The Worst Journey in the World
Aspley Cherry Garrard was the youngest member of the Scott Polar Expedition when he and two others lost their tent to the winds of a night-time snowstorm. They spent hours in temperatures below -70°F stumbling about the ice floes hoping they'd bump into it as it was their only hope of survival.
OK, so that was bad, but we reckon you've had worse. We know how hard you lot are.
( , Thu 7 Sep 2006, 12:40)
Aspley Cherry Garrard was the youngest member of the Scott Polar Expedition when he and two others lost their tent to the winds of a night-time snowstorm. They spent hours in temperatures below -70°F stumbling about the ice floes hoping they'd bump into it as it was their only hope of survival.
OK, so that was bad, but we reckon you've had worse. We know how hard you lot are.
( , Thu 7 Sep 2006, 12:40)
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Bus ride to Hell, twinned with Bournemouth
I've flown Air Afrique, and have been roughed up in many, many exotic places. However, for sheer blood-letting misery, it was a British Rail replacement bus service from Reading to Bournemouth, non-stop.
The first and only thing the coach driver said over the loudspeaker system was: "Right. Bournemouth. An' while we're at it, I'll be givin' you lot a musical h'education."
He then cranked the stereo up to eleven, and let us have 'The Best Fucking Awful Country and Western, Daniel O'Donnell and All That Other Shit You Can Only Get Off Market Stalls Album in the World... EVER!' for three hellish hours.
Our own headphones offered no respite, and complaints to the driver where met with pointed reference to the 'Do Not Speak to the Driver' sign, so we huddled together for warmth and companionship and dared to hope that it might end soon.
The support group meets every Tuesday.
( , Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:46, Reply)
I've flown Air Afrique, and have been roughed up in many, many exotic places. However, for sheer blood-letting misery, it was a British Rail replacement bus service from Reading to Bournemouth, non-stop.
The first and only thing the coach driver said over the loudspeaker system was: "Right. Bournemouth. An' while we're at it, I'll be givin' you lot a musical h'education."
He then cranked the stereo up to eleven, and let us have 'The Best Fucking Awful Country and Western, Daniel O'Donnell and All That Other Shit You Can Only Get Off Market Stalls Album in the World... EVER!' for three hellish hours.
Our own headphones offered no respite, and complaints to the driver where met with pointed reference to the 'Do Not Speak to the Driver' sign, so we huddled together for warmth and companionship and dared to hope that it might end soon.
The support group meets every Tuesday.
( , Thu 7 Sep 2006, 14:46, Reply)
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