My best mate Colin

suffers from terrible road rage. One day he got cut up one too many times and this is when his rage kicked in. He started driving straight through red lights, started racing against every car in sight and even tried to barge a few other drivers off the road.

I'm sure this was probably his worst journey, and come to mention it, it was probably the worst journey for the 23 passengers he had on his bus too.
(Lt Columbo, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 20:03, Reply)

The train to Milton Keynes
Imagine that it is 9am. Also imagine you have been heavily drinking the night before, and only reached your bed at 4am. Add to that you had 3 hours' sleep and have just gotten on the train from Glasgow Central to Milton Keynes.

You have never slept in a train before successfully, but desperately want to either sleep, or curl up and die. You find that, once you have sat down, a heavily overweight hippy chooses to sit next to you, despite the rest of the carriage being empty. Needless to say, you excuse yourself by saying you needed the toilet, then scarpering.

Half an hour into the journey, you realise that because the train is empty, you could lie down in the middle corridor. Brainwave, surely. You do so, finally get yourself comfortable [you'd forgotten your bulky wallet was in your pocket, and therefore you couldn't lie on that side]. Your head finally touches the not-that-shabby carpet, and suddenly,

"TICKETS PLEASE".

Yep, you have a comedy conductor. Clearly she [for it is a female, overweight, slathered in makeup and sounding more like Vicky Pollard than anyone you've heard before. You also suspect she has lesbian romps with the onboard shop assistant, which explains it has been shut, denying you of your needed caffienated lifejuice] can see you are hungover and decides to take it out on you, presumably because you made the mistake of being born with a penis.

Once she disappears, having found no good reason to prolong your torture, you lie down again, and are on the verge of sleep, when you bash your head. What? What's going on here? What cruel person is inflicting pain upon you?

Oh, you've just realised. It's one of those bloody new Virgin tilty trains. You're lying down in the corridor, and as soon as you lose motor control and surrender to sleep you roll into a chair at high speed. Fucking train.

And to top it all off, you're going through all of this only to end up in Milton Keynes.
(basstard, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 19:49, Reply)

I blame France
Went off to south of france with the rents about 5 years ago. Did we fly? Nope. Coach. Most people would run away at the idea but it was a "King Class" coach and boasted comfort and meals throughout. Nice way to see a bit of scenery too. Trip down was ok, coming back was the icing on the camels hump.

If i recall we left the site at about 5am, by 5.05am we smacked a coach coming the opposite direction, left the coach with a nice go faster stripe down the left side and the pensioners sitting at point of impact with go faster stripes on their "extra legroom" seats. After 45 minutes of swapping insurance details we were off again. They then announced that the meals to be provided consisted of chicken and mushroom pot noodles and hot water. That really didnt help the already clogged space toilet at the back, which by the way was only for use in emergencies?!?!? We stop in service station to stretch legs, and the driver snaps they key in the ignition. french assistance called (ill leave you to speculate whether the gits turned up or not) Everyone has a go at fiddling with the key to see what would happen, after a good 2 hours, engine roars into life. Off we go, another pot noodle induced toilet stop three hours later, guess what happens, driver turns off engine. Bus falls silent, quiet "merde" heard from front of bus. Ok this time were really feckered so we call again, eventually succeed by flagging down french RAC from the road. New ignition, were off. Ok petrol, (by this time its night) we stop, fill up, driver sits down, "snap" key breaks, "see title" so now were back to taking turns fiddling with the key when the lightning starts, forked lightning, lots of forked lightning, centralised over the small town were parked in, next to the aged petrol pump. Nobody wants to die in a shite coach in france so fear helps us start coach again, and were off. now about 20 hours into our 12 hour drive were appraoching english channel, bus starts swerving. Man in front row kindly starts chatting to driver to keep the gimp awake and eventually we make it to england (after being told we HAVE to turn engine off on ferry for obvious reasons......cue fiddling) me and the rents decide not to continue to london to get train back and get taxi from ferry home.

Moral of story
A) Dont go to france
B) Dont go to france on a club cantabrica coach
C) dont eat nothing but pot noodle for 24 hours

Length, considerably bigger than any frenchmans, less likely to break.
(skippytheferret Mr. Flibble's very cross, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 19:40, Reply)

When I was younger, a lot younger.....
I went on a voyage through a dark tunnel, and managed to get my head caught in a fallopian tube.

