Glastonbury 2005
This was riddled with problems for me. While all my mates managed to afford National Express tickets (rich gits hahaa) I booked myself and a friend on a 'Mega/Fun/Happy Bus' (delete as applicable).

From London, we travelled to Bristol, which took forever. From there we were assured by Bristol Transport services that there would be a free, connecting bus to the festival. Liars, we had to pay £30 EACH and then queue for 4 hours in the baking heat. Local traders were charging £4 for small bottles of coke. It was absolute wank.

Anyway, the way back wasn't much better. Queueing up for 6 hours for the return coach, only to be told it had broken down (this was the supposed free bus) therefore making us miss the megawankbus in Bristol. Non transferanle tickets, and an apology from their head office (and I quote "Good luck getting home, sorry we can't help you.") meant we had to shell out for a last minute ticket on the National Express.

I make no apologies for girth, etc etc. Evil scheming bus driving bastads.
( McBadger COW, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 15:42, Reply)

Not exactly Ayia Napa...
We were living in Cyprus in July 1974 when the Turkish Army invaded. Fortunately, the jolly nice chaps at the RAF arranged for us to be evacuated, which sounds lovely until you realise some things;

1) It was technically a warzone and the evacuation was taking place in what is technically known as a military aircraft.

2) The seats on RAF transport planes face backwards towards the tail.

3) To prevent problems arising from point (1) the takeoff is near-vertical inducing some oh-so-hilarious misadventures thanks to point (2).

Cue an 8-hour flight on a vomit filled plane full of people mostly wearing swimwear most of them crying either through shock, fear or injury or because they had left behind everything they owned and in many cases their husbands/fathers.

Then arrive in Oxfordshire with nothing, not even the price of a cup of tea in English money and somehow try to get "home" whilst wearing beach clothes and a dark tan during what seemed like continual thunderstorms.

National Express? South-West Trains? Virgin CrossCountry? Don't make me laugh....
( Linbox has a serious dunk habit, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 15:32, Reply)

the worst has to be...
the trip down memory lane...that's always a real bummer...

actually, it was the trip back from Germany...seasick all the way...couldn't keep any food down...and the next two days on dry land I still felt as if I was on the damned ship *bleurgh*
(this week i am mostly - medicated, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 15:25, Reply)

Crete
www.b3ta.com/questions/holidays/post29950/
(loquis, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 15:15, Reply)

trashed train and anal pain
After a rewarding week of wiping bums at a camp for "physically challenged" children I had to get a train from liverpool to cambridge. A week spent up to the elbows in crap and not sleeping had left me feeble in the immune system and as we sat having our helpers meal before leaving I felt the world trying to squirm out my ass. When it did go I consoled myself with the thought that in a few hours I could get nuts deep in my woman. By the time I got on the train I had begun to hullucinate and the pain in my bowels felt like a bleach bum rinse. I begged the conductor to point me to the toilet "Can't use that lad - it's all shitted out. Someones blocked it"
"But.....I'm ill.....your going to have a bigger problem if I don't get in...."
No joy - fat cunt. Told me if I shat on his train then I'd be walking and staring a big fine in the face. So I sat there and within an hour I began to shout at kids who weren't there. Some bloke who thought I was a junkie leaned over and said "are you all right?"
"ff..f..f..foo..dd..d pooiissionning"
"well we'll be there in an hour son - hold on"
Which is the precise moment the train stopped because some lazy bastard had chosen to kill himself on the tracks instead of making the effort to go to the top of a building. cunt. so we were stuck - for a good many hours. I kept passing out and of the brief moments of clarity I had I remember only my girlfriend picking me up and failing to screw her because I was too worried about spurting a shit fountain with every grunting pump.
(Jumper, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 15:13, Reply)

End of the world
I have to travel here everyday

pedant.co.uk/?adb935
(loquis, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 15:10, Reply)

My parents
went to London on the 7th of July and all I got was a bloody t-shirt.
(LickOutTheJamsMotherfuckers!, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 15:04, Reply)

Mad Italian Girl
I once went with a group of friends to Tenerife. The holiday itself was a bit of a nightmare but that's another story.

