Ketamine.
Took some/alot of k at a festival in Sydney. Ended up in Legoland talking to the Devil.

That was a bad journey.
(semtec, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 0:37, Reply)

Nevada Backwater
After squabbling with the missus, I drove west, across the great emptiness of northern Nevada, only to break down in the town of Battle Mountain, Nevada, USA, late on Sunday afternoon. A rare stroke of luck I happened to break down in a populated area - northern Nevada is one vast desert - but with the shops all closed, there was no chance for immediate help.

I ended up at a squalid backyard mechanic's mobile home, where a mechanic was trying to fix an ancient school bus carrying a load of stranded latter-day hippies. The mechanic was a wonder: he looked like the Unabomber, dark as a coconut, wearing the world's filthiest oil-stained shirt, and sporting a useless, withered arm.

What am I talking about? He was a superb mechanic, and the people were the best ever. The journey back to the missus - now that was the worst journey in the world!
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 0:23, Reply)

My brother, Mustaffa Al-Jazeera

had a bad journey once. It all went disastrously wrong when he, along with the 213 other passengers, all arrived at the scheduled destination alive.
(Lt Columbo, Fri 8 Sep 2006, 0:14, Reply)

Fucking national express.
2004. End of summer, but it was hot as satans arsehole after a vindaloo. My dad lives in bedfordshite, a small town called St Neots if anyone knows it. AS usual, a lovely trip back down to plymouth, consisting of:

Start: 0730, leave the house, go down to Stansted.

0930, get the coach to heathrow.

1200, get to heathrow. Just missed a coach, wait around for a couple of hours for the next one at half two.

1430: Drive off.

1545: Break down at some shitty (modbury?) service station.

I then waited something like three hours until another coach came by with room for spare passengers. Obviously, I am not pleased. Get to bristol at about 1930, eat a shitty sandwich that gives me food poisoning and the shits in under half an hour.

I get on the next coach at 2030,cold but sweating like a rapist from the combined heat of the coaches and the food poisoning.

Get into plymouth at 2320.

Time taken, usually: 7/8 hours.

Time actually taken: 15 hours.

Length? Girth? It all came out at once and pebbledashed the bowl.
(castaboras the time at the beep will be, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 23:54, Reply)

Trains
Last year sometime, I think it was Feb/March time, me and friend decided to hop on the train into London to see God Forbid at the Underworld. Journey down there was fine and despite an unfortunate encounter with a chav outside the venue we had a cracking time. A few beers afterwards at The Worlds End. The journey back was less fun. Got stuck on the last train that stops at all stations between Euston and MK Central. Stuck in the middle of the carriage I fight my way to the toilet.
Two stops along we all have to get off onto coaches. Coaches that dont have toilets which I seem to need as soon as I sit down. Eventually we pull into a random station in the middle of nowhere. Only about four of us on the coach. I ask the driver he minds waiting for a few minutes while I empty the old bladder. Not at all, he tells me he will wait till I get back.
Which he doesnt. I end up having to chase the coach and jumping infront of it at a crossroads. He said he forgot.

Good gig though.
(reesy22, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 23:52, Reply)

the 43 night bus, from picadilly gardens to northenden
will be well known to mancunian posters, and was brilliant back in 1991-1992 when we were penniless students, as I only lived another 20 minutes walk from where the bus finsihed, thus saving valuable money for beer.
anyway, we get on one night, the bus gets about two stops down the road and one of the girls sat on the other side of the bus (who was clearly a bit worse for wear) is exorcist sick all over the couple sat in front of her. they get off a few stops later, covered in chunks and dripping, and a bloke gets on. sees the empty seat, but doesnt clock that the bus is full and people are stood up, and havent taken the empty seat.... and promptly sits himself down on the vomit covered upholstery.
it almost made up for catching a bit of the spray from when the girl threw up in the first place.
(tjn whizzing on the electric fence of life, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 23:48, Reply)

Not sure if this counts
but I got up and found myself running late for work. So I ran as fast as I could and finally arrived there just in time.

