His journey is still ongoing ...
Arrived at work this morning to observe traffic CHAOS. Walked into the office and discovered why:

At 4am someone was tanking it down the A40 outside our building in a silver Bimmer. No other traffic on the road he overcooks it. Armco, across carriageway to Gantry support and back over to Armco.

Wasn't wearing his seatbelt, so when he hit the gantry he was ejected through the windscreen. And BEHEADED on the beam.

Being the squeamish and respectful bloke that I am I ran to the roof of our building to get a good look. He managed to spread himself over quite a distance. Damn I wish I'd brought a camera to work - the one on my phone didn't cut it.

Normally, the Police would just tut-tut a few times and then pick him up with a sponge, hose it down and reopen the road.

Except they couldn't find his head!

So the road remained closed for 13 HOURS! It has only just re-opened. Re-united with his noggin (which we think made it a fair distance and into someone's front garden), the bloke is now continuing his journey at a much more sedate speed in a zip up plastic overcoat while his 2 passengers (who WERE belted up) are critically ill in hospital.

I think that counts as a Journey from Hell.
(Dionysian Aut viam inveniam aut faciam, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 19:08, Reply)

Eurostar
When I was 14 I went to France with a friend, jouney there was fine, journey back, Eurostar broke down joust out of Lillle. We waited in a tunnel for about 5 hours, at which point they deceided to hand out food boxes, which consisted of a small bottle of wine and a sweet. Cue two 14 year olds getting mind numbingly pissed. After another 5 or so hours we were getting a bit ill and hungry, not to mention pissed off. Eventually after another two or so hours train reversed slowly back to Lille (why only after 12 hours?) where we were denied access onto the first 3 coaches back to a youth hostel that Eurostar had kindly arranged due to the fact we weren't mothers with children (the fact that we were both 14 and on our own clearly escaped their logic. So after another 4 hour or so wait we were taken to a hotel to sleep for two hours until 6am then carted back off again to the newly repaired Eurostar where we returned to london at about 3 mph. All in all, a 40 minute journey turned into a 35 hour journey. And no compensation.
( Madam Marlboro wonders if you've found her yet, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 18:41, Reply)

Public Transport journeys are always an adventure
My least favourite was over the Easter weekend in 1998 (which in itself should set alarm bells ringing for some of you).

Having recently moved down to Kent for a job, I'd decided that I'd go visit a friend of mine who lived in Wolverhampton. The journey to London was fine; I'd left work early to catch a train from near home, had my nice kind neighbour drive me to the train station so I was in plenty of time, and the journey in reasonably good weather to, and across London was nice and easy.

It wasn't until I arrived at Euston Station that things began to go hideously pear-shaped.

My train (leaving at 7.00pm) to Wolverhampton (with reserved seats) was cancelled with about 5 minutes to go. Consequently, the next one (half an hour later) had everyone who should have been on the train before cramming onto it as well as the people who should have been. The overcrowding reminded me of the scenes you see if trains in India. I'm sure if it was possible to cling to the outside of the train, people would have.

I found myself sitting in the footwell between two carriages with another 20 or so people, all of whom were a little pissed off that they didn't have anywhere more comfortable to sit, but at least the journey should only take a couple of hours. Which, of course, it didn't.

The further North the train went, the slower it got. The heavier the wind and rain outside got. Until, eventually the train ground to a complete halt south of Northampton. The tannoy announced that there was severe flooding in the area, and only a single line was open, which everything was trying to filter through.

And so, we sat there. And sat there.

The kindly staff had dished out all the food and drink they had on board, but there was no way enough to go round. I had a kilo bar of chocolate with me, which got shared by those in the footwell with me.

A form of camaradarie swept across our little arse-numbingly uncomfortable compartment. People started chatting about thingss they would normally not talk to strangers about. We converted the door window into a smoking area with little or no complaints. I shoved some music on through my laptop to try and make the time pass more quickly.

Eventually, we did get through the floods; they were almost up to the door level on the train.