The flight back was part of the package and as is usual with these things was booked for some stupid time at night and due to arrive at Gatwick at something like two in the morning.

I had volunteered to drive everyone home and, as I wasn't too used to late nights at the time, I decided I wanted some sleep on the plane so that I would be awake enough to drive on the M25 without killing everyone.

There were five of us sitting in two rows of three seats. The spare seat, which was behind me, was taken by an Italian girl who decided that she had to talk for the entire flight. If that wasn't bad enough she had her knees up on the back of my seat and had the usual Italian inability to talk without moving her hands.

So, I'd just be getting cosy and nodding off, managing to lose the incessant drone of her voice, when she'd gesture and I'd have a seat-quake.

All I did was glare at my friend for talking to her. Damn my British reserve!
(BearWithLittleBrain, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 15:00, Reply)

Not a bad journey for me, but everyone around me hated it
A few years back me and my mates decided to go and see Greenday in Manchester, and since nobody could be arsed driving we decided to get the train.

All was well until just near the end of the journey, when I, with out much provocation, did the longest loudest and smelliest fart of my entire life. And to make things even better, it spread quickly without losing its potency. This thing was so meaty that as it reached people, they started to chew before realising what it was. It was so bad that people at the other end of the carriage were asking who'd shat themselves, and one woman sat near us (who in my defence was already feeling travel sick) gipped into a shopping bag.

It was the worst journey ever as far everyone else was concerned, but theres nothing like the smell of your own brew, and nothing quite as funny as seeing someone be sick because of it. I've never been hated by so many people so quickly though.
( Furness, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:57, Reply)

Moving Day
So I agreed to help my mate move from Newcastle to Griffith (Australia) usually about a 10 hour journey.

Macca turns up with a hired truck that would haul his worldly goods half way across NSW. I noticed (the vehicle was empty) that it was rather on the slow side.

Next morning we pack it up and ship on out. The truck topped out at 50km/h on flat ground. But downhill would hit an amazing 70km/h if we were lucky. I dont wanna talk about uphill.

2 hours in the radio breaks. Its 40+ degrees in the Australian Bush and we have no air-con. We resort to counting the dead roos on the side of the road. We topped out at 97.

We arrive at the destination 17 hours later, sweaty, bored and tired.

To this day I still curse that truck.
(Slatts If you cant remember it didnt happen, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:56, Reply)

Africa
I've returned recently from a safari in Africa. While the accomodation, the sights, and most of the experiences were lovely, the transport was a nightmare all the way. We left three days after the terror threats. Thinking ahead, we'd phoned Lufthansa to ask whether we could just drive to Frankfurt and get our connecting flight. "No no!" They said, "Everyzing vill be just fine!". So we arrived, waited for three hours, and were then told "All Lufthansa flights haff now been cancelled!". Bollocks, so we desperately scoped around for another airline willing to fly us, thankfully, despite Lufthansa being about as much help as a dead prostitute, we managed to fly direct to Johannesburg with BA. Which was nice, especially as they had those individual TV screens so you're not stuck watching Rob Schneider's "Durp dee durp dee durp".

Arriving at Johannesburg, we discover that our extensive delays at Heathrow mean we've missed our flight to Livingstone, so we have to arrange another flight there. Finally, we arrive, and leave on safari. Except every few days we'd drive through some shifting sand and everyone had to get out and push. This meant that as soon as the Jeep got some purchase, it drove off, not wanting to stop and lose momentum, leaving us to run after it in the sand.

The final straw was on the way to the airport at Livingstone, on our last day. The taxi ran out of petrol.
(LickOutTheJamsMotherfuckers!, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:52, Reply)

Bus ride to Hell, twinned with Bournemouth
I've flown Air Afrique, and have been roughed up in many, many exotic places. However, for sheer blood-letting misery, it was a British Rail replacement bus service from Reading to Bournemouth, non-stop.

The first and only thing the coach driver said over the loudspeaker system was: "Right. Bournemouth. An' while we're at it, I'll be givin' you lot a musical h'education."

He then cranked the stereo up to eleven, and let us have 'The Best Fucking Awful Country and Western, Daniel O'Donnell and All That Other Shit You Can Only Get Off Market Stalls Album in the World... EVER!' for three hellish hours.