For 6 hours.
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 19:32, Reply)

On a trip to Morecambe

from Newcastle with my mother. The journey took about 2 and a half hours and was pretty uneventful and was actually quite an enjoyable ride. The worst bit was when we arrived and , obviously since she's a woman, I was made to wait 47 minutes and 34 seconds while she attempted to parallel park the car.
(Lt Columbo, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 18:46, Reply)

Already posted mine in another QotW
http://b3ta.com/questions/airportstories/post49943/
( DavyBoyInGravyJoy Grey Goose Vodka on Ice, nothing finer, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 18:21, Reply)

First shite trip
When I was 10,I went to France with my school. It was a nice enough trip,except that I was too shy to shower in our bathroon (not even communial!) so I stank like a tramp.

On the way home a few people fell asleep,including a guy who had been quite cruel to me before. So me and another friend took our revenge. We placed their hands on each others genitals and took pictures. The sweetest revenge a ten year old can get...
(Miharu, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 18:14, Reply)

MULTIMAP!
Instructed me and my boyfriend to go along *this* road:


It was also 4am in the morning because we didn't leave home until 11pm, snow was falling ( which covered all the road signs ) and there were no road lights. If we didn't go down a dip just before this bit and feel strangely uneasy and reverse back ( I'm so glad we *did* reverse: if we'd done a 3 point turn the car would have gone down the mountain ) we would have been a bit stuck. I think in the end we gave up trying to find the campsite at 4.30am and slept in a layby on the road which at 9am in daylight turned into a coach turning point for the tourist attraction nearby... they weren't happy with us as you can probably guess.

So if your new boyfriend suggests to go to the peak district, DON'T leave at 11pm at night when you live in Reading, DON'T use multimap that asks you to go down roads that were shut in 1979 and DON'T once you find the campsite in daylight insist that your boyfriend drive onto very deep mud in an ickle peugeot 106 then have to be pushed back off after 20 minutes by a group of laughing toff teenagers.

Probably not the worst journey in my life, but definately the most scary.

It was also the boyfriend's 21st birthday. And at the end of that day he brought a sword. So it didn't end up too bad.
more pics here arthmelow.fotopic.net/p13973948.html
(mmmm curry doesn't really understand this sig lark, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 17:48, Reply)

PARIS ON A COACH
when i was in year 7 we went on a trip to paris for five days.
all well an good but also on the coach was a total knob
of a geography teacher who at 4 in the mornin was pointing out
land marks. IT WAS FUCKING DARK AND I WANTED TO SLEEP!!

but the trip just got better because the guy sat behind me wouldn't
stop kicking my chair. two of the old teachers started getting disgustingly
close to each other and some kid threw up on the teacher in the seat
infront of him.

so i would love to say we arrived in paris stinking of puke, knackered
and slightly pissed off but no it just got better.

the toilet on the coach only broke didn't it?? so we stopped at
services where the chavs drank god knows how many cans of red bull
and where up all night arguin about who was the "hardest" - the
one who shop lifted a wkd won eventually.

then as we were finally near paris and i got my hopes up of leaving the
smelly coach full of people pissing me off

THE FUCKING COACH BROKE DOWN

so i had to stand on the motorway completely knackered after no sleep
at 8am.

the return journey was ok cos everyone was sick of the sight of each
other so slept all the way home to avoid being pissed off.

next time i'm goin on a plane
(i eat crayons, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 17:42, Reply)

Broken bum and a coach trip...
Back in my schooldays, my comprehensive desperately tried to live up to its middle class pretensions by organising annual ski holidays for the kids, but as most of us were either from farming families or had parents that worked for bugger all at the local 'tomic plant (that should give the school away) we all went by hire coach. To Austria.

Now normally this is something to be born with gritted teeth and inventive ways of filling the boredom of driving across most of Europe.

Unfortunately about 2 weeks before going, an aforementioned farmers son (who had taken a dislike to the fact that I a) used words with more than 2 syllables and b) had my dad's home county accent), decided to kick me in the arse with his steel toecapped boot and fractured my coccyx. Now for those who don't know, this is the base of your spine that takes a lot of pressure when you sit down.

