So just how crap a day can one person have?
I must warn you , if you are deeply religious or easily offended then stop reading now.
Good, glad to see you are still here.
Yesterday was officially one of the crappiest days of my life. It wasn't just slightly crappy, it was crappy with a capital 'C', side order of crappy, and crappy to follow. It was all so innocent to start off with.
My son was due back to Gatwick at 7:15 this morning, so instead of leaving at "stupid o'clock" in the morning, I decided we would head up to Gatwick and stay in a cheap and cheerful hotel ready for his arrival. Innocent enough.
It all started to go horribly wrong within an hour of being on the road. The Merc has never been used much on the motorway, so I almost immediately spotted a dire flaw in the visibility stakes, and my blind spot over my shoulder was truly a blind spot with a pillar in the way. "I know," I cried, "I'll get a blind spot mirror. We'll stop at the services, they're bound to have one." So there we are basically stopping at every motorway services from Cardiff in the vain hope of buying one of these mirrors. It's taken us nearly 3 hours to do 130 miles, and we are in Membury (A service area just outside the thriving metropolis that is Swindon) when I decide "Fuck it" I'll go without.
Returning to the car, and it doesn't start. It coughs once, and then the starter motor just turns over and over. A quick backhander to a local AA blokey, and he diagnoses there is no fuel coming through. To make a long story short, we end up getting a tow home. Not before 2 more AA blokes turn up, and then the final one there to tow us home declares "I can't get you all the way home mate, I gotta be home for me tea." So he dumps us halfway home, and we stand there (now getting on for 9pm) waiting for a second towtruck to get us home. We dump the car, and fortunately for me, my best mate lends me his car, which is a sporty little number at the best of times.
2 hours later, now well into the witching hour, and we arrive at the delightful junction just outside London with the M25 and the M4. We have to get to Gatwick to the South of London, and the sliproad south is closed. No explanation. We have no choice, but to go north. The next exit is another major motorway (the M40) so the quickest thing to do is head down that towards London, get around the roundabout, back up the the M25, and head south down the correct slip road. Nope. Closed as well. We stay on the M40 towards Beaconsfield (!) and finally we manage to turn around and get back to the M25 and (Wahey!) the sliproad south is open. 20 minutes wasted that time!
Not much else can go wrong can it?
Well it was at this point the big man upstairs decides he's going to throw everything else he can at us, and a torrential downpour starts. I was past caring, so I just carried on at a sedate 85mph, and then lightning starts to lick around us. Local fisherman can be scene floating down the hill where the motorway used to be, Everyone else (what few drivers were left at 1:30 in the morning) is doing a more sensible 10mph to avoid aquaplaning, and a shout can be heard from a Welsh plated Vauxhall Vectra...
"Come on you fucker! Give us your fuckin' best!!!!!"
I was lucky I wasn't struck down there and then. Still I slept well for all of 4 hours lastnight.
Donald Trump FACTS!
1 year ago