Our own headphones offered no respite, and complaints to the driver where met with pointed reference to the 'Do Not Speak to the Driver' sign, so we huddled together for warmth and companionship and dared to hope that it might end soon.

The support group meets every Tuesday.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:46, Reply)

Remember Stalker Boy?
Well, because our mums were such good friends, I ended up being press-ganged into a week in Austria with him a couple of years ago. All well and good, I thought, I can put up with him for a week as long as I have pretty mountains and chalets and so on and don't have to look at his ugly mug 24/7 (the sight of him in swimming trunks was nearly enough to make me like girls).

Anyway, we have an okayish week, marred only by him yelling at his brother for breathing, the previously mentioned swimming trunks, and his obsession with the Sound of Music meaning we had to go to Salzburg three days in a row ("Ooh, I'm standing where Julie Andrews stood, dear! Take my photo!"). No, the worst bit was getting stuck in Salzburg Airport because our plane was delayed for six hours (something fell off it, apparently).

Having not found this out till we went through security, we were stuck upstairs in the departure lounge with him being a total plane-spotter (I tried to get him to take photos in the vain hope he'd get arrested and give us all a break) and banging on about how the week before he'd worked out the route on his flight simulator (as used by 9/11 terrorists, you know, dear...). I've never been so glad to see Birmingham in my life.

On a previous trip to Austria with my parents, we went on an organised trip to Salzburg with a tour guide named Hans, whose assistant was also called Hans, and so was the driver. He wore lederhosen. This was in 2002, the year that Prague and a lot of cities in Europe flooded. The rain started just as we got to Salzburg and didn't stop for the entire time we were there. The coach on the way back had air conditioning but no heat, and it was two hours back to the resort. The coldness. Fortunately I've just come back from Austria again and there were no psycho stalkers and no attempts to freeze us to death.

Similarly, the year before I went to Bremen with the school on an exchange trip. The flight itself was okay, but when we got to Hanover to land the plane swooped up and down in a circle several times (this was about three weeks after September 11), before the pilot decided we were going to land at Bremen instead. Cue weepy drama-queen girls convinced they're going to die every time the plane turns, and again Stalker Boy talking about ghosts and flight simulators. Followed by two hours in a coach to Saxony.

I regularly make what I believe to be The Worst Journey In The World - the stupidly long trip from Leicester to Cardiff to visit my elderly mad relatives. For trips like this, I like to keep Highway To Hell on my iPod and listen to it a lot.
( Maladicta, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:44, Reply)

Could have been worse though...
You sometimes hear stories of people that do the same as us, and end up dead.

Bulgaria. Holiday. Me and a friend decided to go to a small town, after visiting many large cities and thinking “a city is a city, they’re all the same”. At random, we picked a little town called Simeonovgrad. Getting off the train in Simeonovgrad we looked around expecting to see some sign pointing to the center, or maybe a hotel. There was only a small bar with 4 guys drinking vodka (the locals!) and no sign or even a something that resembles a town. We asked them for directions to a hotel. But there was none. We asked for a camping. No such thing in Simeonovgrad. Completely in vain we asked for directions to a hostel, but of course there was nothing. So, we decided to hitchhike to the next town… which should have been no problem if there had been at least 1 car going there.

As it was getting dark, we decided to walk back to the guys at the bar, and ask for directions to the center… But they already ordered us vodka while we were walking towards them, so we sat down and had a few drinks (they paid). They offered us a place to sleep (a cozy 2 person bed where me and my friend could crash). One guy even took us to a restaurant where we had some excellent chicken livers (that guy paid).

And then this guy wanted to take us to a “special” place ("very good!!"). Our translator had gone to bed by then... We realized that we had no idea where we were going… and since our bags were already inside the house and us outside we did not think it was such a good idea to go. But try to explain that to a drunk Bulgarian who speaks about 5 words of English. So, off we went. We just hoped we weren’t taken to a dark bush to get raped or murdered.