And I had to sit on a coach for 40+ hours. Pain wasn't the word.

I think I became slightly addicted to Ibuprofen that week.

Still can't sit in a chair for more than a couple of hours even though it was well over 11 years ago...
(cliftos2000, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 17:42, Reply)

the worst......ever
My worst journey by far, and there have been many during this period, was when I worked as a ticket inspector on the trains. I only lasted two months on the job and this is the story of my final night. I’d had enough abuse at this point from kids calling me “Rozzer” to old ladies telling me to “Catch some real criminals”. WTF! I check tickets, I’m not a police man. This last bloke took the cherry though.

It was a miserable day and I was on the London to Manchester, on a Friday night. Not too bad when the day starts but as the night progresses you get all the scum coming out and heading to the cities for promises of booze and fighting. The chavs are bad enough, but the real nasty pieces of work are the business men who think they so much better then you.

Which brings me nicely to the point. I was busily doing the rounds on the train, which was absolutely heaving with bodies. Loads of commuters coming out of London all squished in like sardines. It was taking ages to check all the tickets, collect the unpaid fares and generally being worn down by the sneers and the attitude. I knew I only had to get past this carriage and I was left with the food and 1st class.

Finally I make it to 1st class and there’s this little fat man (obviously pissed) and stuffing his face with food. Before I’ve even spoken he’s told me to *uck off and then rants about he had a ticket but he’s not going to show me. To cut a long story short, we had a bit of a row (i.e. he slung insults at me, I only wanted to see his ticket). It was getting boring so I threatened him with the old “I’ll have to get the transport police” line. To my utter amazement he wanted to get arrested. He literally begged me to call the cops. Then he babbled on about the press and going to court.

I had enough so walked off and avoided him for the rest of the journey. When we finally pull into Manchester I can see him still sitting on the train. I bugger off far a quick fag before starting the return journey and I spot him marching towards me. Again he demands to be arrested but I just can’t be bothered with this so I tell him that I’ve spoken to the Station Manager and decided he can go. He turns and shouts to me that me and my company are a bunch of gutless wonders!!! Since when did I own a train company??

I’m left standing speechless when the station manager actually does come over. “Did you upset him or something?” he asks. I calmly take off my cap, hand him my ticket dispenser and change pouch, and said “*uck this. I quit!” Then I hopped onto a train and headed home.

No apologies for length, I never got one!
(plant rolls out of bed like a fat wobbly tub of lard, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 17:42, Reply)

Air Gabon
-5 seats, including 2 window seats in nonsmoking (back when there were sections on planes) became 5 aisle seats in smoking
-the bags were all soaking wet when we arrived, and only our bags
-The toilet leaked all over our handluggage and feet a couple of hours into the 12 hour flight.

Good times!
(Dromedary, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 17:38, Reply)

not really worst journey in the world
but on the bus back from town then the bus driver told me to turn my music down cause he didnt wanna hear it, even though i was going upstairs :S
( m-a-t-t -- formerly mini hasn't been on here for EVER!, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 17:36, Reply)

"That's what we're flying in"?
Had to fly from Kiev (stunningly great city) to Donetsk (coal mining city with an accidental death rate that would make Ghengiz Khan go "I say chaps, steady on"!
Booked tickets to fly Donbass airlins. On arrival at Zulazny airport which is a small affair on the edge of town, after a taxi ride that was relatively uneventful apart from the huge cancerous growth sticking out of the side of the driver's jawbone wobbling when he spoke. The place was a set for a 50's spy thriller, I swear, all concrete and echoing ticking clocks. Checked in, then the fun began. I was asked to put my cabin luggage on the belt of a spandy-bright brand new Sperry X-ray machine. I did so, Olga next to me pushed it through and then Oleg the other end pulled it out and handed it to me. Their colleague, another Olga was sat watching the screen. None of it worked. It wasn't plugged in.
Repaired to the departure shed (no, really, a SHED) and started tanking up on Hetman vodka. Got the departure bus ( a cattle truck, no less)through the airside of the airport to our plane. I honestly thought that we had driven through and into a museum. We stopped by an Antonov 24 (ex russian troop transport) where a man shouted "baggage". I gave him my bag, he gave it back to me. I gave him my bag again, he gave it back to me again. Tiring of this game, he pointed to a door in the side of the plane, you had to throw your own bags on to the plane!!
It then got worse. On walking round the plane, I saw that one of the main landing wheels' tyres had obviously burst and someone had repaired the foot long gash with an aluminium plate, woodscrews and lashings of glue. The stair up to the fuselage had two treads missing. Once inside you were given a pack (which was obviously the same size as a parachute for the Russian forces) to sit on. The flight was interminable as one of the passengers was a local singer who proceeded to bash out interminable dirges through the whole flight, interspersed by the fights between a very drunk couple to my right and the obvious smell of double incontinence from my fellow passenger to the rear. After the landing at the grey tomb that is Donetsk airport I was nearly beaten up for asking for the lights to be put on!
Lovely place the Ukraine.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 17:29, Reply)