I eventually got a seat once most people got off at Birmingham, so the last 20 or so minutes I did get a seat to try and regain some feeling in my bottom. I sat opposite a very-tired looking man, and his very overtired 5 year-old son who was at the stage where he just couldn't make up his mind whether he should be hyperactive, or sleep.

By this time, it was no longer raining or windy outsite. It was snowing instead.

The train trundled into Wolverhamton (where it was due to terminate) at about 3.45am. The remaining passengers trundled out to be greeted by a sight more reminiscent of deep winter rather than late Spring.

We were instructed to try and get into groups going the same direction and get taxis. Pretty hard when you're not actually sure WHICH direction you're supposed to be going.

I missed out on this due to helping a lady who was part of a group who could no longer get to North Wales to a hotel, after she'd fallen on the icy snow, and badly twisted her ankle.

I eventually found a taxi, and fortunately remembered how to get to my final destination. This was at 4.30am. At this point I sat outside the house, and smoked a cigarette, pondering whether I really had the heart to knock on the door to wake someone up to let me in. Then I thought "fuck that", and knocked.

So, a journey that should have taken a little under 3 hours got extended to a 10-hour oddessy.

Still, given the pictures I saw on the news about the motorways and flooding the following day kind of give me the impression I got off lightly.
(Glis, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 17:46, Reply)

Trains and Wellingborough
For those of you who haven't heard of Wellingborough, its slightly better than Corby. For those of you who haven't heard of Corby, good for you!
Anyway, I had just been to London, train there and back. No delays on the way down (!) and all was going swimmingly.
The train then stops at Wellingborough (the next stop until Kettering, my home town) at 9.25 and the announcement on the train is that we will be departing at 22.10.
I'm not having this, I thought as I got off. I could ring my friend to pick me up and take me back to Kettering. It would be much quicker that way. I rang said friend and sat at the station. All of a sudden, after 15 minutes, the train doors slam shut and off pulls the train.
Cue 20 minutes alone in one of Wellingborough's worst parts waiting for friend.
Apparently, the PA said Twenty-to Ten
(The_Reaper, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 17:23, Reply)

Replacement bus services
These where on going every Sunday for about 3 months going into Glasgow Central station as they replaced track. Now I only had to go to Glasgow 1 Sunday a month but had to be there for half 10.

These bus' have to stop at every station which means you spend about 5 miles max on the motorway which could take you the whole way in about 45 minutes. The journey is 30 minutes by train.

The bus service took 2-whole-fucking hours. And did we get a coach? Did we fuck, these big old double deckers that aint been seen in these here parts for years.

Cunts Firstscotrail.
(puggs, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 14:06, Reply)

Well, this one time I got on a plane...
....the inflight movie was Final Destination!

You should have seen the faces of the other passengers...classic

Length Girth etc..
( Jimbo314 is drunk on, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 13:21, Reply)

Krakow to Prague 1997, about half way into an interrail trip round europe
Like the train travelling pros we are we settle into our seats for an overnight journey, we've got snacks and jackets bunched up as pillows, we're ready to go.

Then a man in a hat starts trying to explain something in Polish. We eventually realise that we have to change onto another train. Well thats annoying we thought, but that was only the start.

An hour later, we're woken by a distant roar, which gets louder as we approach a station - its hundreds of football supporters, all beered up and ready to riot. Yay. The next two hours involved cowering in a compartment watching curtains and other fixtures being torn down, other passengers luggage kicked down the aisle and doors being torn off and shoved through windows.

Somehow we arrived unscathed and with our bags unmolested, possibly due to the two hard guys who were in our compartment with us (one of whom fell asleep on my shoulder, which was unnerving in itself)

On getting to prague we met a chap who was on the same train but had a proper cabin and had no idea that anything had happened at all.
( Citizen Cavy Admires your passion for conformity, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 13:18, Reply)

Urgh
I can think of several. All similar theme.

Sheffield to Cornwall. Sheffield to Aberdeen. Sheffield to Arnhem (Netherlands).

I love long drives.

I had my wife (now ex) with me though.

She was(is) a complete cunt throughout.