After a 15 minute ride (Old Lada, drunk driver, dark roads with more holes than asphalt) we arrived at something that is best decribed as a dodgy motel. It turned out to be a brothel where our “guide” quickly pointed out one girl that was supposed to be mine at that moment. No way out.

After doing what obviously had to be done (the condom didn’t break, yay!) I found out that the price she had said was only for the sex. I had to pay for the "accommodation" too. I was still happy to be in that brothel rather than being dead in some Bulgarian no-man's-land, so I was happy to pay and avoid problems with the local mafia.

We went back (same road, same car, same asphalt, but a more relaxed driver, thank god)… And we even got some proper sleep.

Next day we tried to hitchhike out of town, but took a bus after trying for 5 hours in the full sun at 35 degrees (Celcius, you Fahrenheit-using-bastards!). Stupid to try to hitchhike of course.

Apologies for length, as is the custom for every post that is over 10 lines. :)
(Captain Panic, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:41, Reply)

Christmas 2002
Heading back to college in Cornwall after Christmas, laden with my presents from loving friends and family, my "direct" train to Truro in Cornwall was cancelled at Preston. Which was rather unfortunate as I'd got on at Edinburgh.
The Virgin staff were as helpful as ever of course.... so I had to find my own way to the other end of the country. Changing at Crewe, Birmingham, Taunton and Exeter.
With platform changes at every station, and about a million bags to carry each time.
My 10 hour "direct" journey took 13 hours.
(Eldred, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:40, Reply)

Simpletons on buses
I have to take a bus journey from Basingstoke just once a week, which picks up at the local colleges and heads off for Andover.

Now I don't mind people being a bit niave, but being very stupid and loud is NOT good.

I had a 30 minute journey a few weeks back where a very loud girl insisted that Basingstoke was a suburb of London. At the top of her booming voice. Into the back of my head. For a good 10 minutes.
(surfergirl is riding the wave of luurvveee, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:39, Reply)

Chile is a very long country.
One severe case of viral gastroentiritis.

One coach journey from Patagonia to Santiago.

One coach toilet found not to be working.
.
(Ali Bongo 9000 Ali Bongo 9000, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:36, Reply)

I have, at least thrice
sat on a coach full of seasonal reps/chalet staff/hotel staff for first choice driving slowly through london and then on to austria.
This generally turns into an 18 hour trip including stops, ferries and checks.
Every ingle time I have doent his I have

: Got very drunk on beer and hardly slept
:Done something secret and naughty with a random and everyone has found out
:watched goodfellas and fallen asleep before the end
:held in a piss for a LONG time as someone has vomited in the bog

al of these things I completely regret for the whole ten day training course STRAIGHT after this awful journey

but still I did it
( SickRik float like a camembert sting like a brie, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:23, Reply)

Laos Laos Loas - Vietnam Vietnam Vietnam
One of the only times I will say thank God to America.....

280 kilomteres between Savannakhet in Laos and Hue in Vietnam. We waited for the bus which was due to depart at 9:00pm...only found our bus at the back of the lot at 8:50 (been there since seven) and therefore missed getting a seat and were perched on luggage piled almost all the way to the ceiling. Two young Vietnamese boys get on in the front and back stairwell. Bus leaves and our small boy in the back spits on our feet and then proceeds to relieve himself in the back stairwell and then sit in it....hmmmm....road deteriorates to the point where about 45 mins into the journey our two boys would get out with pick axes and shovels and rebuild sections of the road so the bus could pass....rinse and repeat for the next 10 hours, where we got to the landslide and two cars caught in it so we sat there for two hours...

then the border and customs where the whole bus was unloaded and searched.....we did however manage to steal a seat and then get abused by two Laotian men who had to sit amongst the smelly pissy luggage at the back!!

Arrived in Hue where we were dropped off at a random cafe on the edge of town in pissing rain and a couple who understood no English - but finally got the drift they should call a taxi. Taxi came and we loaded our packs in the boot....get to hostel area and then the boot would not open.....still pissing down with rain - total journey time - 29 hours......more I could tell but this was the best!