Kenyan Matatu
Kenya, 1995. The start of what turned out to be fantastic overland expedition around East Africa. I'd flown with Air Sudan from London via Khartoum - a pretty bad journey in itself. Big tip for those of you who like a drink on your flight. Don't fly with an Islamic airline!
Anyway, got to Nairobi and met up with my fellow overlanders. The deal was that we make our way to just south of Mombasa on the coast and the proper trip would start from there. So off to the railway station it was. This is where the problems began, as the train was "broken". An enterprising local with a bright purple matatu (pimped-up knackered mini bus) then offered us his services. 15 US dollars each for a 5 hour trip. The time was about 3pm at this point, so we should be at the coast in time for dinner. Great. Why not?
So we paid our money and helped secure our backpacks to the matatu's roof. This is when the alarm bells started ringing, as the pile of luggage was almost as tall again as the vehicle by the time it was all tied up there. Then came the realisation that there were something like 16 seats and 22 of us. It was January, we'd all flown over with hardly any sleep from much colder climes and by this point we were too hot and knackered to even think about alternatives. The luggage fiasco had taken 2 hours. Then the Kenyan version of Kwik-Fit were mustered to change the tyres (their jingle being "you can't get shitter than a Kenyan fitter"). 2 tyres each side at the back, 1 each side at the front I think - 3 hours. Then we set off, packed like sardines into every available nook and cranny, with shift rotas being worked out as to who got which seat and when. Just getting out of Nairobi was another 2 hours. We soon learnt that it wasn't wise to have the windows open even an inch as hands were darting through as we crawled alongside the pavements and stealing caps, watches, you name it. The driver kept stopping to pick his mates up and buy large bunches of some greenery that when chewed keeps you awake. Him and his pals were crammed into a separate cab at the front, so communicating with the wanker was impossible. To add insult to injury he was pumping the most dire Euro disco music imaginable into our back section at full volume. We had to rip the speaker wires out half way through the journey to preserve what was left of our sanity.
We finally left Nairobi at 10pm. Then the nightmare proper began...
The very condensed version of what transpired is as follows;
4 burst tyres (thankfully only one rear tyre at a time).
Several near-misses with huge lorries approaching us in the opposite direction. We just couldn't even look after a while - it was too terrifying. We were all totally convinced we were going to die at any minute.
Threats by locals of one village who were wielding bows and arrows and had taken exception to our artificially tall hell-bus tearing down their power lines.

I could go on, but suffice to say that when we reached our destination on the beach at eight the next morning we were all good friends and very very thankful to be alive.

Sorry about length but you know you all fucking love it.
( BobbyParadise, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 17:25, Reply)

Leaving on a jet plane...
I hate flying.. positively cack myself at the thought. So, found myself on a flight in Brazil - can't remember where I was going (have blanked it out) probably between Rio & Sao Paulo or summink. It's raining. Heavily. It's practically a hurricane. We're coming in to land.. and the pilot notes at the last minute that the runway is flooded & we can't land. Cue pulling of joystick (in a non-deviant manner) and literally with only feet to go (I was staring out the window in a "oh my god I'm going to die now" kind of a way, so I noticed how close we got) managed to skim the runway and take off again. There was much rattling, rolling, screaming of engines and general "assume the crash position" talk. We got back in the air, but had to land at nearest airport stattish as the strain on the plane had buggered up an engine. And then I had to fly back to England.