/shit
( Tone Depear fucking rocks, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 13:09, Reply)

A 12 hour coach trip from northern to southern Germany when I was in guides
with only tinned fish in tomato sauce and cold red tea to eat and The Dirty Dancing soundtrack repeating over and over on the coach soundsystem
( Citizen Cavy Admires your passion for conformity, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 12:54, Reply)

I just got back from China today / yesterday (now)...
I had an amazing time in China, but it was a 13 hour direct flight back to the UK, on a budget (and I mean mid 70's plane with faint smell of piss) flight sat next to an over weight sweating bag of shit insisted upon telling me about his seedy antics in Thailand... And then the first thing I heard upon leaving Heathrow was "Have you got a spare fag?"... so being a bit tired I snapped back with "No, I bought a box of 20 and guess what!?! There was 20 in the box!!!". Right, I'm off for a little sleepy but first I've gotta read the last 2 newsletters dammit!
( busy phil is still bloody busy, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 12:51, Reply)

Spain, 2000
Myself and some mates were staying on the lovely Costa Del Sol and decided to take a boat trip from Gibralter to Tangiers on a sleek, fast sea-cat.

The trip over to Tangiers was a little choppy but not too bad. Unfortunately coming back was a different story.

The waves had really got up and the sea-cat was effectively skipping from wave to wave like a stone. I was up on the top deck and I have never seen so many throw up. Almost everyone was vomiting, except me but it was close. I was just sitting on the floor holding on to a railing, teech clenched and looking very pale.

My mates, in the meantime, were slightly more blase about the whole thing. They had gone to the bar to get some cans of beer. They were slowly making their way through the front lounge when the boat hit a massive wave. All of them went arse over tit and my mate Paul was thrown sideways into a metal blukhead, denting it with his head and knocking himself out.

The remaining lads managed to crawl to the front of the boat and, not ones to waste drinking time, slumped down and opened their cans of lager. The cans, having just been thrown about, exploded covering them in cheap african beer, to the delight of their fellow passengers who burst into spontaneous applause.

Finally, lest you not believe my tale, here is a photo of Paul just after the incident, when he was still concused:



And, just for the hell of it, here's a picture of me. On a camel. Horray!


(MrC. Having the most boring username on b3ta since 2004, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 11:49, Reply)

Jordan
November 1998, just after Bill Clinton passed the Iraq Liberation Act of 1998 my family decided it would be a good idea to go on holiday to Jordan. It was - there were next to no other forreners and locals were extra friendly to us lest they let the troubles completely kill the tourist trade.

Except for one 'incident' that could have been.

One day, a guide decided that part of the tour included showing us where some special scene or other from Lawrence of Arabia was filmed. We all climbed into Jeeps, and headed off into the desert.

The ride was a bumpy one, and we were being jolted back and forth as the driver kept his foot to the floor. All of a sudden, the cars stopped, just behind a big dune/hill thing, where no one could see us. We were completely out of view from the nearby town, with just a grinning driver and apologetic guide. Why had we stopped?

"Puncture."

We looked at the wheels, they were all fine. Now, it is worth bearing in mind that the trip was almost cancelled - while Jordan itself wasn't particularly affected, there were those who weren't looking all that kindly towards westerners, especially Americans, and well, to some people Brits and Americans are very alike.

Oh shit. We had been driven there to be killed.

I was somewhat naive at that time, and having never been to a desert before I was somewhat excited and didn't really pick up on the concerns of those around me.

I went for a walk, by myself, into quite literally the middle of nowhere, while everyone else was slightly concerned about madmen jumping out and shooting them. I got some great photos though.

Needless to say (and to cut a long story short) that didn't happen. Another Jeep turned up half an hour later, I returned to the convoy, and the engine troubles were fixed - in the broken english of our driver "puncture" meant any problem with a vehicle.

The one American that was with our group demanded a whisky when he got back to the hotel. It was Ramadan at the time, before sunset and, well, it was Jordan and it was alcohol he wanted.

Part of me wishes they had shot him. Bit of a non-story really, but I'll dig out the photos.
(Captain Skippy pooed in a bag and left it on your doorstep, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 9:01, Reply)

Not my bad trip, but a little friend of mine..