Then I woke up and realised that I was late for work. I'd dreamt the whole thing. :(
(shloerolic Survived another day from the bears outside on, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 23:47, Reply)

Panteneman
I know what you're on about mate!

I try to avoid the Krazy house- full of horrible smelly goths and emos.

Also it's worth noting the Night Bus in Liverpool.

The other week whilst out for an 18th i got it back at about 3am. The bus was full except for some seats on the back-row. On closer inspection the reason they are empty is that someone has blown chunks (not their dog in this case) all over the back. The smell was horrific and instead of carrot chunks there appeared to be tuna steak chunks all over the place. Luckily there weren't any fights or anything.

And yes, scouse chavs are the worst type of chav there is. Avoid like the plague armed with a switch-blade.
(androoh, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 23:44, Reply)

I'd say this wasn't another "French Coach" story - but it is...
So, picture the scene.

4 rather uppity french teacher's decide that the best way to get a group of 60 snotty 11 year olds into their new french lessons is to take them on a day trip to Boulogne. Yes, thats right, a DAY trip. The whole excursion was to last 24 hours....oh if only it was that simple...

We left the school at 11pm and set off on our merry way. A 'quick' stop of at Oxford Services turned into a 'long and frantic looking for the lost child and adult guardian' stop, where we spent just over 1hrs looking for this coupling. They were of course, signing up for an RAC membership and sorting out some double glazing for thier new front room.

Moving on from Oxford found us at the channel tunnel and onwards to france. After arriving we cruised down their lovly autoroutes only for the gear box of one of the coaches to break down. We were to stop of at a supermarche, so this required the one coach driver to drive to the shop, drive back for the other kids, and then back again.

Here the same family who had bought the RAC membership, decided to do a bit of a booze cruise, stocking up on liquors of all shapes and sizes. This 'over-stocking' caused their trolly to buckle and for the contents to splash /break upon/corrode the tarmac below (well if you will use the equivilant of a B&Q heavly loading trolly what do you expect?)

After moving on from the Supermarche, we arrived in Bolougne. Here, the coach driver decided to drive down a narrow (and busy) one way street. As with all good british bus drivers he was going the wrong way down said street. This caused much anger with our french counterparts. So much so, that said British driver got out and nearly started a punch up...


In Bologne, during a gental afternoon of shopping and drinking, one of the parent helpers (read "Parents wanting a free trip to France") had her bag nicked from outside a shop. Cue, spending 4 additional hours at the police station with the teachers trying to translate all the proceedings.

After all of this we moved back to the Channel Tunnel, only to be stopped by the Ministry of Transport. (This was of course during the Foot and Mouth crisis so I stuffed my home made bacon sandwichs down my throat). We were ordered of the coach and seats were slashed open.

Of course, due to all the extra ferrying around that the coach driver had done, he had completed far more hours that he could legally and his tacograph showed this. Cue 7 hour wait in customs while substitue driver is supplied by coach company.

Eventually, he arrives and we are taken home...


All this for 60 excited 11 year olds...



They didnt run the trip again



*sigh*
( Grinned2Death knows what Willis was talking about, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 23:42, Reply)

Bloomin' Louborough
I once spent 2 and a half hours on a train.
From Nottingham....
....to Loughborough.
Which normally takes around 10 minutes.
Not only that, I was sitting in the luggage rack due to lack of seats.
( Jsysco is mostly a lurker, mostly, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 23:29, Reply)

Flying from heathrow to Melbourne
26 hours in the air as we had to divert around a possible terrorist hijacking in singapore (turned out to be bullshit) on a plane that was 30 fucking degrees and that had run out of water bout 15 mins into the flight, oh and to cap it all of some random romainian woman was sat next to me and both the woman and her evil spawn both stunk of piss. By the end of it i was considering flushing myself down the shitter just to get away from the fucking woman . i gotta say that was one of the worst times of my life
( nomorelifeanymore Tap Dances his way to freedom on, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 23:24, Reply)

Public transport = Pure evil
Try avoiding, (or checking out if you are a masochist) variations of the Arriva bus, going from St Helens into Liverpool.