Or, or... flying internally in Nigeria (not recommended), in a little prop plane - they don't go very high, so you're in all the bumpy wind. Cue my bro throwing up. Xcept there were no sick bags. So he swallowed it.... 3 times. *shudder*
( parttimebabe is almost there..., Thu 7 Sep 2006, 17:20, Reply)

"A long walk in a sad rain..."
Short version: I once helped my sister move from Nottingham to Norwich and by a convoluted chain of events hitched and walked my way back to London via Nottingham over what might be some of the crappest 24 hours of my life.

Firstly, there wasn't room in the van for me up front, so I sat in the back in the dark, for the entire journey from Nottingham to Norwich. This probably explained my subsequent bad mood and no doubt contributed to whatever it was my sister and I fell out over. I don't remember and happily it's an anger that hasn't stood the test of time. I left the next day to go back to London, too proud after our argument to ask to borrow some money to buy food/drinks etc on the way (or even the bus fare to the centre of Norwich, she had moved to Bowthorpe which is some way from the station). I couldn't take a direct route to London as my return coach ticket was from Nottingham to London (return tickets being vastly cheaper than two singles). My sister's partner had to return the van to Nottingham and he bought a return train ticket to Norwich and I travelled back to Nottingham on his unused return portion.

So far so good.

By the time I got to Nottingham coach station the last coach of the day had left, the next one was at 6.30am the following morning. It was about 4pm by then. I had no money, no food and didn't know anyone in Nottingham. I thought to myself, I'll hitch back to London, that will be quicker than waiting for the coach (coach stations are pretty unpleasant places to hang around too).

First I tried hitching to the motorway, nothing doing there, ended up walking the whole way to the nearest m-way junction. Although I had hitched a bit before I didn't know the first thing about it. So I was waiting far too near to the entry road to the motorway and therefore no-one wanted to slow down and stop. A few really, really funny people stopped and then drove off as I was almost at their car doors. Hilarious, really; if you are a driver I implore you to give this witty gag a go, you'll earn yourself many new friends this way. You twats.

It started to get dark and I considered walking back into Nottingham but eventually a battered old Ford Cortina stopped and picked me up. The owners were a really odd looking couple - he was really short and could barely see over the steering wheel and she just sat and twitched for most of the trip. They weren't going to London but were heading for the M25 and said they would drop me at the service station before so I could pick up a ride into London. Only they didn't stop, they sailed straight past it without comment.

"Er, wasn't that where you were going to drop me off" I asked, a bit nervous by now.

"You'll be fine with us" the driver said, "just stay in the car." No threats or anything, they just wouldn't stop and wouldn't let me out.

They turned off for the M25 - "Where are we going?" I asked - "Cambridge, you'll be fine".

It was just way too odd and I was really uncomfortable and shouted "Let me out of the car NOW! Let me out, let me out, let me out!"

They pulled to a stop, I got out quickly and they left me there at the side of the motorway - or the access road , it was fairly wide at least. I ran across the road and walked back down a big embankment and was then back on the M1, still some distance from my home in Kentish Town.

I walked down the hard shoulder for a bit, you don't realise just how *fast* motorway traffic is until you're walking along side it at night with vehicles hurtling past at 80-90 miles per hour, only a few feet away from you - I tried walking on the embankment for a bit but it was too slow going and I kept tripping over in the dark. After a while, a police car stopped and picked me up, they left me by a roundabout on the A41 saying "You'll get a lift from here, no problem" the lying, lying gits. Not that many cars passed and none of them stopped.

I hadn't eaten anything since the morning and it was now well into the night. I decided to walk the rest of it as no-one was stopping. I was hungry and thirsty and exhausted and didn't have a clue how far I had to walk, later checks showed it was only about 16-18 miles and I had walked further than that loads of times. The difference was that those times I had planned for a long walk, had the right kit, food and water. I had no morale at all and even less energy.

So there I was plodding along slowly, feeling very sorry for myself; I passed a big house on my left and thought "I wonder if they have food? Could I break in, grab some food and drink and leg it before they catch me?" I don't think I was seriously thinking about it but the idea was soon dispelled by the angry barks of their alsatian which was loose in their grounds. Although initially scared I felt reasonably safe with the dog behind their fence so walked on. The dog kept up with me (still behind the fence) barking all the time.

