Jump to content
Sign in to follow this  
rubecula

Rube's chat/ some previously posted stuff.

Recommended Posts

Some years ago I left the confines of my home city of Liverpool to live in Wales. The opposite side of Wales to England, and Liverpool. As I was moving because of work after being long term unemployed, I had little money and couldn't afford removal companies to help me. Si I decided that I could save money by doing it myself. I borrowed my Brother in law off my sister for the dumb muscle and hired the biggest, hugest vehicle I could legally drive. It was a monster. Not an articulated wagon, but just as big as many of them.

We loaded it up in Liverpool, which took a few hours, and set off on the journey. I had great fun driving the monstrous beast (Mercedes I think it was) I enjoyed it so much that I forgot all about the 'governer' which would not let me drive at over 60 MPH, and had my foot down all the way. Even going up and down the hills. This had a disastrous effect on the fuel consumption.

By the time we arrived at my new home, the wagon was gasping on fumes and needed a refuel (Had to drive the damn thing back to Liverpool where I had hired it from.) So we quickly unloaded, basically just throwing stuff into the house, it was dark by this time, and went to find a fuel station.

The nearest one I knew of was a local Shell station, which was on the main (and only road) across the island) This was a vital road link as all the traffic heading to Ireland had to travel along it, as well as all the supplies for the island, and of course also used by the local inhabitants.

It is important to remember that in the dark and under yellow lighting, that the colour green looks very like black. Shell stationa had yellow lighting and yellow lit advertising, Diesel is in black pumps and petrol (gasoline) is in green pumps. I chose the wrong pump.

The man who owned the Shell station had a display of flowers for sale outside the office, narrowing the space to the nearest fuel pump, which unfortunately, was the petrol one.

So was it really my fault the wagon was too big to fit through the gap?

I heard a crunch and looking in the mirror was horrified to see that I had clipped the first pump in the row. I could not reverse out due to a ramp. All I could do was press on through and hope no damage would be done. I was wrong. Four fuel pumps, Two stanchions, and a concrete plinth later, I had totalled the Shell garage. Of course being an honest citizen I pulled over to one side to survey the damage, and my brother in law hid under the dashboard out of sheer panic.

I went to the office to apologise and try to explain. The cashier was hopping up and down behind his window, screaming. At this point I decided things were not going too well, and when the cashier got on the phone to his boss, I thought I may need police protection. So I phoned the police to come and rescue me.

Unfortunately as I say this was on the main road so it was exceedingly busy, especially with the Irish ferry in port. Sadly, next door to the Shell station was an old disused hospital in the process of demolition, so to allow machinery in and out there was a temporary traffic light set up.

The police duly arrived, and in the process of the police coming over to interview me, the traffic lights changed to red. Car drivers were rubbernecking to see the maniac who had written off the fuel station. AND they didn't take note of the traffic lights. The resulting pile up outside the Shell garage caused a number of things.

1) it blocked the road thereby almost shutting the entire island down.

2) it made the policeman say words not repeatable here.

3) it made my brother in law scream.

The policeman radioed through to HQ. About twenty minutes later there was the fire brigade to contain the RIVER of escaped fuel (mostly from damaged vehicle which had tailended each other) A fleet of police reinforcements to help the maddened crowd, and also a lot of ambulances to aid the injured and badly shocked folks in the cars.

My words. "OMG this is all my fault"
Policeman's words. "Yes it is"
Shell station owners words. Something in Welsh about Englishmen.

After the dust had settled, I asked if I could still get served. I was refused. But I needed fuel to get back to Liverpool, so I got a police escort to the nearby ESSO station.

While I was in the queue to pay, I heard the following:

"Lots of flashing lights out there, I have seen ambulances, fire engines, and police cars rushing up the road."

"Yes mate, apparently there was a terrorist attack on the Shell garage up the road."

"Really??"

"Yes they say it was probably an IRA attack."

"Good Gawd did they get them?"

"I think they escaped and are fully armed with all kinds of weapons."

I kept very quiet and paid my fuel bill when my turn came. Drove home without a single word from my Brother in law. When my sister got home that night from work, he was already in bed and hiding under the blankets, mumbling "Oh dear god, oh dear god." to himself.

About three months later I paid a visit to my Aunt in Llandudno ( a holiday resort in North Wales) and she introduced me to her new neighbour.

We recognised each other while we were being introduced. His words were "******* **** ***** it's you."

He was the policeman who had arrived at the scene.

Strange how folks around here still remind me of this incident.

We do laugh.............. not.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Just to add to the story, the estimated cost was reckoned to be in the order of £100,000. And all I had wanted to do was to save money!

Never again, never again.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

You know those big Volvo estates the police used to drive around in in the UK? The indestructible ones with the suped up engines?

I was on my first date with my girlfriend of the time, here on Anglesey, and we went to a pub for a meal. Nice place, very popular. In fact too popular. The police were there doing spot checks.

Anyway I drove into the car park, girl at my side, and the car park was full. I went all around it but no parking spot. 

I had to reverse out. Couldn't really ask her to get out of the car and watch me out could I?

So I turned my head to look over my shoulder to reverse out, and put my arm around the back of her seat, as you do.

She thought I was trying for a quick kiss, and responded eagerly, by grabbing my head in both hands and proceeding to lick my tonsils.

The surprise (nay shock) caught me off guard and my hand spun the sterring wheel as I was reversing. Straight into the police car, tearing the front of it right off.

"Dear me " says I, "That is a bit unfortunate, you silly girl."

(Words to that effect anyway)

Luckily the police were inside the pub. So I jumped out and lifted the front of the Volvo back up and rested it in place. Got in the car and drove to the next pub.

No I am not still seeing her.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Some years ago when I still lived in Liverpool, I obtained tickets for a motorcycle show held in Manchester. The sort of show where the manufactureres tried to get people interested in their products. Quite big and a bit posh on the day I went.