Filled to the brim with surly coffin dodgers by day (where the f__k do they come from? It’s as if all the North West’s old people live there, like God’s Waiting Room). And, come nightfall, ridden with the worst Chav’s probably known to mankind. SCOUSE CHAV’S.

They pile in from such sh_tholes like Huyton, to come down for fights with the “Woolybacks” from St Helens. Living in packs at the back of the buses, playing dance nonsense from their Nokia’s (what the hell is that about?). Most prevalent for Chav occurrence is the 10A.

Check these occurrences for size:

(1) Going to my GF’s gaff, a group of them are mocking some p_ssed dude. The plod move the man to the FRONT of the bus, so that me and my Girlfriend are somewhere in between the Chav’s at the back and the p_ss artist. So, they continue asking him inane questions and trying to get him to do Jackass like antics. And we couldn’t avoid Mr Blotto as he was talking utter b_ll_cks we didn’t care about and the Chav’s then mocked us. We got off two stops away from the town centre for another bus as I knew where that was going.

(2) Going to Liverpool on the bus to go the Krazyhouse with my GF’s mate in tow, that attracts attention like flies to s__t. Seeing as she is tall, goes for classic mad back combed hair a la Robert Smith look with far too much goth makeup, resembling something similar to a gothic geisha or like Black Metal “badger paint”. Hate going Krazyhouse, or Liverpool after 1900hrs anyway. I fear for my life literally. Nothing wrong with Goth’s at all, as I am a metaller (NOT lame ass Skater or Emo Jessie either. Do note). Ironically find Manchester safer going to Jilly’s. They’re a more tolerant lot out there. Work that out for size!

(3) Three or four Chav’s kicking the crap out of the drivers door because they couldn’t bunk on the bus. A nice conclusion to a shopping trip with the GF.

(4) A near fight breaking out when coming back from an Inflames gig, from Liverpool Academy. Over some stupid p___ed up nonsense. One guy saying to a mate “I buzz off this bus larrrr, therez always a fight no ‘ere at night its fukkkkkin quality ladd”. Err, no. Nothing in it for me. “Ladd”….


There are a couple of more that escape me at the moment. They will be shared with you all soon as it’s a bit late and it’s been a long day…
(Panteneman Isn't entirely sure why he bothered on, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 23:21, Reply)

Twice in one night
I went to a free booze party, on the way home threw up in a cab, did a runner, and then had the police chase me, then went to a pub, had to be carried out, threw up in second cab, and I assume the cabby must've taken me into my house and put me on the couch, because I can't fookin remember.
That was a pretty bad journey though, although the cheapest night I've had of my life.
(Nibi, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 23:10, Reply)

Liverpool.
I suppose my worst journeys are the ones after I've been with my boyfriend. I'm in Scotland and he's in England. I always always cry as the train pulls away and he always always pulls faces at me. He's an arsehole but I love him!

The best worst journey I've ever had though was my friend Kt's and I adventure to Liverpool to see Hi5 (Australian people from a childrens show she was obsessed with- she's 18). She'd just learned to drive so we borrowed her mum's car and off we drove with printed directions.

Everything went fine and we were even early untill we got into Liverpool. It took us an hour to find our Travel Inn, then another hour to find the area where the show was. We just had to find parking. At this point we only had half an hour to go untill it started.

As luck would have it, fifteen minutes to go and we found a parking sign. So in we went and drove through this tunnel, came out at the other end with no parking in site and had to pay a man at a ticket booth. We ended up sitting on a little street beside a shop wondering where the fuck we were and the show had started without us.

While pouring over the map I got a call from my mum and she laughed and joked, "You probably ended up in Wales knowing you two!" Looked at the map. We had only gone and ended up in Wales!

At this point Kt was really upset but I started laughing, she joined in and we headed back. Only to get lost in Liverpool. For five hours.

So our trip to Liverpool ended up with me and her, the day before her birthday, sitting in a Travel Inn eating greasy chips and watching the Matrix. Which by the way, is a really odd film.