Background:

I live in Perth, Aus, which is gorgeous but.. in our back garden we have found one lethal viper, two types of scorpion, three very venomous species of spider, and fairly (!) venomous centipede.

The sub aqua diving around here, however, is great.

So, I was getting kitted up for a night dive last week, in almost total darkness, when I put my foot into my left dive boot, something other than my toes wriggled.
It is astonishing how fast you can take an item of clothing back off, even one made of rubber.
I took a deep breath, and looked inside my boot to see a frightened little gecko peering back at me - I was so happy that it wasn’t a scorpion.

However, from the Gecko’s point of view:

My dive boot had last been out when I was diving in Thailand two weeks previously (yes, I am a lucky bastard), so this poor little lizard must have sneaked into my boot in Thailand, spent a very cold trip in the luggage hold, two weeks in a dive boot in a dive bag, had a size 10 foot pointed at him, only then to be stuffed into a sandwich box.
The next day I arranged to have him re-homed in a local reptile park, but he expired that morning. :(
That’s got to be worse than a slow train - you know where to click so that he can live forever!
(BeatsWork, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 7:37, Reply)

once upon a time
well quite recently, i was flying to canada. A while into the flight, i needed the loo, so went to the toilet, got back and noticed my ipod was missing.....

oh you know ;)
( Johno says the chances of anything coming from mars are a million to one But still they come on, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 2:54, Reply)

First class vomit
I was flying to San Francisco on businesss trip with a mate - week of work and then week of hols. Thanks to a mutual Airline pilot friend, we both got upgraded to First Class and I got invited to sit in the cockpit for takeoff (as you could back in the good old days) - Result!

Complete with complimentary bottle of champagne we sat in the sharp end. However, since I find altitude and alchohol can make me ill if I get dehydrated so I was being careful and only had 1/2 glass as my mate got pissed.

11 hours into the flight we're on a lively final approach to SFO and now my mate is in the cockpit for the landing. The 1/2 glass was still enough to make my stomach do backflips but I thought I could make it - suddenly we're on full power in a climb as we go for another bounce around the airport. My stomach had enough and, as I couldn't reach the bag, I did a projectile vom over the seat in front.

According to my mate we were in a near miss with a light aircraft - hope he crashed!
(Pewit does things down under, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 2:30, Reply)

A school trip to the south of France
I sat next to one of my current good friends on the coach there, we got talking and on a long windy road on the top of a hill, I vomited all over the gangway and no-body wanted to speak to me at all for the remainder of the trip, I did get a shirt from my teachers as a prize for being "the worst person to sit next to on the coach"...... damn childhood
(Maccy Divided by 0 on, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 0:44, Reply)

On the train with my mother
'The train will stop at Birmingham New Street Station for 15 minutes'

how annoying I thought and got off to buy some cold drinks

I returned to find the train had taken my mum to Leeds, leaving me stranded without money or ID on the platform

that was a fucking horrible journey
( WormuIus, Sun 10 Sep 2006, 0:15, Reply)

Worst Journey ever?
Driving into London for the first time ever, getting stopped by some silly f**ker trying to clean my windscreen, driving off, taking three corners to get the bugger off my bonnet, cleaning window cleaners sick off the windscreen.
(GOTO:10 dropped out, logged on and jacked off., Sat 9 Sep 2006, 23:14, Reply)

Bastard Multimap
Myself and my boss were due to attend a meeting in Croydon. Neither of us had ever been there before and had no idea where the building was so, deciding to avail myself of the infinite knowledge stored on the internet, I tapped a couple of postcodes into Multimap and we had our directions.

Sadly, neither of us are able to drive so we had to figure out the public transport route.

After getting a train into London, I met up with my boss and we boarded the train that was heading towards Croydon. After ten minutes, the train stopped. And sat there. Then, after a few minutes of silence, it sat there some more. Eventually, the driver announced that we were being delayed because of a fatality on the track several miles away which was backing up all the trains.