"Pretty stupid dog" I thought. Until the fence ran out and then so did the dog, right at me. I swung my bag at it a few times and eventually it left me alone - it had done it's job after all. Quite shaken now, even more tired and more hungry I walked on.

I could see I was near the outskirts of London proper by now but couldn't keep going anymore. I stopped and just lay down on the grass verge by the side of the road, trying to sleep. Then it started raining and didn't stop.

So I got up and kept walking. It was getting light by now (and was still raining). The nearest friends I had were in Golder's Green at that time, so I decided to walk to there. Very, very hungry and thirsty by now, I started eying up recently delivered milk bottles on people's doorsteps. Now I *hated* milk back then. Couldn't drink the stuff, I would have thrown up if I had tried to drink it usually. Being properly hungry and thirsty (I think that over 20 hours without food and water counts as hungry and thirsty) my perspective changed somewhat - food *and* drink in one handy package! I normally don't steal but one pint of milk later I was a much happier man.

After that, the walk to Golder's Green wasn't too bad - cup of tea and the price of a single ticket to Kentish Town later and I was quickly home.

To find my landlord Arv waiting on my doorstep to tell me I had to move out by the end of the summer. I have had better days.
(Wascally Weasel now with 100% fewer jokes., Thu 7 Sep 2006, 17:20, Reply)

Throwing up on a train
Got food poisoning at work and took the train home just as rush hour was starting. It was packed and I sat head in hands, swaying and sweating, eyes tight shut concentrating on not throwing up. I'd nearly got to my stop when a kindly woman gave me a tissue as my nose had been running onto the floor for the last ten minutes. Just the sight of a puddle of snot broke my concentration and people tutted and moved away as I threw up all over the floor. In between hurls I asked for a plastic bag to empty the rest of my contents into, which Tissue Woman supplied, and then I sat head in hands again, bag of sick dangling from my hand, wondering how things could possibly get any worse. Then Tissue Woman said "Scuse me love, there's a hole in your bag..."
( Ysol ab abl blap, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 16:41, Reply)

the french,why can't they be more like us...
a few years ago my mum and dad decided our annual holiday would be in the south of france near the basque area,we live in Rochdale and sicne my mum has a fear of flying we drove alllll the way ther.:( In a box standard Astra estate, not designed for anything but ..well nothing.Anywho we set off on a 6hour drive to Dover ferry port, but as was the usael as we were nearing Dover the M1 was suddenly a massive traffic jam monster htingy with all huge tentacles and purple skin etc... We' finally got to the port at 2.30 a.m, turns out there was a burnig lorry on the motorway when i switched the radio on, stupid flammable trucks. Since it was so late there were no ferries till early morning so we booked in at a travel inn for the night, leaving all our worldy posseshions int he car outside, mistake right there in a busy 24hour carpark.Car was broke into, not once but twice during the night, stupid Dover chavs.But they were so stupid that they ddidn't take anything, not even the laptop hidden under ym coat, but only tried to get my siggs.So we left bright and early in the morning, And we bagan driving through France. Have you ever used the public toilets in those road lay bys in France? Nobody else has either since its not a toilet but a hole in the floor wiv handles on the walls, not good for taking a crap and with no bog roll..DIRTY FRENCH, this was the same for a thurther 12hours all the way down to our haven sight, which when we got there ou caravan was overboked :'( So we had 2 pitch our own tent tht haven supplied us with, only to be eaten alive by birds in the night through the massive gaping hole in the tent, horrible. Why god, why?, Sorry for length but the French won't be!!
(deranged_lunatic is currently rocking his self to sleep, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 16:30, Reply)

Countryslicker
Sweet lord, were you horrifically scarred from this? All the blood drained from my face while I was reading your post!
(Siouxfan I'm not staring at you, I am just short sighted, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 16:30, Reply)

Plan B
You just sound like a stupid cunt for taking drugs on a plane and into countries where they take a dim view of drugs.

Perhaps all your drug taking has fucked up your perception of reality.

And for my story, when I was a kid we drove all the way to John O Groates. Took a time from the south of Englandshire.