It was held close to the railway station (G-Mex Centre??? Not sure now)

Great show really enjoyed it and I stayed there all day trying out bikes for size.

Anyway I had gone by train as it was easier to get there that way, so obviously I traveled home by train too.

I got to the station just as my train was leaving. The next one was not for another hour, so I settled down to wait. After a while I realised I was getting a bit peckish and went to find something to eat. They were selling sandwiches at a small kiosk, and I bought one. Ends were curling up a bit, but food is food.

I returned to the bench with my prize in hand ready to munch away. I unwrapped it and it didn't seem too bad. Opened my mouth to pop it in and take a bite, when I heard this odd noise.

Sounded like screaming and howling, and it was coming from somewhere up above. Mouth still open I leaned back and looked up. This was my big mistake. 

Up on the girders were two pigeons, indulging in what we can delicately describe as reproduction actions. They were making a hell of a noise as they got 'down to business'

Then one of these fat arsed little rats with wings opened it's bowels and let fly.

As I said I was below all this. A stream of hot pigeon poo came down in a steaming stream to land on my face. All over my glasses, dripping off my face and (yeuk) filling my open mouth.

GAAAAHHHHHHH!

Trying to swear and keep my mouth open to let it come out was very difficult. I ran to the toilets calling them all the dirty b*stards going. Over the sink I threw my glasses in the stream of water to get them clean and tried to wash my mouth out. I think I drank and swilled about a gallon of hot water. Totally ignoring the fact there was a notice saying "Not Suitable as drinking water."

Not sure how long I was there for coughing, spluttering and saying rude words about pigeons.

Finally, I left the toilets, wretching and feeling quite frankly, bloody sick. Got to the platform, in time to see the train pulling out of the station, and two fat pigeons destroying my sandwich.

Some guy walked past and said. "Did you know you got pigeon **** on you?"

ARRRRRGH!

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

I have always liked motorbikes from as early as I can remember. One of my 'uncles' used to race professionally in the 1940's and 50's. Anyway for my 50th birthday I tried to get all kinds of things sorted for the "big one" and all plans fell apart. Eventually I decided to go for broke and bought myself a bike (for the first time in decades) I bought a Yamaha XVS 1100 A for those in the know. (I bought myself a big bike for those not in the know)

Test drive:
Start, stall, go red with embarrassment.
Start, stall, go even redder.
Start, fistful of throttle, scream in terro at the approaching brick wall, get it round by the skin of me teeth, nearly fill me pants.

Buy the bike.

I had the ideal place to park it at home. The built on bit at the side where it would be under cover and well protected. Wrong!

The place was too small to get the bike in. Unfortunate mistake but it could happen to anyone, so take it back onto the road, well no room to turn around. Had to pull it backwards up the slope. Gawd I wish it had been a moped by this time. I could not budge it. I strained and strained but simply could not move it up the slope. Maybe, (I thought) it would be easier from the other side. Very carefully I got myself around the other side and began to pull again. It moved! But not quite the way I had planned. It first rolled forward about an inch, then fell on top of me.

My fall was cushioned by my rose bush, The massive thorns tearing through my trousers (and me arse). Gawd it is amazing the strength you have with two inch long thorns in yer bum. I lifted the bloody bike off me. Almost carryied it to the road, and stood there full of anger, with me backside on full view to the neighbourhood and my trousers hanging from my rose bush.

Not long afterwards, I went for a ride on the bike, and just up the road by abouty 50 yards in the entrance to a resident's carpark. I was only doing about 10 mph or so as I approached it. A car driven by a wild feckless 'yoof' came flying out of the car park straight at me. I fell off.

Not a big deal, no harm to the bike, no harm to me. Apart from the fact it is a big bike, and my boot was trapped underneath it with my foot still inside and the exhaust burning my leg. Neighbours (bless them) came running over, young lad was crying thinking that as I wasn't moving I was dead. (I wasn't moving cos I couldn't)

The neighbours lifted the bike up slipped my boot off and I got free. Thanked everyone, and sat on the curb to put my boot on. I then leaned back on the grass thinking that it had been a bit close for comfort. 

Just then "Nee Naa Nee Naa" An ambulance arrived. Some kind person had phoned in the accident.

"I am ok just a little fall is all."

"No it isn't don't move. You may have a broken neck."

"No seriously I am fine just fell off."

"LIE STILL! AND DON'T TALK!!"

"But...."

Next thing I was tied down to a stretcher and being hoiked into the back of an ambulance. I was being kidnapped by body snatchers incorporated. Then they started jabbing me with needles.

Police arrived and took statements (the car driver was given a hard time apparently)

The followed the ambulance to the hospital, with me still in it. As you know I live on the island of Anglesey, the hospital is on the mainland.

Whizzed into A&E and placed on a trolley in an almost upright position, still strapped into the stretcher with a neck brace on. The observation light was on and shone right in my face like some kind of gestapo interrogation.

Four hours later and practically blind by the light, the nurse came in and said:
"Right, I am going to cut your leathers off, it won't hurt."

I said: 
"**** OFF, let me out of this madhouse. There is nothing wrong with me."

"The doctor will decide that. where does it hurt?"

"My wallet, these leathers cost a bleedin mint. And get that light out of my face fer gawdsd sake. Please... Please?"

The police then returned breathalised me and said "You are in the clear."

The doctor came, laughed and said "You are in the clear, you can go."

I was let out, still in me leathers (phew) but on the mainland, no money, no phone and no bike. It took me all night to get home, and when I did my mate said he had moved my bike at the police request and put it on the garden.

Nose down against the built in bit next to the bloody rose bush.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

The best and worst car I think I have ever owned was a Ford Capri.

I had a new job, and it was in Cheshire, living in the great? metropolis of Liverpool meant I needed to commute, so I went out and bought a car. This car was a huge monster of a thing. A mark 1 Ford Granada estate with a 3 litre engine. The fastest moving part in it was the fuel gauge. 