I now have a car of my own, hehehe!
( vix0r was not Matthew on, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 23:09, Reply)

Ooh more, a train this time
Not me, but meh. If you are sent on a holiday to one of her Maj's hotels you are, upon your release, if you need to travel to get home, given a rail warrant, basically a voucher to buy a single ticket home at the nearest station. I worked at a station for about a year and processed these gents. Between the prison and my station the only building they would pass was a 24 hour supermarket, and without fail every one who came through had either a big slab of lager or a bag of vodka or something, basically booze. You would have thought that you get out, you must still be on probation, gotta keep your nose clean, mental list of things to do...... Number one, act like a noisy tit and draw attention to yourself. Job's a good 'un. One day 2 gobshites turn up, already rather merry after a gentle 25 minute prison to supermarket to station stroll, couldn't stop swearing and shouting, get their tickets, and potter off. The train arrives and they decide that they would rather travel in first class. The story as related to me was that in the 20 minute journey to York they generally made every bodies life a bit less sunny with their over exuberant tales of life inside, explained to the guard that they would rather not either move or pay for a first class ticket, decided that going to the toilet was an uneccessary waste of their valuable time and instead wee'd into one of their empty bottles and put it in a bin (after much racket and showing to all their new friends on the train "I've fuggin pissed in a bottle look look mister that's me piss look look hahahaha" etc) and finally deciding to pick on who they thought was one of the weakest and most vulnerable passengers, who unfortunately happened to be a lady Superintendent in the Yorkshire Constabulary. Oh dear. Cue a small party at York station, them as special VIP guests with 2 coppers each, bless em'
(tinypod will never learn. Ever., Thu 7 Sep 2006, 22:53, Reply)

Ryan-bastard-Air
We were flying from Bournemouth to Dublin for the weekend. We arrived at the airport at midday for our 2pm flight to be told that it was going to be delayed, by 6 hours. Annoying enough but we decided to go off to find a local pub and keep phoning through for updates, so not too terrible.

After 5 hours we return to the airport and discover that it's now going to be 7 hours.

7th hour arrives and we board the plane, which apparantally was delayed due to engine issues. Plane taxis out onto the runway, plane taxis back to terminal, further engine issues, another delay.

Hour and a half later we take off. The flight itself is simple enough, and we start to fly over Dublin airport expecting to begin our descent, only to be informed that the airport is closed due to a fuel leak on the runway and we have been redirected to Shannon.

Another hour and a half's wait at Shannon plus about 20 minutes each way to get there and back.

Our flight which was supposed to land in Dublin at about 3pm finally came into land at around midnight and the nice first-night meal we'd hoped for came from a pizza place. Admittedly it was the nicest pizza I've had in a long time.

It was quite a laugh really as most of the groups on the plane were stag and hen parties game for a laugh, all ready to take the piss out of the poor cabin crew who had to do the safety demonstrations three times, and everyone was generally quite good about it, but it'll take a good reason for me to want to fly with Ryanair again any time soon.

If Michael O'Leary won't apologise for shoddy customer service then I will make no apologies for length.
(daylightroddery, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 22:48, Reply)

Liverpool lime st
A while back in the good old days when I could still vanish for a weekend and no one would miss me, me and a few choice drinking partners embarked on a trip to The Krazyhouse in liverpool. The plan was to get back to the station in time to get the last train home and sleep till good ol Crewe came into sight. After an allday session we get to said house of crazyness and continue the drinking. we decided to head on out to the station at stupid o'clock only to find that our train had gone. Now Lime street station has some strange nocternal inhabitants all of whome are quite harmless but pretty disturbing if you aint used to that sort of debauchery. After we spent a fairly sleepless night waiting for the sweet sancuary of daylight and our ride to freedom we finaly boarded out train.........................half asleep...................the bugger broke down for an hour...........I hate trains.
(lordfish ,Master of the Mushroom People, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 22:43, Reply)

Another National Express one, not dreadful but odd
Came home London to Newcastle one summer and the 'Spress, bless 'em, must have run out of coaches because we eventually travelled on a "Dam Express" bus, one of those ones used for 24 hour recreatonal trips to Holland. It was plastered with pictures of smileys, herbal leaves and other paraphernalia. Cue lots of tits in there cars making hilarious smoking motions at us before looking all confused after realising that it was full of various biddies, duffers, pensioners and the like.
(tinypod will never learn. Ever., Thu 7 Sep 2006, 22:28, Reply)

gmo
I live in Kettering so every journey I make is a bad one. Only good journeys are away from Kettering but the only problem there is they are usually towards Northampton or *shudder* Corby
(The_Reaper, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 22:24, Reply)

I'm unlucky on trains.
I'm generally quite unlucky when it comes to train journeys. I've never died or crashed or anything, so it could perhaps be worse, but I do still consider myself to be the unluckiest person in the world.