/Edit - No worries Plan B, I'm sure everyone grows up eventually!
( Moonraker isn't the droid you were looking for, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 16:25, Reply)

How could I be so stupid ?
[EDIT: Thanks Moonraker - this was a long time ago when I probably was a stupid cunt]
Apologies for length - this is the short version !
Holidays with a mate (Christopher) to NZ
Spent the night in Brussels (where I live) at the pub ‘til very late, home for about 45 mins of sleep/packing, which turned into almost 2 hours sleep. My friend managed to wake me up, both of us still completely pissed – no time to finalise packing etc, fell into a taxi to get to the station for the (very) early train to Amsterdam airport – Literally jumped through the doors of the train as they were closing (a very expensive, non-refundable plane ticket depended on us managing this little feat).

Few beers at Schipol airport until our 9am-ish flight – 12 hours to Kuala Lumpur, 9 hour stopover, then 13 more hours to Auckland, NZ.
Free Cognac/coffees on the plan, no sleep, we arrive in Malaysia.

This is where the stupid bit comes in,
Aware of the fact that we both had some smoking material somewhere in our hand luggage – the plan was to stow the hand luggage in a safety-deposit box and go for a tour of the Malaysian capital.
After asking several times were the safety-deposit boxes were, we were finally told: “just around that corner”
We turn around the corner to find ourselves next in line for the Malaysian customs/immigration with no way of turning back – Just for those who don’t know Malaysia + dope = DEATH PENALTY !

By some miracle we get through, find the s-d boxes and go for a wander around Kuala-Lumpur. Very hot, very drunk and no sleep for at least 36 hours.
Whilst half way across a major 6-lane road I sense that Christopher is no longer beside me, turn around to see him taking a rather impressive nose dive from the pavement to the road – out cold. I rush back and drag him away from the oncoming traffic and he starts to have an epileptic fit (very scary) – except I didn’t know that at the time, having never witnessed one before. Lots of people gather around, lots of contradictory advice proffered in foreign tongues, and I’m shitting myself not knowing what is wrong and pretty sure my mate is about to pop his mortal clogs. Someone calls an ambulance (right, hospital – non refundable tickets, no insurance, soon-to-be dead friend..). After about 20 minutes, still no ambulance and Christopher starts to recover somewhat – I decide to risk taking him back to the plane to fly on to NZ (13 hours!) – where at least the doctors speak English.
So I drag him back to the airport, pick up our bags, carry him though Customs (OH FUCK – WITH THE DOPE !! “how could I be so stupid, again??”).

I literally carry him onto the plane sweating (both of us) and drooling (him).
Arrival in Auckland, queue for immigration – 50 middle-aged Germans in front, 50 middle-aged Dutch behind, a very, very worse for wear couple of backpackers (us, still no sleep for me) in the middle. Christopher bends down to stroke a very cute little beagle on a very long lead attached to a couple of customs officers and promptly gets carted off leaving me standing alone (with the middle-aged tourists), shitting myself again.
My turn at the desk “traveling alone sir ?” – “yes officer, traveling alone” (how could they not notice?).

I reach the outside of the terminal, alone, and decide that enough is enough, I shall dump the dope before going to find out where Chris has been dragged off to.

That is the precise point where the vague recollection buying a handful of XTC tablets at the bar in Brussels hits me - and realise I have imported and exported them in/out of of “death penalty” Malaysia !!! – Anyone Auckland B3tans? I can tell you where I hid them.
Chris spent 2 nights in a police cell and was expelled from NZ the day of our return flight – so, at least, we still managed a holiday. But I still get cold sweats thinking what could have happened at Kuala-Lumpur customs
(Plan_B, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 16:17, Reply)

Last train from London, calling at all stations
Just one of many that spring to mind:

Some mates and I were in our early twenties at the time; a mix of boys and girls.

We'd just missed the 23.30 train from London Charing Cross to Tonbridge: this is the penultimate train and stops at about four stations before Tonbridge, so the journey was about 50 minutes.

So we had to get the last train; the 00.06, which stop at ALL FOURTEEN stops on the way to London. This was back in the days of slam-door rolling stock and this particular train was made up of funny old carriages with no toilets.

So, there we were, having had a skinful and facing a two hour journey without toilets onboard. Being of a certain age, we'd not stopped drinking and had a number of cans and bottles to drink of the train.