My cousin Danny had a Ford Capri and a family, so he wanted a bigger car. He proposed a swap. Neither car was perfect but I drove awy in the Capri singing and laughing.

A week later he swore at me, he went to do a bit of welding to the4 Granada and couldn't get a spark. The whole underside of the car was made up of roofing felt painted with heavy duty paint. cool.png

Whereas I had my hands on a Ford Capri with a new engine in it. I say new, perhaps not from this car originally would be better. Anyway this thing would almost fly away from the lights. I once left a porsche for dead in one of those traffic light grand prix thingies. It didn't have a great top speed but the acceleration could make you gurn. I have had people screaming in it, me included redface.png

I took it for a run one day and it overheated, water was pouring from the radiator. Luckily I was not too far from my parent's house so limped in there. I have heard that if you have a leaking radiator you can put an egg in it to stop the leak. 24 of my mum's eggs later it was still leaking, only now it smelled of egg and there were tell tale white dribbles coming from the hose connection. The brazing had failed. Late at night there was no way I could get a new radiator so step two. I pinched my dad's araldite. It said on the packet that heat ould cure araldite quicker. So step three. I took the radiator out (It was now after midnight) araldited the broken part and proceeded to try to apply heat. I had the corner of the radiator jammed in my mum's oven with me on a kitchen chair and my boot against the radiator to hold it in. About three hours later, half asleep and full of cramp I put the radiator back in, filled it with water..... and watched as it poured out from my repair. I stayed the night at my parents and bought a new radiator the following day. (and some eggs for my mum.

Another time I was travelling to a job in Staffordshire, on the motorway. I put my foot down, and the driver's seat reclined. I was hurtling down the outside lane of the motorway laying on my back and unable to see where I was going. I can strongly recommend that this is a good cure for constipation, but not advisable for heart conditions. I survived, barely.

One day I was at my parent's house and was just leaving to go home. I moaned about a funny vibration the car had had for a week or so. I couldn't trace it. So on this day there was a big football match and along the road at the top of my parent's street the fans walked to the game, and the police horses trotted to the ground. I found a space in the traffic, pulled into it, and .... the car stopped dead. The engine was revving and there was an almighty series of rapid bangs from somewhere, like a lunatic on a crank handle.

The was a banging on the window of the car too. A policeman on a motorbike was leaning down and punching my car. "Shift it" "I am trying" He took a look and actually laughed. "Your prop shaft has fallen off" He then organised football fans and local yoofs to push/ carry the car with me in it into a side street and rode off still laughing. One of the yoofs said "That car is sh*te, I am not nicking that."

I once left the house to go somewhere and saw a puff of smoke from the bonnet. "Oh bugga" I stopped at the traffic lights which suddenly went to green, so I swung round the corner and pulled into a building site to see what was happening. Opened the bonnet and found that somehow a piece of rag had been thrown up against the manifold, It was smoldering away. I pulled it out, the air caught it and suddenly it burst into a huge ball of flame. I ran around shrieking with an oily rag stuck to my hand on fire. Honestly this thing had flames three feet long coming off it. I got it off and then the security guards came running and waving sticks. I jumped in the car and drove away like a madman.

The Capri's last day was almost a sad one. I lived at the time on the expressway to Manchester, and one morning I hopped in set off to work and once on the main road put my foot down. All four wheels came off. Some git had stolen my wheel nuts. The car was a write off. So I swapped it for a colour telly.

I miss that car death trap.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Up until a few years back when I took a couple of days break in Dublin, I have never actually had a holiday in my life. No I am not looking for sympathy smile.png I have been lucky enough to go to many nice places, but it has usually been in the line of work.

Anyway a few years back, my sister phoned me to tell me my father was planning a little holiday for himself, and his idea was that as he is getting on a bit he would like one of us to be with him, and would I do the honours? It would be a break for me too. So of course I said yes. So it was left to me to sort something out. I eventually came up with the idea of a little break on the canals on one of those narrow boat thingies. A slow pace and dad would love it, (and frankly so would I) My dad loved the idea. So I phoned my sister back and told her. "That's wonderful, I will sort it for you both" Hmmmm Do any of you have a sister that knows what's best for you?

About an hour later she phoned me back. "I have booked you both into a hotel" WHAT???? eek.png "We wanted a boat holiday on the canal" 

" Ah yes" she replied, " But you wouldn't enjoy that so I got you into a hotel in North Wales."

"I live in North Wales"

"Yes but this is not in your village you silly man."

Resigned to the fact that I wouldn't win the argument I accepted this as fact. Always safer than arguing with my sister. "Where is it then?"

"Treaddur Bay"

" What? That is the next village along, I can walk there in 20 mins, I go through there virtually on a daily basis. What the heck are you playing at?"

"Oh, I didn't know. I will phone you back."

"The boating idea is best I think"

She said she would sort it out and phone back. And she did, about an hour later. "OK it is booked you have a room each in a hotel." mad.png

"Llandudno"

Well I go there a lot as I have an aunt and a few cousins living there. But I wasn't going to win, so I accepted it, it would be a nice break anyway. Nice hotel break would be fine.

The big day came and I beetled off to Llandudno. My sister was dropping my dad off at the hotel.

I got there first and hung around waiting, and soon after they turned up and we all met up and had hugs and stuff, so we went to book in.

"I am sorry sir but we are over booked I am afraid you will have to share a room."

Share a room with my dad who snores like a pig in a heatwave? OMG no.

"It has a king sized bed so you will be comfortable."

Share a room with a snoring Dad AND share the bed? NO NO NO mad.png

Eventually after some serious arguing they found us another room with twin beds. It was better but it was not going well at this point. In the end I had to accept this. Sister and her husband tootled off leaving me with my dad, so we went to the room, (I had to shuffle him up in the lift of course and he started to moan right away. "This carpet is too thick I will trip on it, these lights are a bit bright .... " etc etc. I was going to have a wonderful time.