Eventually, the train wheezed, juddered and started to move. However, we had to get off a stop earlier then anticipated, then wait for another train to take us just that little further. We were at a Croydon station, but not the Croydon station we required.

The train arrived, we got on, travelled one stop and got off again. We walked outside, whereupon I removed a small map that I'd printed off from the magical internet and the lovely, lovely autoroute.

Thus began a walk which looked like about ten minutes on paper, but actually took us 45 minutes. It was also uphill. All of it. The day was unpleasantly warm and we both had suits on. After fifteen minutes, we had our jackets slung over our shoulders, and my hair was plastered to my head with perspiration.

Eventually, we arrived at an area which we thought was probably correct, although the actual road we required didn't seem to exist. After some careful checking, we realised that we'd walked too far and had to go back down the road half a mile. More checking of the map, mopping of the forehead, and general cursing ensued.

Finally, we found ourselves standing on the exact spot that the little arrow on the map was pointing to. It was an odd building and not what we were expecting. It looked more like a hospital than an office building. At that moment, a care assistant walked out of a door holding a man by the arm who was, shall we say, a little 'uncomplicated'. We appeared to be standing outside a care home for the mentally challenged.

I wanted to cry and, for the briefest moment, I saw the watery shimmer of tears in my boss's eyes. A taxi driver who was waiting to collect someone told us that we were miles from our destination and when I proffered the map so that he might tell us where we could find the building, he merely chortled and said, "It's not even on that map. That's how far away you are."

We walked back to the train station, sweaty, tired and developing a mutual hatred of each other. Ironically, this particular part of Croydon appeared to have been designed by MC Escher as we had walked from the station to the middle of nowhere and back to the station, and THE ENTIRE FUCKING JOURNEY HAD BEEN UPHILL.

We arrived back at the station. The next couple of trains were delayed. We phoned a taxi. When we got in and announced our destination, the taxi driver nodded in a non-committal way and drove us away. Five minutes into the journey he admitted that he had no idea where he was taking us...

We arrived, finally, at the meeting, 2 hours late. The people at the meeting hated us on sight because we were there to add more work to their already hectic schedules.

When we left the building, it transpired that the station we had got off at about an hour and a half previously was a 3-minute walk away.

We have never been back since. Fucking multimap.
(Ravenhill, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 22:56, Reply)

A night out on the town and a new word
The night before work a friend took me out for a drink, or five. Five turned into something more like a dozen, with a healthy dose of whiskey as well. We're not talking pissed, we are talking utterly mullered. Completely off my trolley. In fact, I was so out of it, the trolley was somewhere over the horizon in disgust at my drunken state. But I digress.

My journey home was not fun. I caught the night bus, only to have to ask the driver to stop, and open the door, so I didn't get vomit everywhere. This he did, much to my temporary drunken gratitude. I leaned out, did what I needed to do, and leaned back in. I believe I bowed. Yes, I was beyond drunk and entering the realms of ironic. Or, more accurately, moronic.

So, I get home, collapse into bed, and wake up with what feels like a dead French tramp in my mouth, a head that is more tender than a week-old lamb, and a sensitivity to sound that makes a pin dropping sound like Grimesthorpe Colliery Band. Oh yes, and I felt weaker than a kitten. It was in this state I went to work.

I get on the bus, to be greeted by a man who I have known for a while, who every time he sees me, God bless him, is always up for a really long and drawn out conversation. Alas this morning I was not up for it. So, he was yattering away in the background, using my "nrurrrgh" sounds as conversational punctuation.

We then arrive in the centre of Sheffield, at a set of traffic lights which seem to take an age to change. Two nrurrrghs later, I notice the engine is making the bus vibrate at a rather peculiar frequency. Do you know how certain opera singers can modulate their voices to the natural frequency of glass? Well, the vibrations of the bus seemed to be the natural frequency of my stomach. Oh dear. Rapidly turning green, I leapt off the bus, and ran to the nearest MacDonald's.