Just imagine trying to piss into an empty beer can. And imagine how much harder it must be for a girl.

Much entertainment on that journey home.
( <>Dog www.stevelaker.blog, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 16:11, Reply)

Autoroute
Fortunately not me.

Some friends of my Mrs were visiting us in Devon from Milton Keynes (about 3 hours away). About 6 hours after they'd left we wondered why they hadn't arrived in Devon yet.

When they did arrive I inspected their directions printed off from their Autoroute program. Turns out that if your preferences are set to "only use main roads" and "Avoid roads: M25" (on account of London bound journeys) then the motorway based route to Devon it recommends is to go North(!?!?) in a M1, M6, M5 combo. Thus doubling the journey length and incurring Birmingham! What kind of an idiot starts a journey to the "South West" by going North for 100 miles?
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 16:10, Reply)

from Salou, spain to Stanstead
30 mins into the flight the trolley dolly's started to move around with a bit of importance, then the plane jumped around a bit with the customary stomach up in the throat feeling with what comes with a good bit of turbulence just like the best of roller coasters. Anyway, shortly after captain comes on the speakers and tells us all about the sudden loss of hydraulic pressure that resulted in falling 20,000 feet. Then he said reassuringly "if I had any doubts about the integrity of this plane I would land it immediately" Thanks mate, only another hour and a half to worry about that.
(japper, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 15:59, Reply)

Nightmare de Glace
We camped in an igloo overnight, on the Valley Blanche. We had a big day the next day, the midi plan traverse and a descent via the Mer de Glace.

I woke up with a wet face. It wasn't raining. My face was leaking. I'd not applied the Glacier cream fastidiously enough the day before, and I'd got third degree burns. It was congealing, and my face, apart from my Panda eyes, looked like I'd superglued cornflakes all over it. Yellow crusty puss.
We woke at 4am. Set off at 6 am.
I couldn't apply glacier cream to my face, the cream was frozen and ripped my skin off. I had to climb with a balaclava on to avoid further skin damage. Occassionally, when I breathed through my nose (it was a full face balaclava, no mouth hole), my glasses steamed up and I had to stop. The Balaclava, stuck to my face with puss, ripped new sores everytime I took it off.
We got to the Mer de Glace about 3pm. It's a 'dry' glacier meaning you can see the cravases, often hundreds of feet deep. There is a path waymarked with oildrums and flags, but as the whole place is in flux, they move.
We picked our way down, jumping across cravasses with 30kg packs on, ice axes flailing, crampons kicking out in front.
My dad started crying. He wanted to stop and sleep. We made it out, and down, just before nightfall. 14 hours. I pulled my face off for the last time.
(Countryslicker, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 15:58, Reply)

im a dozy twat
I was driving from birmingham to aberdeen, on the way back to uni. My friend from wolverhampton was with me aswell. Anyway i join the m5 and start batting it down the motorway, im chatting with my mate about how his holiday was etc. Then after a while we see a road sign "bristol 20 miles" and the next exit is cheltenham.

I didnt really fancy making a 400mi trip any longer, although at least my mate saw the funny side.
( Slippery Mick &#8207;, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 15:56, Reply)

Fleeing from Tokyo
Last December I went with a large group of Korean punks to Tokyo for a punk festival. I went with my now wife as well, who wanted to stay a few extra days to visit a friend of hers living in Japan.

Everything went down well and we had a great time. Come the day we had to leave, and my woman was ditched by her friend. At that moment I was already en route to Narita Airport (the worst airport I've ever had the displeasure of going through outside the US). She ended up in Shibuya, stranded with all her luggage.

Some old man tripped over her suitcase. He got up and started yelling at her. She's Korean so we can forgive him for not realising she doesn't understand his language. Less forgiveable, he smacked her in the forehead and started walking away.

She decided she wouldn't allow that, so she came up to him and smacked him on the head with an empty plastic bottle. The old man went down again, and this time she ran for it.

She took a train to the airport where she missed my flight by about half an hour. She was really afraid the Tokyo police would be looking out for the Korean girl who assaulted an elderly Japanese man. In the end she spent 24 hours in the airport and caught a flight the next day.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 15:46, Reply)