The first night we went downstairs to the bar for a beer or two. It had been years snce I had had a beer with my dad. It was going to be A beer too not a few, not at hotel prices. He accused me of keeping the change. GRRRR. Still there was a live act on, something like the Tiller Girls. Legs kicking act. I think it was meant to be for the older folks so as it was my dad's break really I didn't mind.

A very pretty lady came over to our table and asked if she could join us as there was nowhere else to sit. And of course I said yes. She invited her mother over and we made up a foursome. It was very pleasant, unti my dad said he needed to go to bed. So reluctantly I said goodnight to the pretty lady and took my dad up to the room. We get there and he said to me (no word of a lie) "See how I look after you son? That lady was after you there for only one thing." "Jayzus Dad I bloody know. and I thought it was going well too." I rushed back to the bar but unfortunately the lady and her mother had left. mad.png

Sad old me went to bed, dad as usual was already snoring loud enough to rattle the windows, and I slept hardly a wink all night. The following morning we got up for breakfast and then went back to the room with a newspaper for my dad to read. I lay on the bed and tried to catch up on the missing sleep.

Most of you know I work on an airfield? Well I was just dozing off when:
WHOOSH, ROAR.

One of our aircraft was doing a flying display over the beach in front of the hotel. Please please let me sleep. But no one of the planes I fixed for the airshow was actually doing the airshow outside my hotel window. Finally he went away. a deep sigh and a hat over my eyes and I tried to get that much needed sleep.

WHOP WHOP WHOP

Now What? The flying display was not over. A rescue helicopter was showing off what it could do. Right outside (and I really do mean RIGHT outside) the window. I looked out and the aircrew actually waved and gave me a big smile. I did say a rude word at this point. My dad was fascinated and watched it all. Sometime later that went away and I lay back on my bed with a headache.

BOOM BOOM BOOM 

A Marching band and a parade. 

By the end of the day I was a jibbering wreck.

Day two I went for a wander to the beach to see if there was an easy path for my dad to follow (he hates walking on sand at the best of times) I found a little path that went over some rocks not too arduous and with me to help he would be fine. I will just make sure it is not too difficult to walk on for him.

ARGH! The tide had not long gone out, I stood on some wet seaweed and over I went. In me best holiday clobber, headfirst into a massive rockpool. I came up with seaweed and living things all over me, soaked to the skin.... and about 200 people looking down from the pier at me, every one of them laughing like crazy. redface.png

Day Three dad wanted a news paper so I went out to the shop, it gave me a break from him, god bless him, and a bit of fresh air. I bought some rock for the kiddywinkies a newspaper and was about to set off back to the hotel when a few people started running past me in the opposite direction. I was a little bemused but just carried on. Until of course I found out why they were running in the opposite direction.. I walked straight into a swarm of wasps or bees or something. (I was not hanging around to examine them that closely, besides they were interested in my sticks of rock. I have not moved so fast in years. Paper over my head and I gave it some leather down the street.

I got back to the hotel hardly stung at all, thankfully. Went to the room and dad said "I wanted the Daily Mirror not the Daily Post." I wanted to throttle him with it.

Finally, the relaxing break came to an end and I took him home and hugged him, thanking him for a great time. I swiftle made my escape and returned to work for the break.

AND that is one reason I have NEVER had a holiday. They are just too stressful

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

I am very distressed now as I can't remember a story about me and a pair of socks....... well apart from the one about me looking after my ex's dog for a couple of days.

Max (the dog) was very playful, and on the first morning I was getting dressed, and as I was putting my socks on, he burst into the bedroom, yapping away and proceeded to grab my sock as I was putting it on my foot.

He ran downstairs, and out of the back door (I had opened it for him a little while earlier to go outside and ... do his business) I chased after him down the garden, over the gravel with bare feet, through the brambles and back up the garden. He went through the gate along the side path to the house and off into the street. I couldn't let him run riot on the street so had to keep up the chase.

Kept after him until he gave up and came back .... well until I was too knackered to chase him anymore. When he got back he dropped the sock in front of me, all soggy with dew and doggy spit. And a huge hole in it.

Neighbour was watching all this, and very soon everyone knew about it. A bit embarrassing to go in the local shop and have people giggle. I loved the dog but I never looked after him again sadly.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

When I was living and working in Germany in the mid 1970's I went for a drive with a friend in his brand new shiny car.

Winter had finally ended and it had been a cold one (1975?? 1976??) Anyway we set off to a winter wonderland area. (Slushy I would have thought knowing how things get over here) But no there were areas of lovely crisp white snow still around. (Ok it was mostly slushy but there were a few nice white places.)

Anyway we got up to the top of a mountain, or very tall hill and parked up to have a look around. 

A small tree was standing by itself in the snow and I thought a photo of me standing next to it would look good for the album. Stepping forward to this 4 foot high tree, I suddenly found out it was more like a 34 foot high tree with a huge snow drift on it. It was over the edge of the road and I didn't realise I was heading for a fall .... until much to the laughter of my friend I vanished over the side of the mountain through a crust of crisp white snow.

It seems my shriek echoed all over the place. 

I got back up the slope with a little help from my still laughing friend. (How he didn't wet himself I will never know.) and we went on a little further. Of course the snaow on me melted in the car and soon I was pretty wet, and so was this nice new car. I didn't point this out to him though, I wanted to make sure I got a ride home.

We passed a roadsign which being in German I couldn't read, but luckily he could. "Hey" he said " A ski slope" (or words to that effect) "Lets take a look."

I can't ski and have never tried, but I am all for a having a look at these things

Of course the season was over and the place was deserted. The slope seemed to start somewhere above us, came down fairly gently to the road and looked like it continued down on the other side of the road. I got out of the car and went to look.

"Hey it is solid ice, and it is almost vertical heeeeeeeeeeeeere ......." Yes indeed I was a little to interested. I went down that sheet of ice at an ever increasing speed on my backside with no control at all. I was spinning and sliding on my rear end for an eternity. Sky Ice Sky Ice Sky Ice Tree ouch. I came to a stop a long way down, and all I could hear was hysteria and gasping for breath. I was trapped halfway down. I couldn't get back up as I kept slipping. I even fell on my face a couple of times with my legs going ten to the dozen to stay in one place.

