepoint.
Many moons ago the not yet Mrs Airman Gabber and her group of friends got held up at knifepoint in Amsterdam.

"Give me 20 Euros" was the demand.

They handed over the 20 Euros and the perpetrator threw down a package and ran off.

It was the biggest block of resin they had ever seen. Way more than they could smoke in the remainder of the trip. So they smoked what they could and buried the rest in the event of a return trip.

That was some aggressive drug pushing right there.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 14:28, Reply)

traveling when retarded
Millennium eve I decided to tag along with a few people to Dublin.

After arriving at the hostel and finding that they did indeed have room for us all, we headed straight to the pub rather than booking the hostel as it would have 'eaten into valuable drinking time'

Not realising that you needed a ticket to get into most places, it took 4 hours to find somewhere that would serve us.

But that didn't really matter, as the 50 odd quid we had between us was quickly exhausted within 2 rounds.

The main attraction around the city-centre was closed off to ticket holders only, so all we could do was wander aimlessly around the outskirts.

I bought a can of cider from a tramp.

It started to get really, really cold, and most of us were in t-shirts only, so we headed to McDonald's to sit out the millennium rather than dying of exposure.

We moved from McDonald's after blood from the two women having a bare knuckle fist fight outside kept spattering on the window directly in front of our table.

We ambled back to the hostel to find it fully booked.

We then slopped back to the ferry terminal, and spent the night taking it in turns to stand in front of the door as there was a slight breeze of warm air emanating from inside.

The ferry the next day was delayed for 10 hours.

I haven't been to Dublin since.
( rofl harris, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 14:27, Reply)

Travel
Yorkshire's favourite French Composer
( The Great Architect is still waiting for his account to be deleted on, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 13:54, 3 replies)

Went to Portugal.
Killed daughter and passed it off as kidnap.

Ate tapas.
(Vigilante Man weeps because you're stupid., Fri 19 Apr 2013, 13:25, Reply)

I've heard North Korea is very pleasant.

( Fucking hell Jeff I am not a robot, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 13:17, Reply)

Belgrade
Whilst visiting a customer he asked me where I would like to eat that night.

I always try to eat/drink something local wherever I go so I said a traditional Serbian restaurant would be great.

So we arrive at said restaurant & I ask him to order local dishes for us to eat which consist of mostly meat, potato & cabbage which were nice enough.

He then says I must try the national drink – Schnapps.

The restaurant had over 100 different flavours.

I tried 6 of them & to me they all tasted like bleach!

The restaurant also had a traditional folk band consisting of a lute, drum, accordion & a flute.

The guy I was with called them over & asked them to play a song in English.

They started playing “Proud Mary” by the Creedence Clearwater Revival which was a tad bizarre considering the instruments they had.
(sleepmonkey, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 12:13, Reply)

'Cruise to Bilbao for only £50 a couple' Said the advert.
Bargain.

The ferry, for it was a ferry, was delayed for 8 hours due to a storm. It was finally allowed out of port where we were subjected to 12 hours of misery as we endured some of the worst storms in the bay of biscay in 10 years. I swear I'd never heaved so much in my life.

When I was finally well enough to have a bit of jiggy-jiggy she got on top and the excessive motion of the ship did all the work. Which was probably for the best in light of the way I felt.

We arrived at Bilbao so late we only had 2 hours on the ground to allow the ferry to unload and reload the vehicles... which was fortunate as it was a national holiday in Spain so nearly everywhere was shut.
We also nearly got rumbled with 8000 fags we'd smuggled back as coming back through customs everyone else had a small holdall of luggage and my wife had packed enough clothes for a 4 week holiday in a suitcase I was struggling to drag past the inspectors.
When they asked me what was in the case I sighed, glanced at my girlfriend and said,"HER clothes."
My girlfriend beamed at the officer and they clearly took pity on me and waved us through.

Shittest 'cruise' ever.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 11:51, Reply)

Denmark
Or more to the point, the ferry crossing.

Denmark itself was lovely. First time we'd taken the Grooverettes abroad. Driving was a piece of cake, as there's not actually any other traffic on the roads outside of towns and cities. Highlights? Took a plane trip over Legoland and dropped a £200 SLR telephoto lens, smashing it into "very lots" of pieces, according to the youngest.

However, the ferry over was a different kettle of fish. Unbeknownst to us, the forecast was for the worst seas since Noah launched. It was like a millpond when we set off, but within an hour the swells were huge, and the outside doors were locked. (not that I had any intention of venturing out).

