The Worst Journey in the WorldAspley 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.
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chthonic, Thu 7 Sep 2006, 12:40)
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A night out on the town and a new wordThe 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!
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jim_bob can herd cats., Sat 9 Sep 2006, 22:40,
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