Eventually, his voice came down between sobbing of laughter. "I will meet you at the bottom."

I reluctantly had to slide all the way to the bottom where the road wound around, but it was treacherous so I went down on my backside (already numb from the cold and the severe bumping it had already suffered). When I limped into the edge of town, he was waiting.

"Let's go get a drink, I am sore, cold, wet and miserable and I hate this place"

"Well they love you" He pointed behind to where some townsfolk were in pleats of laughter, and some ladies were taking a bit too much interest.

All the sliding had removed the backside of my jeans, and my underwear, my arse was bare for all to see.


(The place I think was Winterburg by the way)

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Some years ago (not that long about 5 I think) we had a visit from a small detatchment of French Air Force planes for a week. Nice people and they invited us to a reciprocal visit to their base in the south of France. Of course were were very reluctant to leave our wonderful cold wet and windy airfield to go to the dubious delights of warm dry weather. And we went, I say we, but I was one of the unfortunate ones who didn't get to go.

However all was not lost as one of out aircraft suffered some damage and had to be left there. I was one of the ones tasked to go and get it back.

Instructions were written out, hotel bookings made, and on the Monday morning at 05:00 I arrived at work, ready to travel.

Four lads went off in the big comfy car right away, myself and Nobby took turns of driving the flatbed Ford Transit with the tools on the back. 0 to 60 time ... eventually. 

By 09:00 (four hours after starting, we had reached the front office. Paperwork was not yet done to take the Transit off the base. By 11:00 the paperwork was done, but we still didn't go anywhere. We needed more paperwork to let us take the Transit out of the country, and that had to come from a Ministry Office somewhere else. Finally we were stirred from out lethargy at about 15:00 with a FAX of the required paperwork. 

YAY we were on the way to France. The Transit had been prepared for us by the Motor Transport (MT) section, so it was bound to be sorted properly .... wasn't it?

We were travelling fairly slowly, but by the time we got on the M6 motorway it was dark due to the unfortunate problem of going through the rush hour (It was early December or Late November) We passed slowly by at 6 seperate road accidents. eek.png

Somewhere about 19:00 (7 pm) I was the driver and I noticed cars beeping us as they overtook us. "Friendly folks" I commented. Nobby agreed. Anyway after so long we needed a cuppa, a break and a change of driver, so we pulled into a service station.

We got out and Nobby said some kind of expletive. "Look at that" Our kind hearted MT boys had given us a tarpaulin from a 4 tonner (One of those army wagons you sometimes see) It was huge, you could have put four Transits under it. And it was not tied down! The beeping cars had been trying to tell us we had a 40 foot flag flying out behind us. Thank heaven the Police didn't stop us. We couldn't continue like that so the Tarp had to be fastened down.

The problem we had was we had nothing to fasten it down with. I spent about an hour rooting through bins at the service station looking for bits of string and stuff. Then I knotted all the bits together to make a bit of rope. Then we tied it down. I wanted to sleep. I couldn't but it is what I wanted.

Nobby took over, and we went hell for leather to the south. "Felixstowe orFolkstone?"

"Eh?"

"I can't remember if it is Felixstowe or Folkstone to go to"

"Bugga Nobby, I think it is Folkstone, Felixstowe is the ferry port and we are going by the channel tunnel"

(As it turned out I was right, but now I was so nervous I dare not sleep)

Further south and we reached the motorway that led to the tunnel, BUT the fuel gauge was showing empty. PANIC No services from there until France. We needed to fill her up.

We took a chance on going down a country lane looking for a place to fill up. And we found one. The lad there was just locking up as it was now heading towards Midnight. We persuaded him with muted threats and grovelling to let us fill up, and we set off once again. Finally we got to the chunnel terminal and we had to get through customs. The Transit was classed as a commercial vehicle so went through the commercial vehicle route. We felt sort of tiny with all those humungous articulated wagons, and we had to have the same checks done, but the benefit was that once we got on the train we could use the train's buffet car. We were offered drinks and sandwiches and I took coffee, a lot of coffee. I was almost asleep when we were told we had arrived, It had only taken a few minutes (it seemed) so off we went again. Our hotel was somewhere in Calais. Could we find it?

We would have been better off looking for hen's teeth. In the end I got out and walked around looking for signposts or someone to ask, but I don't speak French, and anyway there was nobody around to speak to. In the end Nobby told me he was going to use the phone to call the car with the other lads in. They should already be here of course.

Luckily one of them was still sober and came to collect us. (They had been there since the afternoon) and at about 02:00 on the Tuesday morning we got into bed. smile.png Only to be woken at 05:00 to continue the trip frown.png

My turn to drive again. The string was not looking so good on the Tarp though. Still refreshed after a short sleep we set off. At the first service area I had had enough of the bloody Tarp and stopped off to buy a tie down strap. The only one they had was a 25 ton one and it cost a bloody fortune, but as I say I had had enough and bought it. (I still have it by the way) and strapped the Tarp down good and proper. The tiedown was so big it went around the Transit a few times and as I cranked it us I went a bit too far and squeezed a couple of lovley dents in the sides of the Transit, well at least the Tarp was unlikely to come loose now.

We got to the Hotel in Tours at about 21:00 (9 PM) that Tuesday night ... from setting out at 5 o'clock on the Monday morning. eek.png

I fell into bed.... My room was a converted loading bay too. Nicely done but bloody hell it was noisy.

The following morning we set off to the airbase to get our 'plane back. They were very friendly, and when they had visited us they always greeted us with a handshake and a nice "Hello Sir". I did the same to them at their place. Unfortunately one of the men there was bringiing us a machine we needed and it was brand spanking new, still in cellophane. He was cranking it over as I approached and he looked up as I offered my hand. This was a mistake as he lost his attention, the crank kicked back and the handle came off hitting the machine and denting it to the point it wouldn't work.

