Exciting life stories...
Discussion
Ruskie said:
Depends on whether you like sport or indeed football as to whether you seem my life exciting.
I was a professional footballer for 8 years from leaving school. Didn't play as much as I should of but I was very fortunate to play all over Europe with England youth teams, 11 caps in total. I was in 4 under 21 squads but never played. I made 44 first team appearances in total for 3 clubs. I have many, many regrets about how it panned out but I was alot more immature in those days.
how long ago are we talking?I was a professional footballer for 8 years from leaving school. Didn't play as much as I should of but I was very fortunate to play all over Europe with England youth teams, 11 caps in total. I was in 4 under 21 squads but never played. I made 44 first team appearances in total for 3 clubs. I have many, many regrets about how it panned out but I was alot more immature in those days.
Quhet said:
Ruskie said:
Depends on whether you like sport or indeed football as to whether you seem my life exciting.
I was a professional footballer for 8 years from leaving school. Didn't play as much as I should of but I was very fortunate to play all over Europe with England youth teams, 11 caps in total. I was in 4 under 21 squads but never played. I made 44 first team appearances in total for 3 clubs. I have many, many regrets about how it panned out but I was alot more immature in those days.
how long ago are we talking?I was a professional footballer for 8 years from leaving school. Didn't play as much as I should of but I was very fortunate to play all over Europe with England youth teams, 11 caps in total. I was in 4 under 21 squads but never played. I made 44 first team appearances in total for 3 clubs. I have many, many regrets about how it panned out but I was alot more immature in those days.
My dad. years ago he was a warehouse manager (not all that exciting) but he had 12 tonnes of oil in drums fall down on/over him and crushed his legs and his hips (think pulverised, not just broken)
Had 6 weeks of agony as the local hospital disbelieved him, and it took an ambulance coming back out seeing his knee pointing inwards to finally get something done. 12 bone-grafts later he know has no hip bones and enough titanium (i think) to make a small car bonnet yet 35 years later (and another 3 operations to repair/replace titanium) is still fairly mobile (all be it with great difficulty) which I don't think is bad for a 67 year old bloke. When you also factor in the fact he's brought up 2 girls and me during this time I don't think he's done a bad job, bearing in mind that he's got a leg 3/4 inch shorter than the other.
Had 6 weeks of agony as the local hospital disbelieved him, and it took an ambulance coming back out seeing his knee pointing inwards to finally get something done. 12 bone-grafts later he know has no hip bones and enough titanium (i think) to make a small car bonnet yet 35 years later (and another 3 operations to repair/replace titanium) is still fairly mobile (all be it with great difficulty) which I don't think is bad for a 67 year old bloke. When you also factor in the fact he's brought up 2 girls and me during this time I don't think he's done a bad job, bearing in mind that he's got a leg 3/4 inch shorter than the other.
King Herald said:
Three more weeks offshore to do and I should be joining my wife and daughter in the Philippines, hopefully, in a house they'll have sorted out by then.
The key to immortality is first living a life worth remembering
(Bruce lee)
Just to add to this resurrection of thread. I did get to the Philippines, those four years ago, and we did settle down. We even bought ourselves some land, and I designed our own house for us, which we had built. Everything is going great, the exciting life story is still ongoing. The key to immortality is first living a life worth remembering
(Bruce lee)
I'm currently half cut, at 7pm, having imbibed a good few beers on a Monday afternoon at a buddies house.
Life is good.
And exciting too, on occasion....
Mr SFJ said:
My dad. years ago he was a warehouse manager (not all that exciting) but he had 12 tonnes of oil in drums fall down on/over him and crushed his legs and his hips (think pulverised, not just broken)
Had 6 weeks of agony as the local hospital disbelieved him, and it took an ambulance coming back out seeing his knee pointing inwards to finally get something done. 12 bone-grafts later he know has no hip bones and enough titanium (i think) to make a small car bonnet yet 35 years later (and another 3 operations to repair/replace titanium) is still fairly mobile (all be it with great difficulty) which I don't think is bad for a 67 year old bloke. When you also factor in the fact he's brought up 2 girls and me during this time I don't think he's done a bad job, bearing in mind that he's got a leg 3/4 inch shorter than the other.
As impressive as getting an injury is, does that really count as an "exciting life story"?Had 6 weeks of agony as the local hospital disbelieved him, and it took an ambulance coming back out seeing his knee pointing inwards to finally get something done. 12 bone-grafts later he know has no hip bones and enough titanium (i think) to make a small car bonnet yet 35 years later (and another 3 operations to repair/replace titanium) is still fairly mobile (all be it with great difficulty) which I don't think is bad for a 67 year old bloke. When you also factor in the fact he's brought up 2 girls and me during this time I don't think he's done a bad job, bearing in mind that he's got a leg 3/4 inch shorter than the other.
