"So there I am, another car coming at me at about 40mph and ten feet away"
You currently find me in the midst of a nervous breakdown. Sat in the Jazz Wagon...well, actually, after all the Haçienda music that was blaring all weekend, should really be renamed the Acid Jazz Wagon. Anyway, we decided that musical legends would not be insulted in my car (particularly mistaking one's name as Paul Weather) so we dropped off the passengers and headed for the tourist trap disguised in Still Game as 'Finport', Largs. Italian dinner at Nardinis - £50. Let me just repeat that: Fifty. Fucking. Quid. For what? A bowl of olives and a steak that wouldn't satisfy my bleedin hamster. £20 for that and all. Fucking mental. Onwards! To the arcade. Twenty quid later and I'm stood screaming at the crane machine "THAT CUNTING DONKEY!" at Eeyore. You watch films like The Karate Kid and Back To The Future and the like and all the cool kids are pulling shrunken heads and gonks out the machines like nobody's business. But that's the movies. In real life, mugs like me are left potless, looking like real pricks with no skill. Horrible, horrible places.
So there I am, another car coming at me at about 40mph and ten feet away. Let me explain how I got into this little predicament. I've left my boudoir at noon, on a voyage to Don Bongo's pad. I've wound up halfway to Stirling when I realise my mistake. I double back - by this point, after travelling about fifty miles already, that I've had enough Haçienda anthems, so the car's in stony silence. I'm alone, by the way. "Ah! I realise my mistake!" (I didn't actually speak that out loud, Christ) "I'll double back again and fix it!" Sat in a McDonalds car park having a smoke, completely got myself lost for the first time. BOOF! I look in the mirror and there's a paedophile carrier there, big white van has just reversed into the idle Wagon. I immediately investigate - just a scratch, but all the same! I sit in the car, weird, smug feeling coming over me. "At least it wasn't MY fault" Out pop two shaven orangutans in Burberry. One walks up. "Mate am so fuckin' sorry. Swear tae God man, so sorry." I decided that as it was just a scratch, I was due to murder someone as it was....and I wasn't covered, mainly - to let him off with it. "Ye sure there's fuck aw rang wae it? Cheers mate, swear tae God" as he shakes my left hand. Even skin diseases come under the umbrella of 'Sharing is caring' it seems. Off he crawled and I decided to recuperate - drive home and take a different route. On the way, I exited a roundabout and boof - "He came out of nowhere". I swerved, and he beeped! Fucking wankbag superstar! But there you are. So I'm now driving through town after town after town in the pissing rain, having a whale of a time. Almost literally.
Next thing, I'm back at square one, in exactly the same spot as before: halfway to Stirling. I'll do the same as last time, I'll double back off the next sliproad. Big mistake. I'm now driving through Springburn. A glimmer of hope though. "Wait, I recognise that building. Yes, I know this place!" but the laughter quickly turned to tears as I realised exactly where I knew the area from: Billy Connolly's World Tour of Scotland. Oh good God...It's ok, I can just keep driving, eventually I'm bound to find a town sign I recognise. But no, now I'm in Bishopbriggs. Fuuuuuuck. So I doubled back again. And, well, long story short, after nearly crashing a second time due to the gears jamming whilst going up a busy motorway ramp, I packed it in and went home to strangle the first thing that communicated with me. So that was my wonder weekend. How was yours?
In a bit.
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