OOPS

The aircraft couldn't fly home so we had to take it apart and put it in pieces on a couple of BIG wagons sent over by the RAF to help us. They set off before us as they were going by ferry. Someone had forgotten the jet engine.

Ever tried to hoik a jet engine up with a fork lift truck? We did it with a bit of ingenuity and a total disregard for health and safety and dropped it neatly on the back of ..... OUR FORD TRANSIT.

Now a Transit is a pretty good vehicle, and it had served us fairly well so far, but driving from the south of France to North Wales with a jet engine on the back was asking a lot. There were people on pushbikes and moped overtaking us on some hills.

We needed to find a toilet a few times too, but down there they have what Nobby called "Damn Bombers" Ie a hole in the ground you had to perch over. I was ok but my poor mate Nobby was in dire straits for a while.

We found a toilet in a service station, we filled the Transit up and .... our fuel card was not accepted. We had to dig around for loose change and what have you, looking into cubbyholes in the cab and so on. We scraped enough to appease the owner and we set off again.

After going through customs (I was driving) we were on the motorway coming back up north and Nobby said with a smile. "Can I tell you something?"

"Yeah go ahead"

"That small toolbox on the back you were looking at."

"Yeah"

"Guess what is in it"

"Tools?"

"No it is the explosive from the pilot's escape system"

"EH???"

"Well if we had told you you would have looked guilty"

"Hell I am the driver, if that had been picked up on the x ray they would have had me inside faster than a you know what"

"That's why we didn't tell you" (Raucous laughter)

It was great to get home. Would I do it again, for a week in the south of France like that? In a flash I tell you, it was GREAT.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Whelks can be odious little things can't they? Some like them but for others.......

I do like sea food, and as my friend (Noel) pointed out, "we live on an island with very clean beaches. We can eat what we catch. "

What could go wrong? 

Firstly, sea fishing is not the same as coarse fishing. I have done coarse fishing for years and never caught much of anything. BUT I did it for the relaxation and to watch the wildlife pass by. Very therapeutic. Sea fishing for your dinner is an entirely different kettle of fish..... no pun intended. 

The first time I tried it with my more experienced mate Noel was near the Menai Straits. A place that has more than one tide per day and is very fast fall and rise of the water. Obvious now.... however, back then it never did cross my mind. I took my time setting up as usual on a rocky beach with a touch of sand. the sun went down and darkness descended. Huge fishing box with my tackle in, comfy chair to while the hours in, hot flask of tea, rods and rod rests, the works in fact. I sat down wriggled into my seat and relaxed.

"TIDE" screamed Noel.

I ended up running for my life dragging half a ton of kit with me up the ankle breaking beach, sinking into the soft sandy bits between the rocks, tripping over every thing in my path to safety.

This is not relaxing!!!

Noel suggested we try off the pier at Beaumaris. (I never knew there was one either in case anyone is wondering) We went there the following week anyway to give it a go, at least there would be no tide to worry about. Sea fishing off a pier appealed as I could sit and relax after I set up...... I should have known better. I put a big lump of lead on the line and cast out. I wanted a good long cast but I have never been very good at that aspect of fishing as I have never needed to be. But now of course I was after my supper and not watching wildlife. besides you can't see much in the depth of the night. Anyway I gave the cast my all and good lord I must have done something right , it went high wide and handsome in fact it kept on going....... I waited for an eon to hear the splash, a splash that never came. in fact all I heard was a loud bang, rapidly followed by a Welsh voice saying some rude words.

I had managed to hook some poor lad's boat. Once again I beat a hasty retreat. I lost a bit of tackle this time to the soulnd of Welsh swear words, which sound amazingly like English swear words when the person saying them is beside himself with anger and possibly with murder in mind.

We tried from a sandy beach at Rhosneigr on evening. In the teeth of a howling gale both of us were exhausted trying to catch the bait bucked which at the start of the evening had £20 worth of bait in it. .. So if you ever find a bait bucket washing up on a coast near you........

By this time as you can imagine I was getting pretty fed up with sea fishing. Noel often went out with his father in law and caught lots of fish. Me? Never had a bite.

Anyway simply for a bit of practice and to give me a bit of confidence I believe, we went to the fish dock in Holyhead. Anything we caught (if in fact anything was going to get caught) would, I said be going right back where it came from. There in no way on this or any other world I would eat something that came out of that water. I was a wonderful, if chill night, we could see the late night ferry on it's way to Ireland, the fishing boats that were in port bobbing up and down gently, the sounds of gurgling from the sewerage outflow.

I caught a dogfish, then another. or by the mark on it's fin it was probably the same one. Noel caught a dog fish.... (Must be a bloody stupid dogfish as it looked exactly the same to me.) "Good eating in one of these. " says Noel. I looked at the sewerage pipe and shook my head.."Sod off."

And then the Whelk boat arrived at the fish dock.......

We suspended our mighty hunting for a while to allow the boat to come in and unload it;s cargo. Which it duly did as we had a cup of tea. Each big sack was hoiked to a waiting van by a fisherman, one or two Whelks escaping onto the dockside as I watched with mild curiosity. I was thinking about when the kids came down to visit and the shell hunting they enjoyed on the beach. These whelks had pretty big and fine shells on them. Perhaps the fishermen would let me have a couple for the kids? As it happened I need not bother asking, for as it turned out they were not interested in the dozen or so that they dropped, and after about half an hour they took the boat back out to sea and the van drove off. The still living whelks on the floor were left where they fell.

I went back to the car and dug out an empty plastic carrier bag and went to collect the escapees. Noel, who was sipping a hot cuppa looked round and saw me. "What in hell?" Quick as a flash I replaied "Remember the bait we lost at Rhosneigr? These will make up for that, and I will have the shells for the kids." Even Noel liked the idea.