If there's a fat sweaty man boarding, he will always sit next to me. Without fail. Even if it's an otherwise empty carriage. He will then try to talk to me.

And if it's not a fat man, it's an old woman. An old woman who tries to give me stuff. Like the sports pages of the newspaper. Which I then I have to read to make her happy. Despite the fact that I get really travel-sick whilst reading on a train. Eurgh.

And then the train will break down. Normally in Kettering. Although I did once get stuck on a broken down train with Lars Tharp, of Antiques Roadshow fame. Living the dream.

And my last train journey was perhaps my worst of all. Two women sit opposite me, clearly colleagues. One says to the other 'Don't tell anybody else yet, but I'm pregnant'. Cue 2 hours of women talking about pregnancy, dilated vaginas, how certain parts tear, how it smelt really bad when her waters broke during her previous labour, and how men have no idea about the pain. I know all about pain.
(gmo, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 22:15, Reply)

Bout 10 years ago, Newcastle to London, National Express, the overnight one
this left Newcasle about 11.30 near as dammit, never a great journey but fine if you could get a bit kip on it. The passengers were me and the usual mix of odd/quirky but essentially harmless folk and about 8 thoroughly tanked-up young Geordie twats. On the bus we go and they start singing an amusing little ditty which relates their preference of comeradeship, sociability and a "party" lifestyle as opposed to more lusty pleasures, a fine traditional English folk song if ever there was one. The lyrics were something along the lines of

"Wuz divvunt shag wa lasses
coz wud rather raise wa glasses
coz wa stupid fuckin' bastaaaaaaahhhhhhddds"

Concise, witty I'm sure you'll agree. So, on through the night we trundle..........

11.39 ish
"Wuz divvunt shag wa lasses
coz wud rather raise wa glasses
coz wa stupid fuckin' bastaaaaaaahhhhhhddds"

11.39 and a bit more ish
"Wuz divvunt shag wa lasses
coz wud rather raise wa glasses
coz wa stupid fuckin' bastaaaaaaahhhhhhddds"

11.40 or there abouts
"Wuz divvunt shag wa lasses
coz wud rather raise wa glasses
coz wa stupid fuckin' bastaaaaaaahhhhhhddds"

and so on. We picked up at Chester le street, roughly 25 minutes later
"Wuz divvunt shag wa lasses
coz wud rather raise wa glasses
coz wa stupid fuckin' bastaaaaaaahhhhhhddds"

then Durham about 20 minutes after that
"Wuz divvunt shag wa lasses
coz wud rather raise wa glasses
coz wa stupid fuckin' bastaaaaaaahhhhhhddds"

and pulled into Darlington at approximately 1.15 or so
"Wuz divvunt shag wa lasses
coz wud rather raise wa glasses
coz wa stupid fuckin' bastaaaaaaahhhhhhddds"

1.15 or so, and ooh... probably a couple of seconds later
"Wuz divvunt shag wa lasses
coz wud rather raise wa glasses
coz wa stupid fuckin' bastaaaaaaahhhhhhddds"

By Doncaster at about 3
"Wuz divvunt shag wa lasses
coz wud rather raise wa glasses
coz wa stupid fuckin' bastaaaaaaahhhhhhddds"

this time they weren't all singing, I'm assuming some of the wankers had the decency to pass out. It must have been about 4 o clock before all of the stupid cocksuckers eventually shut the fuck up. Maybe I should have said something at the time, and even the conditions on the ticket said something about alcohol being allowed but we wil not tolerate drunken behavior or somesuch, but I can't believe the driver only thought was that we were all having a sing song. After that I discovered that if you book in advance trains cost less than buses, have more room, are more comfy and get you to London in 3 hours.