I arrived in the toilet, and thusly invented a new word- the McVom. Vomiting in a MacDonald's. Classy. I got sent home at 11am, and oddly enough by 12 noon I was as fit as a fiddle. Result!
( jim_bob can herd cats., Sat 9 Sep 2006, 22:40, Reply)

Scrambled eggs, scrambled guts
The night before work, I got the midnight munchies and decided to make myself some scrambled eggs. Right, so far so hoopy. However, and there is always a however, there were some unexpected side-effects of these scrambled eggs.

These made themselves felt the next day at work, which was right on the other side of the city, I might add. I was mid-call with a customer when I felt a pressure building. I thought it was just a rather large fart. It was, with added seepage. Oh dear.

I leap quick-sharpish to the loo, which is then promptly pebble-dashed to oblivion. Oh yes, it was an anal armageddon. We are talking liquid shit of the highest order, mixed in with a large amount of gas. Imagine a volcanic mud pool, for something like both the smell and how my ringpiece felt at this time.

I clean everything up as best as I can, and get myself sent home from work. Which was a two hour journey. On the way back, I pebble-dashed three more loos into similar states of oblivion.

When asked by curious children on the bus as to why my face was a curious shade of puce, I brought up a picture of tubgirl on my phone and told them I was trying to stop that from happening. They soon went away.

I eventually got home with a ring piece that felt more like a curry hose, to spend the rest of the day chained to the loo. Ladies and gentlemen, I do not recommend making scrambled eggs with eggs that are two weeks out of date. It'll all end in tears.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Sat 9 Sep 2006, 22:25, Reply)

(Ex) In-Laws
Had to travel from Midlands to Ilfracombe with (now ex-) wife, Psychpathic in-laws and spacktard sister in law all in the same vehicle - SiL spent entire journey trying to pull her eyes out and wallop us in the back - all the while Im pretending to be tolerant and finding the assualts "funny" and "Characterful". The whole week was pretty dire but the nadir was when we stopped for a Fit-break (or somesuch) she pulled me from one side of the car all across the back seat and out the other side.
Shes dead now. Ha.
(kitescreech still here, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 22:20, Reply)

Flymo flashback
I was a travelsickly child (still am occasionally though haven't done the old chuckyuppy in a decade or more). My parents, being understanding souls, consequently dragged me round the country at speed on a regular basis - I saw very little of the countryside but loads of the sky from my position flat on the back seat trying to pretend we weren't moving.

Came one Friday, I was about 10. Dad's been away all week on a works thing and, as it's school holidays, Mum drags me out on the trip to collect him. 40 miles later, I'm green in the back, attempting to look pleased at return of absent parent whilst simultaneously swallowing rising vom. Dad sees my pallor and decides to speed up in an attempt to get home more quickly - cue tiny child in back seat:

'Can we stop?'
Loud tut. 'No, I'm on a dual carriageway. Is it desperate?' Cheeks and eyes bulge dangerously in response.
'I can't stop' - he rolls down the automatic back window, I stick my head out and win awards for projectile vomiting for England...

...there was this guy mowing the grass verge. He had no chance.

I still wake up sometimes remembering his face as he saw us approaching.
(cisco, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 21:42, Reply)

Food Poisoning
My own worst journey must be about 1993/94 when the family went to Blackpool on holiday. The day before we left I got food poisoning. You can see where this is going...regular sickness, stops to run to the toilet and non-stop simpering about how ill I was. Must have been the longest six hours of my mum and dads' lives...
(Rob Roy The Postie is looking for alternative employment, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 21:30, Reply)

PATH
I'm amazed that all our well travelled friends have'nt mentioned PATH - the Greyhound terminal in New York.

PATH stands for pathologically abnormal's temporary home. I've done a bit of wandering and frankly it's the single most terrifying place that I've ever encountered.

It's left me with an indelible impression that all Greyhound journeys must begin or end with a maniac declaiming that their best friend is an empty McDonalds bag.

