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Inspired by a Journal written by Katie Aron (some person in the US ?) I have decided to write my own Real Life Stories. Stories so far......| University | Flight Home | Flight To Gambia | Trampy Bus Driver |
I would like say sorry for the lack of updates on this site. And would like to explain it a little more. From time to time I'll write stories about my life, I'm told I'm a good writer. Some stories could be funny (first 3) others may be sad or simply telling the events which unfold in my life. Why I don't know, but I can deal with it. I would like to know if you (YOU) are liking this page or you find boring, please mail me or send a message in the guestbook.
This Life Was Last Updated on 16/06/99
(webot so always correct)
University : Some time ago now, but hey.......Could be useful to you freshers!
It may have some time ago, but it's certaintly worth at least a mention. On the 28th of August 1998 I moved from small town suburbia Crewe (yah!) to the metropolitan hurly burly (god I'm talking farmer language) of Manchester. All in England for you non English types.
I had always wanted to go uni since a little kid. I had also been told many stories of free sex, loads of beer and huge debts. All of which would happen to me. Anyhoo I digress, back to the point. The first day at uni is kind of like going to one of your dads mates parties, where you know no one, and no one is really talking, 'cept your dad.
I got to Manchester quite early. It was a perfect day, the sun was so hot it was making me a little too excited. I remember seeing loads of people. Perhaps here I should tell you about my flat and where I live. At the moment I'm in the last few days of my time in Cambridge Halls, the newest (built this year, well 1998) halls so I'm the first to have sex on my beds mattress, think on next time you sleep in halls freshers! In the flat there are 10 people (should be!..More in later issues) five boys and five girls, we all share a kitchen 2 showers and 2 toilets. 'Kay lets move on.
Seeing the people who are probably going to be your friends for life for the first time is odd. And in my case it was very odd. After saying bye to my parents, which turned out to be very emotional (always is), I walked into the kitchen, no-one was there. Kinda dishearting, so I made coffee and hid in my room. Earlier I had seen some of my flatmates but not known who they were, I also saw one special flatmate who I didn't think was moving in, she did but more on that in a later issue. After feeling very sad, and homesick for a while, I walked back into the kitchen and met this girl (Waney, actually). She was super nice, we walked into manchester and got on really well, we went for a few drinks and then came back to the flat. It felt really good to talk to someone.
Walking into the kitchen we saw everyone else sitting around a table getting to know each other and drinking. I was worried about making friends so I had brought some red wine (2 bottles) and a large tub on Quality Street, not that I wanted to buy friendship. Then we just all sat around and had a really good time, although I made the biggest fool of myself after feeling quite rather ill I Said "I'm going to have a slash" to try and sound 'well 'ard'. Erm no. Instead I got up and collosped in my room, dead to the world.
This story my not be to exciting but it sets the scene for future stories about my time at University. Some very good moments some very very bad.
The Plane Flight Home ! : Yes, it's true, I can't believe it either.
Well if you read the last life story, you will know all about my flight to the Gambia, and if you haven't read it, then do so.
The Gambia, not being what is described as "having any money", naturally has the most pants airport I've ever been too. This airport was amazing, it was nothing more than an old bomb shelter, with some very dodgey iron roof. I think my earlier suspictions about the IRA were true. Anyway, we got into the airport, after the worst transfer ever. We were all loaded into the back of this peugot, at least 8 of us, I think I was lying with my face on someone's shoe, well it's the only reason I can think of for the imprint of "Nike" on my forehead for the next 8 hours. We go through passport control, which looked liked it was a shopping till at home and bargin. And we wait outside for our plane to arrive.
Storms, big huge storms. All around the airport. It was quite scary really. I think god was seriously annoyied today, perhaps I shouldn't of called the salvation army worker, in our town, ".....a huge fat sow, who's only redeeming quality was his uncanny ability to turn old women on, that and his shocking ability to the BORE anyone under the age of 102 !". I feared that our plane would be struck by a huge bolt of lighting, causing us to be welded to our seats, and death probably. Time for beer...
So after a few (4) pints, my fear had gone (one of beer's multitude of uses). We saw our plane, the proper airtours plane this time, land with ease, and then we laughed out loud at this person who fell over the steps getting off the plane, it's okay he had bright green shorts on, and pink sunglasses (god's not all bad). Shortly after we wave bye to what had been a great holiday.
I find my seat, by the bulkhead, so my seat wouldn't recline. And then I see my little radio, and video, thing was bust ! What a shambless this Arsehole Tours is. But it's okay, my mum said I could use her's. So we try to buy head phones, no luck. Some bloke, obvisously gay (he looked dead like that bloke from Supermarket Sweep, students know) Says "I'm sorry sir we are all out of headphones" in his typical gay accent, "but we do have these". He handed me a pair of second hand phones, after scraping the ear wax off them, they worked so I was happy.