(Sings softly under breath....
"Wuz divvunt shag wa lasses
coz ..........")

Utter Utter Utter Utter Cunts

EDIT: Did Neil Hannon write a verse saying
"On the National Express
There some pissed up dickheads
Talking wank and shiiiiiiiiiiiiiite"

Or is that just in my head?
(tinypod will never learn. Ever., Thu 7 Sep 2006, 22:05, Reply)

Satnav
is the bane of many a country drive. I've ended up going down routes which don't even have a name, the screen just says "road". Worse, however, was my friend's experience trying to get from one New Year's party to another. The Satnav managed to mistake a nearby field for a road. So my mate's little Yaris got stuck. Cue a stroke of midnight phone call "Alright? Where are you?".... "in a field... help?". S'alright though, they got pulled out in the morning.
(LickOutTheJamsMotherfuckers!, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 22:04, Reply)

Seven Sisters? Pah!
Ahoyhoy!

The worst journey ever back from a night out has to be while at uni in Liverpool, me and a couple mates went to a DnB night in Manchester. Everything goes cracking and we roll out of the door at two ready to take a gentle stroll down the road to Picadilly station to catch the last train home.

We get there about half hour early and, starting to feel the effects of the alcohol/drugs combo feel a snooze coming on - well we wake up at exactly 20 seconds after the train has gone with some guard telling us that the next one isn't for a couple hours. "That's alright, I can have another rest". So there we are asleep in Manchester (a city I had been to only once previous - and I can say that some parts are worse than good ol' Seven Sisters...the word fetid comes to mind) when we are then told that in fact the next train back to Liverpool leaves in 20 minutes but from Victoria, a good half hour away.

After running, and coughing, our lungs up to get there, we are then told by another guard that the other guard was wrong and the next one didn't leave for at least two hours. So end up sitting there in the arctic north station.....falling asleep and missing the train again. Next one? Not for another hour and a half. I hate dawn sunlight - it makes my eyes bleed.

Sorry for length, but I'm excited about actually answering a qotw for once!
(babyatemydingo, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 21:55, Reply)

Worst Journey
I live in spain. I found out a good friend had died four days before my birthday, booked flights and went to the funeral. The journey was the most wretched thing I have experienced; ever been on a trip where you despise anyone for looking happy?
Not funny I know but true.
(DustyD, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 21:33, Reply)

Ethiopian bus etiquette
Apparently it is not the done thing to open the windows on an Ethiopian bus because some folks there believe they will catch TB from the rapidly moving air.

This means that you will spend 14 hours in a steaming hellhole surrounded by some of the smelliest people on this earth, and you will probably catch TB due to the fetid air and the rasping coughs of half the occupants. The driver will chew qat for the entire journey to ensure he is at the peak of concentration while negotiating crumbling mountain roads at speed and, for the last 4 hours of the journey, in the dark. Light relief will be provided every 3 hours or so when someone attempts to open a window and a fistfight breaks out.

You will then disembark, eat an appalling meal (but you will not complain - you are in Ethiopia after all), attempt to sleep in a rat-infested "hotel" between paisley-stained sheets, then get up at first light to spend another 10 hours doing the same thing all over again.

Only this time you will have diarrhoea.
(Girth, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 21:13, Reply)

Dont go to Seven Sisters
Couple of weeks back, me and a couple of mates went to a warehouse in Seven Sisters for Fuck Reading- a two day punk festival for everyone too poor or lazy to attend the real Reading festival. I brought along some of the bolivian marching powder and bought a few pills off some friendly men inside, and had a merry old time. I live in West London meself, and Seven Sisters is north east.
I can honestly say it is the worst place I have been in a long long time. Look up the definition of Ghetto, and youll find a picture of the place. The residents go to Calcutta to get some relief from crime; or they would if they could afford it.
Anyhow, I boarded the night bus at 5 in the morning on the worst comedown of my life, praying for rest.
Then I hear shouting from the bottom deck; then some more shouting; then the fucking bus door gets kicked in, shatters all over the place. Turns out some twat had been trying to rob about 50p from the bit where you put your money down for a ticket, driver told him to fuck off, he took offense and kicked in the door, before legging it down the road.
Cue waiting in Finsbury park for another bus, then got another, then another, then finally got home 2 and a half hours after I had left the gig, feeling wretched and praying for respite.
Theres nothing quite like that feeling standing at bus stop as the sun starts coming up, freezing your bollocks off and watching normal people going to work.