Some hours later we packed up and went home. Because of the different shifts we worked I didn't see Noel for a while.... about a month I think. When we did see each other he looked at me and his cheery voice called me ever evil word I could imagine and one or two I had no idea existed.

It seems that a few days later he noticed an awful smell in his car. He could not place it, or find the source. two weeks later he had to drive with all the windows open and his head out of the window. But his a big lad and he could get used to the stench. He just couldn't find where it was coming from. Things came to a head when he and his wife went out with his father in law. The went to ALdi or maybe Tesco only just down the road. By the time they got there, Pam (Noel's wife ) was green. and as soon as Noel stopped she was out of the car being very very sick.

Noel decided enough was enough and literally tore the car apart to find the cause of the smell.

Yes indeed it was the whelks, or rather the liquified remains of what whelks turn into inside a hot car on sunny days. (A month's worth of hot steamy days) They had fallen into the spare wheel well in the boot. and when poor dear Pam sat in the back seat she got the full odour of rotted whelk.

This was a few years ago now and oddly although we are still the best of friends he has never asked me to go fishing with him again.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

It suddenly struck me today that I never told you how I got my present car.redface.png

Well it happened this way. tongue.png

I was getting fed up with my car, a Vauxhall Vectra, some years ago. always causing trouble,to the point where the AA were charging me extra to keep my membership. One mechanic even suggested I join the RAC. frown.png

Then luckily for me, a lad in work wanted a van to transport his motorbike in, (he raced them so driving them on the road was illegal) so needed to get rid of his old 1998 VW Passat. I have always liked VW cars and this one was particularly nice with wood trim and two tone velvet interior. I tried a test drive and the engine ran as sweet as a nut. Age be blowed, I liked the car. I bought it on the spot, mates rates. It cost me £300, so I was very very pleased.

One of the lads in work was asking me about this l;astweek and another lad piped up that he had been driving the little car. When he saw what had happened to me after it had nearly hit him he said something rude and drove in to work. I only found out it was him last week two years after the event.


Bear in mind this was in 2008, so it happened a few tears ago. Had a clutch fail in 2010 but otherwise the car was brilliant. Then, I was ill. as many know I was seriously ill in hospital and very nearly died. redface.png

When I got home I found the car was a problem, things began to go wrong with the electrics and I found it a nightmare to get in and out of as it was too low. So I did what anyone sensible would have done, I sold it (For £450) and bought a taller car...... Another VW though. this was a Sharan. I didn't need the seven seats but the height was ideal and the privacy glass made it possible to carry a portaloo in the back. I had a need for this on longer journeys as I found outeek.png

One day about a month after I had bought the Sharan I was tootling in to work after dinner break, following a smaller car. Suddenly the smaller car swerved.

Coming the other way was a Ford Transit, and it was towing a trailer. On this trailer were boats. And one of these boats had broken free of its ties. As it approached the small car the loose boat swung out it bounced off the road and the back end went right over the top of the car. "You lucky so and so" I thought. "JAYSUS" The bouncing boat was now coming right at me in my somewhat bigger Sharan. eek.png

It clipped the front of my car...... Then rebounded and bounced again hitting my Sharan a second time in the side.

I had to get out and check the front of the car. Small broken bit of plastic... phew!

The Transit driver had stopped and came running over. "Are you ok ? " Yes I was and said so. "Only when I saw my boat go through the side of your car I thought you might be hurt." WHAT? eek.png

The side of my lovely shiny Sharan was totally destroyed. mad.png

The driver was an RAF officer and in fact was the RAF Health and Safety officer. 

The RAF accepted the blame, but sadly the damage to the car was too severe to repair. Insurance would only pay me some money. And even then wanted me to accept some of the blame. However I stuck to not saying any of it was my fault. They tried to find out how my car was written off by a boat and it was not my fault confused.png

The arguing went on for months, but in time I got my money. The insurance company did not replace the car and left it for me to do. GITS

No other car locally for sale to match it so I went out and bought a ........ VW Passat. And that is how I got my car. I still find them lovely cars, but sadly I still find them a tad low to get in and out of. One thing though is that it is no longer a diesel it is a petrol engine and goes like it's pants are on fire. biggrin.png

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Many years ago, back when I was a young man, my best friend and I decided to go on a break. He had been married a few months and the girls had decided to go to Majorca for a belated hen party or something. Dave, my friend, came round and proposed we did a tour of the South of England to see the sights.

On the day we were leaving he turned up in his pride and joy.... an old Morris Mini Minor (Mini)

Me: "Will we be ok in this?"
Him: "Oh yes I have packed a picnic basket with essentials."

Hmmmm What could possibly go wrong.

He had taken a seat out of the car to fit the picnic basket in. Jaysus riding along in a mini sitting sometimes on a picnic basket, sometimes on the back seat scrunched up by the picnic basket in the front. It was not comfortable at all. 

THREE days we were in that bloody car. In the end I could take no more. (To be honest neither could he) getting through London with all the traffic and potholes nearly finished me off. "Tonight I am not sleeping in this four wheeled coffin" or words to that effect I screamed into his demonic face.

He just nodded in agreement and we went to Cirencester to get a cheaper sleep than in London.

We found a hotel with a sign outside . The sign was a Michelin one so it might have been a good one apart fom one thing that worried me a tad. The stars had been painted over one at a time the last one had a thin emulsion over it, and the first one had a few thivk layers on. However it was a bed, that was enough for me.

We took our stuff up to our rooms, mine smelled a bit damp and musty sort of odour. I couldn't get the window to close as it had swelled up a bit. I didn't really care.


The following morning I was woken by bird song..... Well not exactly bird song ....

OK it was a flock of feral pigeons that had roosted in the room while I slept having I presume taken advantage of the window that was stuck open.

They had used me as a toilet while I slept. Dave nearly died laughing. We were the only guests, (I wonder why) Breakfast was a hash up of stale tasting mush.