And why the Merkinn blessing? Well when they assisted in the American (Vietnam) war....they built loads of highways and roads everywhere to carry their tanks and trucks....so no more rebuilding required once in 'Nam!! Woo...
(essbeenz there done that, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:21, Reply)

Longest Journey
Buenos Aires to London via Sao Paulo

Took the best part of 100 hours near solid travelling, I had no money left so barely ate throughout the whole journey.

Low points:

Being told when arriving to check in for my flight that I had to pay a fee, nearly broke down at this point as they were asking for the last of my cash and I still had to navigate home from london once I got there.

Being taken away for questioning about smuggling drugs, I assume this was due to me looking so fucked from the earlier part of the journey that I fitted their profile(they didn't know at this point I'd been to Peru and Bolivia). Luckily I convinced them I wasn't smuggling drugs before they got to the body search.
(Inglorious, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:19, Reply)

China - 24 hour train journey
I couldn't get a sleeping berth and got stuck in a regular carriage for 24 hours. Right-angled PVC seats, flourescent lights burning all the time, screeching traditional music on speakers and EVERYONE in the carriage smoking and coughing up green'uns on the floor.

It was bad enough for the first few hours, but when night came on it was impossible to sleep in an upright position. People were crammed in like sardines and the floor was smeared with spit and fag ends.

The noise, the smoke, the spitting, the hundreds of Chinese faces staring dully like you were a zoo exhibit ... the lack of sleep and the leg cramp. It went on and on and on. Just when you thought you couldn't stand it anymore, you realised there was another ten hours to go.

And the Chinese are not really into dental or physical hygiene. Their breath could have stripped paint, their armpits hummed - and they farted a vegtable compost worse than either of those. Noise, light, discomfort, paranoia born of staring ... the stench of humanity bottled up in a smoky carriage. Only seven hours to go ...

NEVER again.
(frankspencer, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:18, Reply)

National Express
Four Hour trip from Manchester to london.

The trip takes six hours due to the first bus having a blowout 45 minutes out of manc. This was when my walkman died, as well. This became much more important as it transpires the kid behind me had tourettes, but not the good sweary kind. The screaming kind. Constantly. For the next four hours.

I no longer travel on coaches. I think I'd rather walk.
( DarkSon a time and date will follow this username on, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:18, Reply)

The dusty, hot Guatemalan town of El Estor ..
.. is located on the shore of lake Izabal. This was our last stop before we entered the highlands. In the morning we would head for Tactic by chicken bus.

Inquired in advance about the schedule for the bus but got three different answers from three different people. Decided to get up early in the morning. Spent all morning at the main square waiting for a bus to arrive. In the end we almost settled for an uncomfy pickup truck ride when the bus finally pulled in. Entered the bus and waited. Waited.

After an hour we asked if the bus would leave now and got a yes. Later found out that in Latin America, "ahora" did not mean "now" but "today". Oh.

After another hour, the bus driver started the bus and rattled along the unpaved streets of El Estor. Even more people entered the bus along the way. Eventually it came to a stop. We had returned to the main square. Same spot, even. More waiting. Hot sun shining.

Aften half an hour we finally got on out way, bumped along the town roads, returned to the same spot. Bus driver must have decided that he could squeeze in a few more passengers.

At this point I was laughing at the absurdity of it all. My wife, on the other hand, broke down crying and cursing and shouting in all directions. I think she would count this trip as one of the worst journeys that she ever had. I still laugh at it.

Half an hour later the motor started again, this time we were on our way, for real. The driving was suicidal as always but the view was magnificent.
(spinoza, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:14, Reply)

Peruvian Collectivos
Scariest journey

Like a bus but with a car instead, this doesn't stop them trying to fill the usual quota a bus would though.

Rammed in to the back of a shit heap car with about 12 peruvians I started to become quite worried about the drivers abilities, the guy in the passenger seat had to point out when traffic was coming towards us and when coming to corners.

I'm convinced the driver was pretty much blind.
(Inglorious, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:10, Reply)

Snowed in ..
Got snowed in at school on my 16th birthday, when we finally emerged onto the set of Dr Zhivago, it took me about 3.5 hours to walk home and I missed most of my birthday bash at my local. So did most of my mates who were stuck in various drifts about the region.
Sniff.
(Siouxfan I'm not staring at you, I am just short sighted, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:09, Reply)

Melamchi Pul-Bazaar to Kathmandu
Finishing of a two week baby trek in the Helambu region of Nepal we get the bus back from the roadhead at Melamchi Pul-Bazaar.