They just got bigger and bigger. The boat/ship/ferry didn't appear to be having any issues. However, its contents were. The youngest thought that everyone was drunk, because they couldn't walk in a straight line (like you on Fridays daddy), and no-one wanted their food, on account of it missing out the middleman and going straight from plate to floor. That which was digested reappeared at a rate of knots (nautical pun - did you see what I did there?), and despite the Bulgarian Dusty Springfield impersonator (You Don't Haff to Say You Loff Me!!!) no-one appeared to be enjoying themselves.

We'd also booked a bijou stateroom/small garage in the bowels of the ship with two bunkbeds and a loo). The experience of being thrown around in the pitch black for six hours with two crying, puking children still lives on in the memory.

The trip back was beautiful, but by then I'd been scarred for life.

Not been on a ferry since. Or back to Denmark.Twenty years and counting.
( The Lone Groover has mal des nuts., Fri 19 Apr 2013, 11:45, 1 reply)

A Trip To Whitley Bay and a Ferry Journey From Hell (where hell is lots of people being sick, lots)
A family holiday tainted by vomit No.1
My sister and I were around seven, my little sister, five - excited to see the town where supergran lived.

My little sister started the travel sickness at the end of the road we lived on in Burton. My sister and I, more because the smell because of any car movement, joined in half an hour later.
My dad said that when we got to our holiday cottage in Northumberland he had to strip the inside of our white Renualt 18 to clean up the mess - back seat out, the lot.

A family holiday tainted by vomit No.2
Returning from an autumn half term trip to France. Its Sunday and the Ferry in Cherbourg is full of similar holiday making family units on thier way home to Blighty, delighted to discover the full sunday lunch with all the trimmings being offered in the restaurant after a week on 'french commons' (croissants and the like).

Two hours into the crossing we were being battered by weather safe enough to sail in but strong enough to cause the majority of the passengers on board to doubt the constance of their stomach's resolve.

The deck had vomit everywhere. It was almost impossible to find a spot outside that didnt have the remains of someones ill advised full topside of beef splattered on the railings and bulkheads. All the toilets had blocked up with sick, even the urinals.
At one point I went to relieve myself, only to be confronted by an unappetising mix of wee and puke sloshing from one wall of the toilet to the other as the boat pitched from side to side, a two inch wave of regurgitated Brittany Ferry Fare and Piss dismally breaking over my Nike Air Solo Flights.

I'd be lying if I said every family holiday invovled Exorcist Levels of chunder, but even shopping trips to Derby led to a level of uncertainty.
(magictorch, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 11:31, 3 replies)

My first time in New York I'd got the subway from the airport to meet some friends by the Empire State building
My very first sight upon emerging from the station at street level was a cop knocking a man to the ground and cuffing him. It really is just like in the movies.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 11:15, 2 replies)

My first ever trip on a plane was to New York JFK - On my own.
I was a 20 year old slip of a lad with very little experience of the world outside of messing around with computers. But I found myself at JFK immigration being quizzed by the biggest scariest woman I've ever seen in my life. Think of Rusty Lee but without any sense of humour or any hint of a smile on her face.

After various questions we came to:

"You haven't filled in where will you be staying?"
"I don't know."
"You have to stay somewhere."
"Yes. I don't know where I be staying yet."
"You have to record the address of where you're staying."
"I told you - I don't know where I'll be staying. When I meet my girlfriend we'll find somewhere. We plan to travel."
"I can't let you through unless you record where you're staying."
"Erm... New York?"
"I need an address."
"Erm. Times square, New York?"

After a pause she scribbled an address on my immigration form and said,"This is where you will be staying."

I looked at the address. It was nowhere I'd ever heard of.

"Do I have to go there?" I enquired. I wasn't really happy with this scenario.

With a withered look she said,"No, Kid. It's for the paperwork? Please, just go."

It would have been easier if they'd had a 'Travelling' checkbox on the form.

Edit: On 2nd thoughts maybe it was her home address and she just wanted some hot young Brit action.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 11:09, 4 replies)

*something about 12 parsecs, Star Wars, lol*

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 10:49, 2 replies)

I was going to deliver a speech at a conference in Norwich
First time a Head from a secondary comp had been invited.

I left my speech on the wrong train and...

Clockwise
(magictorch, Fri 19 Apr 2013, 10:45, Reply)