"Dave I wanna go home"

"So do I mate no idea why I let you talk me into these stupid things." 

Amazingly we are still friends despite the distance apart.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Further to the whelk story previously mentioned, this weekend I was visiting my current girlfriend in Liverpool and I took the little car rather than the Passat, bearing in mind I had an awful cold last week. 

Anyway got there on Friday night and settled in to being molly coddled Yesterday (Saturday morning) we realised that we needed some groceries, so I volunteered that I would go for them, she said she would come too.

I opened the car door for her (perfect gentleman I thought.) but she stopped halfway in and got out again sniffing the air. 

"Have you been eating fish in the car?" 

"No hon," said I.

I got in and sniffed, sure enough it was a smell of fish.

Odd I thought, anyway I opened the sunroof and said it was probably outside somewhere.

We went shopping around the corner only using the car for the huge amount we bought. (gotta love Aldi some times)

Went get in the car to come home and "Gawd almighty what a stench" I opened the sunroof and the windows and drove back gasping ..... She kept her breathing shallow and through her mouth.

Got back to her place and she told me to sort the smell out as it was vile. I had to agree.

After she opened thr front door I passed the bags of shopping in, but instead of walking around the car for the last bag I leaned across the back seat, my foot slipped and down I went like a sack of bricks, headfirst onto a plastic bag that I never knew was there, The smell suddenly got that bad I nearly saw my breakfast again.

The bag reeked so bad I didn' move for a second as I was in shock.

Inside the bag was a packet of prawns and when I fell over the pack had burst... Dear heaven it was vileness personified. I hooked the bag at arms length with one finger in the handles and passed it in through the doorof the house, to much squealing from my lovely friend. and she ran out the back with it.


The smell got worse and worse the more the bag jiggled about so she went to throw it in the bin from a distance and it stuck to her hand a bit, it went over the wall......... luckily it went over the end wall and not into next door. Unluckily the back gate is seized shut. On the bright side she likes cats which I cleverly pointed out..... ?Hmmmmm.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Further to the whelk story previously mentioned, this weekend I was visiting my current girlfriend in Liverpool and I took the little car rather than the Passat, bearing in mind I had an awful cold last week. 

Anyway got there on Friday night and settled in to being molly coddled Yesterday (Saturday morning) we realised that we needed some groceries, so I volunteered that I would go for them, she said she would come too.

I opened the car door for her (perfect gentleman I thought.) but she stopped halfway in and got out again sniffing the air. 

"Have you been eating fish in the car?" 

"No hon," said I.

I got in and sniffed, sure enough it was a smell of fish.

Odd I thought, anyway I opened the sunroof and said it was probably outside somewhere.

We went shopping around the corner only using the car for the huge amount we bought. (gotta love Aldi some times)

Went get in the car to come home and "Gawd almighty what a stench" I opened the sunroof and the windows and drove back gasping ..... She kept her breathing shallow and through her mouth.

Got back to her place and she told me to sort the smell out as it was vile. I had to agree.

After she opened thr front door I passed the bags of shopping in, but instead of walking around the car for the last bag I leaned across the back seat, my foot slipped and down I went like a sack of bricks, headfirst onto a plastic bag that I never knew was there, The smell suddenly got that bad I nearly saw my breakfast again.

The bag reeked so bad I didn' move for a second as I was in shock.

Inside the bag was a packet of prawns and when I fell over the pack had burst... Dear heaven it was vileness personified. I hooked the bag at arms length with one finger in the handles and passed it in through the doorof the house, to much squealing from my lovely friend. and she ran out the back with it.


The smell got worse and worse the more the bag jiggled about so she went to throw it in the bin from a distance and it stuck to her hand a bit, it went over the wall......... luckily it went over the end wall and not into next door. Unluckily the back gate is seized shut. On the bright side she likes cats which I cleverly pointed out..... ?Hmmmmm.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
On 11/19/2017 at 23:18, rubecula said:

Further to the whelk story previously mentioned, this weekend I was visiting my current girlfriend in Liverpool and I took the little car rather than the Passat, bearing in mind I had an awful cold last week. 

Anyway got there on Friday night and settled in to being molly coddled Yesterday (Saturday morning) we realised that we needed some groceries, so I volunteered that I would go for them, she said she would come too.

I opened the car door for her (perfect gentleman I thought.) but she stopped halfway in and got out again sniffing the air. 

"Have you been eating fish in the car?" 

"No hon," said I.

I got in and sniffed, sure enough it was a smell of fish.

Odd I thought, anyway I opened the sunroof and said it was probably outside somewhere.

We went shopping around the corner only using the car for the huge amount we bought. (gotta love Aldi some times)

Went get in the car to come home and "Gawd almighty what a stench" I opened the sunroof and the windows and drove back gasping ..... She kept her breathing shallow and through her mouth.

Got back to her place and she told me to sort the smell out as it was vile. I had to agree.

After she opened thr front door I passed the bags of shopping in, but instead of walking around the car for the last bag I leaned across the back seat, my foot slipped and down I went like a sack of bricks, headfirst onto a plastic bag that I never knew was there, The smell suddenly got that bad I nearly saw my breakfast again.

The bag reeked so bad I didn' move for a second as I was in shock.

Inside the bag was a packet of prawns and when I fell over the pack had burst... Dear heaven it was vileness personified. I hooked the bag at arms length with one finger in the handles and passed it in through the doorof the house, to much squealing from my lovely friend. and she ran out the back with it.


The smell got worse and worse the more the bag jiggled about so she went to throw it in the bin from a distance and it stuck to her hand a bit, it went over the wall......... luckily it went over the end wall and not into next door. Unluckily the back gate is seized shut. On the bright side she likes cats which I cleverly pointed out..... ?Hmmmmm.

Didn't I just read a story from Pad about his good fortune over the weekend? He'd been wondering what to get for lunch when this bag of prawns appeared like magic from over the neighbour's wall...

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now

Sign in to follow this  

  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    No registered users viewing this page.

×