First post by the way
Be gentle
(leningradcowboy, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 21:07, Reply)

I was working as a cop at the time....
my partner Harry Temple and I were SWAT team explosives experts in Los Angeles. We were called in to free a group of office workers from an elevator that was trapped between floors in a downtown high-rise. Howard Payne, an explosives expert who used to be with the Atlanta, Georgia bomb squad, promised that they would all be blown to bits unless he got paid off. Temple and I rescued the hostages, but Payne escaped. Later, while I was out getting coffee in my neighborhood one morning, I witnessed a city bus explode, killing several people. I picked up a nearby ringing pay phone, only to hear Payne warn that another bus, filled with innocent commuters, has been wired with a bomb. When the bus reaches the speed of 50 miles per hour, the bomb becomes armed, and if the bus drops below 50 after that -- or if any passengers are taken off the bus, or if the ransom isn't delivered at the appointed time -- the bomb will explode. I alerted the bomb squad and went after the bus, boarding it as it sped through rush-hour traffic on a Los Angeles freeway. One passenger, a thug fearing arrest, pulled a gun and accidentally wounded the driver, so passenger Annie Porter had to take the wheel while I made radio contact with headquarters and planned a rescue. Annie was perfect for the job too, because she was without her license because of a speeding ticket! The bus had to be kept moving faster than 50 MPH, so it was given a police escort that cleared the way until it could be rerouted onto an airport landing strip. Then me, Temple, and Payne began a deadly game of cat and mouse. Temple tried to figure out where Payne was hiding, while I tried to figure out where on the bus the bomb was hidden and, once I find it, I tried to figure out how to disarm it.... if you want to know the rest get the film.

I do not apologies for length or speed, but I am sorry for the sequel. It was shit. And I realy liked that Willem Dafoe, especially in Platoon. Oh and also I hate the way some morons think his name is William, it's not- it's Willem!!!!!!!

I still think the length is satisfactory.
( Paedosmile service with a grin., Thu 7 Sep 2006, 20:55, Reply)

Not being able to drive sucks.
Coming back from a day at my dad's a few months ago, me and the bloke missed our train. 'No fear!' says I. 'We can get one from the train station in the next village!'

It was a Sunday which is the twilight zone for buses so we set off walking. Which might have been OK if a) I hadn't drastically miscalculated just how far it was and b) it wasn't pissing it down.

Soaking and miserable I reassure my grumpy other half by assuring him there's a pub at the station (appropriately named 'The Railway') and I will reward him for his toil with a shiny pint of John Smith's finest.

We get to the station (or more accurately, concrete block on side of line which you had to cross to get to the other platform) and find that in the years since I was last there, The Railway is now The Deserted Pile of Rubble. The boyfriend nearly broke down and cried.

After a long, beer-less miserable wait for the (late) train followed by an unneccesarily bumpy, dirty bus ride, we arrive home, in the dark, exhausted, wet, sniffling, starving and silent. The whole journey had taken over six sad hours.

The most soul-destroying part was when we checked our ordeal on multimap.

We had travelled twenty-six miles.
(Northern Lovely, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 20:47, Reply)

G8 Demo
Remember the G8 demonstrations? I took the coach to Edinburgh from London overnight as it was cheaper than taking the train.

Big mistake.

I didn't sleep and the heating was jammed on all the time. I almost collapsed from the heat.

I ended up sitting next to a nun, so the conversation wasn't that easy, being somewhat the militant atheist type.

The journey back was just the same. Eeeesh.
( Parmesan Quality b4 Quantity, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 20:33, Reply)