Enquiries as to when the bus was arriving and departing were met with smiles, and 'Today'. When the rickety rusting bus eventually arrived, at least three times more people that it could safely carry crammed in, with their chickens in cages, bags and AK47's. We were a bit squashed for about 9 hours. Fortunately a healthy measure of diazepam washed down with raksi dulled most of the discomfort.

For the last few hours we found it easier to sit on the roof of the bus, (not looking over the side as the bus careered past cliff-like river valley edges), until we got into the outskirts of Kathmandu when we had to keep our heads down because the electric cables were whizzing over about 1 foot from the top of the bus, and would have easily decapitated us.

And this was an easy and comfortable trip by many Indian bus journey standards I think.
(p0zitr0n - phunarmically charged particle, detected at, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:08, Reply)

national express sounds like luxury
ten years ago i spent a month in zimbabwe on a working holiday with a bunch of people from school. a few days before we headed back to the uk we had to make a 6 hour bus journey from bulowayo to harare.

firstly, there was the fact that there were about 150 people crammed into a fairly small bus, secondly there was the stench of said 150 people in 35 degree heat and thirdly there was the deafening 'zimbabwean pop' that was being piped through the bus - in case you've never heard any zimbabwean pop (and for your sakes i hope you haven't), it basically sounds like cheap 80's video game music - something similar to the music from lemmings.

for 6 hours.

oh, and did i mention the intense pain in my gut from a bug i'd caught a couple of days earlier. half way through the journey i needed to throw up and the only thing i could find to be sick into was a plastic bag.

a clear plastic bag.

i filled it with what was mostly hideous green bile, until it resembled a melted ice pop and was forced to lob it out of the window.

*cock gag
(secretsquirrel, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:07, Reply)

Don't get on the 140 bus if you can possibly avoid it
One of the worst journeys of my life took only about ten minutes. The 140 goes from Hayes (not the nicest area in the world) to Harrow (also not the nicest area in the world).

Boarding the 140 seemed like such a good idea at the time, until I made my way up to the top deck and realised that the sea of hoodies and big white trainers stretched out before me represented very bad news.

Directly to my right, a man in a hoodie sprawled across two seats groaned incomprehensibly. A fat girl in a nasty pink velour tracksuit (n.b. girls - JLo can get away with it - you can’t, especially if you‘ve had a few too many Big Macs) sat behind him, stroking his shaved head.

Tracksuit Girl: You awright, Si?
Si: Ngggrrh
Tracksuit Girl: You awright?
Si: Bleernnnggg fahk off
Tracksuit girl: Si? You awright?
Si: *Spits onto the aisle just next to me*

Meanwhile, at the back of the bus, a group of twenty something pillars of the community seemed to be having a reasonably normal conversation, were it not for the insertion of the word “fuck” at every available opportunity.

Fahkin four nil
No fahkin way
It were fakhin arf time, right
Fahk off

At the front of the bus, a somewhat agitated gentleman on a mobile phone:

You fahkin bitch! You fahkin lying whore!
Calm for a few moments….and then just when I thought he‘d shut up…..
You fahkin bitch!

Meanwhile, Si was beginning to look a little worse for wear. He had spat several times now, but this did not seem to be improving his condition.

Si: Eeerrggh
Tracksuit Girl: You awright, Si?
Si’s Mate: Ere Si, you fancy a pint? Ha ha!
Si: Nnnnnnggghhh
Tracksuit Girl: Shut up! You awright, Si?

You fahkin bitch!

It were fakhin three in the morning
Fahkin we were fahking hammered
Fahkin referee
Fakhin wanker

Si’s Mate: No, Si!
Tracksuit Girl: No, Si, not here!
Si: BLEEARGH!

Si vomited pathetically over his Nikes.

Mercifully this was just before my stop...
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:07, Reply)

Pretty much unbearable
The X5 coach from Cambridge to Oxford (and then back).

Seriously.
(flimflam_machine, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:06, Reply)