Also - I hold a current UK PCV (bus driver's) license. Everyone is quite correct. Bus drivers are mighty tw*ts.
( The Disappointed Caravanner of the year, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 21:19, Reply)

Ah Egypt
The sun, the people, the culture, the bad case of dehli belly on the plane home...
( jim_bob can herd cats., Sat 9 Sep 2006, 20:46, Reply)

I was 10
I didn't like travelling on boats, and we were in the posh expensive lounge area for some reason. The sick bags were all at the entrance to the lounge, and I was feeling very queasy. Finally I could stand the sickness no longer so I slowly made my way towards the sick bags knowing that they were my only hope at relief. Three rolls of the boat later I'm holding half a stomach's worth of vomit in my mouth hoping to hell that I can still make it as it was only just around the corner.

Make it round the corner and wave manically at the service woman standing next to them (they were still *across* from the entrance and it was another 10 steps at least), pointing and emphasising as much as I could that I was very, very ill. She didn't get it. 3 seconds later she gets it, as the entire floor to the entrance is covered in a nice layer of sick. "Oh my goodness. I guess you won't be needing a bag now then". Oh boy was she wrong. I edged around the spreading pool of vomit, grabbed the bag and vowed to spend the rest of the journey in the loo's too ashamed to show my face. Sadly it stank in there and only made me feel more ill, but in a different "dear god, I was travel sick, now my body's rebelling against the smell, sick" way. When we finally left the boat there was just a strange whiff and a slightly discoloured sheen to the floor.

Now I just make sure I sleep on boat journey's, and never, ever move from my seat.

Oh, and then there was the journey where the boat was rocking so badly we could see the just sky out of one window and just sea out the other. Hearing all the plates in the kitchen smashing, and the waitresses all screaming "oh god, will it never end" didn't help.
(manifold, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 20:44, Reply)

Reading through these does bring up some memories I tells ya
This was quite a journey in itself. Myself and the now ex had just agreed to go on a break, and two days later I went down to pick up my stuff. First things first, the bank were being arses. Again. After careful (read as pleading) negotiation I get train fare, and head down to Nottingham. I get there, utterly annoyed at the whole transport system, only to find that said ex, two hours after breaking up with me via telephone, was shagging a mate. Right. Then followed a rather odd evening which is forever graven in my memory as one of the worst nights of my life. I got free beer though, like that was any consolation. Then, the next day, I get all my stuff, and pack it all up. I get home, and arrive in the waiting arms of my family, to begin a long and rather rough emotional recovery, only to find said ex had nicked my PS2. Fucking bitch cunt whore motherfucking... **walks off into distance swearing under breath**
( jim_bob can herd cats., Sat 9 Sep 2006, 20:44, Reply)

Northwestern Trains
On the return journey from Preston (I'd gone to see what the uni was like, in the snow), the train was a few hours late to the station by which point we were frozen. Then we got on the train to be told that the heating had broken down. Ages later, we pulled into Lime Street where we realised that the Wirral Line trains were terminating at James Street; meaning a walk across town. It wasn't fun.

Another time, I was coming back from seeing Coldplay. The train driver couldn't be bothered taking us all the way from Manchester to Liverpool and so told us that "due to unforseen circumstances" we would terminate at Lea Green station, just outside St. Helens. We were told that a replacment bus service would come, but it never did. All members of staff disapperaed on the train remarkably quickly. Cab drivers that night must have made a nice packet taking everyone onto Lime Street.
(tranmerefan, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 20:03, Reply)

My three weeks in the Ukraine
As a precocious 15-year-old, I went to visit some relatives in Ukraine on what promised to be a lovely three weeks. By the end of Day 1, I was barely able to breathe, coughing up phlegm and constantly sneezing. By the end of the first week, I was only alive in theory.

So off to hopsital! But no tourist hospital for me; my dear relatives insisted I use the local one. Thus I was registered - where's my father? Oh... um, away fighting in Chechnya. And thence to the cockroach-infested wards.

Two weeks and 24 (!) injections of novocaine later, I arrived back at Heathrow, and practically did that Pope-kissing-ground thing.

Of course, as the UK doctor explained, it wasn't pneumonia at all. I was allergic to the family cat. Figures.
( pidg, Sat 9 Sep 2006, 18:59, Reply)