Then the bloke in front me put his scaryly huge onion like head right in front of me, and then his bimbo wife thwacked me on the head with her seat. I couldn;t see the film. For two hours I was trapped in, looking at a head which seemed like it belonged in a freak show. Dinner, I was saved. Until that is I saw what it was, toad in the hole. Which is normally quite nice, but this was Arsehole Tours, and the meal was renamed "Sh** in the hole" after a unamous vote by everyone in my plane section.
Mr Onion head was annoying me, rationalisation was not called for, this required drastic shouting and verbal abuse, I put my flawless plan into action. "HEY" I said "hey, Mr. Onion Head, get your oversized head out of my way, and tell your whorey wife to quit throwing pillows on me !" angry frowns from me,"Now look here you...." he replied, but I started up again, "No you look here, I don;t know what happened to head to make turn into a huge absess, but you better get in that toilet and squeeze the yellow ouze from your head, 'cos it's kinda getting to me now !".
And well the rest of the flight went on getting worse by the minute. I invested in some sleep inducing very alcohoic drinks, and dozed off. We landed...thank god.
The Plane Flight : Hummm......
Recently I went on holiday to the Gambia, this is some 6 hours away on a plane. And we travelled Airtours, now known to me and the rest of my family as "Arseholetours".
We flew from Manchester, and arrivied at the airport early. Everything was going really well, and there was no delay. Which is a suprize. I started to wonder why ther was no delay, not that I'm paranoid, but every flight I've been on has been delayed. I'm sure it's a plot, I'm telling you. Any way we got to the gate really fast, I just had enough time to buy some magazines and stuff. It was then we saw the rust bucket that would take us some 3000 miles.
This plane was a real old trashed out dump of plane. It looked like it was the Skoda of the Air, I kept on thinking I would see stickers in the window saying things like "..so what it's paid for !", " F**k off, I'm a student" or "My other plane is a Concorde !". I always judge the quality of the plane by what is written on the side of it, and considering this had nothing written on, it paints a disturbing picture in my head. I wouldn't be surprized if the pilot's other job was shipping IRA members round the globe.
So, we board the plane. And we all look for out seats, about 15 minutes later, the Swedish airhostess (called "Urika", who would of funk it ?) explains to us that our "proper plane was broke, and we had to use this one". Then the pilot comes out and says something to Urika. Then she turns to us and says " Could you please spread out, there is plenty of space, but make sure not to many people are at the front, so we don't plumet to our deaths". Cheer's Urika, calmed my nerves there, nice one.
Up we get and move down the plane. I get a seat by the window. Well if you could call it a window, the thing was broke. I kept on getting visions of me being sucked it to oblivion half way through the flight. We take off and everything is going fine. But there was no in flight entertainment. I figured this was beause T.Vs had not been invented when the plane was built. So we lay in to the red wine, and I can't really remember the rest....probably better off that way.
Public Transport & The Trampy Bus Driver : Oh don't you know......?
My experience with public transport has been hazardous to say the least. Today I had to travel from my work, Ideal Standard in Middlewich, to Crewe. A simple journey, which is about a round trip of 8 miles. A simple journey if you haven't got the bus driver from hell !
I was waiting at the bus stop, reading the amusing graffiti " Bollox" and " I woz ere 9T7" seemed to be popular, along with " If u want sex ring 56776588 ". Anyway. Just when reading the demented dribblings was becoming boring, I saw the Bus. I grabbed my bag and made a dash to stick my hand out, to signal him to stop.
He didn't seem to notice me, until I started to wave my hands frantically. Then he put the brakes on, causing all the passengers to be hurled forward, resulting in some very disturbing incidents with some wigs and various middle aged women. The bus stopped 20 meters down the road, leaving a large rubber mark along the road. I ran to get on to the bus, rather shocked by the short sightedness of the driver, and inability to drive.
I looked up to find a tramp driving, I thought someone had hijacked the bus he looked so dodgy, but after another look I saw his trusty "North Western" badge, with "Roddrick" written on. So I put his unshaven beard, which looked like it still had large lumps of fried egg in it, down to experience. I walked up to the till machine, looked up " Can I have a ticket to Crewe please..." I asked, " Sandbach ?" replied the trampy bus driver, " Crewe !" I exclaimed, " Sandbach ?" he replied once again, after which I said " Give me a ticket to Crewe, I change at Sandbach, they cost £1.78 !", to which he looked puzzled, he then spent 5 minutes looking through papers, one of which looked disturbingly like a map. Then he pressed a few buttons on the till, and out came my ticket. He took my money, and everything was going smoothly. I started to walk down the aisle, when he slammed his foot on the accelerator. It went 0-60 Mph in about 3 seconds, causing me to bash my head on every upright hand rail on the bus, and fall over on to the back seat.
Then I sat back and was amused watching people being knocked out as they got on the bus, and Roddrick (the trampy driver) accelerated insanely. Then as we entered Sandbach, he stopped the bus 500 yards from the bus station, that's if you can call it a station, more like an open air toilet, with a few seats and plenty of writing space. He said "Get Off !", to which we all looked puzzled, I said " Look, there's the bus stop, that's where you stop !". He didn't reply. I decided it better to get off the bus now, any way I was glad of the fresh air. The Trampy Bus driver smelled.