MadOne said:
Well, my story is not maybe what you would call exciting compared to other ones I have read on this thread but it is more one I am proud of for turning bad into good. Our family as we were growing up were the Clampitts of our town (for those of you who don't know what that means, it means we were the poorest in our street). All the families were well off and we were the skanks with the hand me down clothes etc. Because of this the idiots (that's me being polite) in school bullied us (myself and my brother) all through our school life. Nobody wanted to sit with us "in case I catch something" and so on and so on. We were told we would never amount to anything, never get a job, never get married, have children etc. In fact we were nothing. Because of all this going on and being a child you tend to believe what people say you are. So I wasn't interested in studying. I wanted to have frineds and become part of the crowd but that wasn't to be. So all through school I learned nothing and had no interest in studying. So when O'level time came around, you guessed it I failed them all. My brother managed to get a couple. I left school unable to get into uni or college and slowly I was turning into this person I was told I was going to become. I had never had a g/f either. When I was 18 after two years on the dole I got a job in Tesco. Big wow. I hated it but had no enthusiam in life, still believing I was meant to be a skank. However, one day I read a book called 'The Secret' which changed my whole life. Suddenly I had enthusiasm and decided I was going to be something. While working in Tesco I enrolled in night classes. To cut a long story short, by the time I was 23 I had 6 O'Grades and 6 Highers. Maths, History, English, German, Biology and Chemistry. I also studied and passed Psychology on a home learning course. After that I got into Glasgow Uni to study law. I am now 45 and have been a lawyer for ten years. I also have a lovely wife but unfortunately we couldn't have children. We travel all over the world as travel is our passion, having been to Australia, Canada, China, France, Germany, Switzerland, etc etc etc. Now when I bump into the skanks in my class they still do not speak to me as they still think I work in Tesco (they don't bother to ask). We have a great social life with loads of good friends and I think how easily my life could have turned out so differently, ie I could have turne to drink, drugs etc but I believe the one and only way of revenge in this life is success!!! Hope this is the kind of story you like to hear.
Nice story, reminds me of a very good friend of mine who recently passed away. He was doing bar work to make a living in his late teens and then enrolled on an accountancy course, his mum spotted a small classified ad in the local rag looking for a bank teller, he applied, got the job and then progressed up the ladder to become MD of a very well known high street bank 
TTwiggy said:
Not me, but a neighbour we had when I was growing up had quite a life.
(very) long story short. He was a Polish chap whose family ran a farm pre-WWII. When the Germans came, he was about 8 years old. A couple of years later, the Germans leave, his dad is dead and the Russians take over. His mother is kept on at the farm to teach the new Russian workers the ropes, while him, his younger brother and older sister are shipped off by train (tans-Siberian) to Moscow.
On the journey, his sister dies and her body is thrown from the train. Him and his brother are put in a communist school in Moscow from which they escape. The two of them travel across Russia (on foot), living out of bins or scrounging whatever they could. Finally, they get back to the farm, only to be told that their mum has gone to South Africa.
Not to be deterred, this 11 year old kid and his 8 year old brother set off for South Africa, getting a job on a ship out of Gibraltar. They work their passage to South Africa and find the farm that their mum is working on - only she ain't there. She 's gone to Scotland...
...so, off they set, this time across most of Africa as they couldn't find passage on a boat, all the way through Europe, across the channel, into England, then Scotland. Find their mum, a few months later, she's dead...
He ended up marrying a Scottish girl and eventually moved down to London.
He was an amazing mechanic too - kept my MGB on, the road for me when I was younger. He'd worked on pretty much every make of car from Minis to Rollers. Still alive now (in his 80s) and still fit as a fiddle. A legendary chap all round.
Is this bloke still alive twiggy? Occasionally I remember this story out of the blue and always wish I knew a fuller version(very) long story short. He was a Polish chap whose family ran a farm pre-WWII. When the Germans came, he was about 8 years old. A couple of years later, the Germans leave, his dad is dead and the Russians take over. His mother is kept on at the farm to teach the new Russian workers the ropes, while him, his younger brother and older sister are shipped off by train (tans-Siberian) to Moscow.
On the journey, his sister dies and her body is thrown from the train. Him and his brother are put in a communist school in Moscow from which they escape. The two of them travel across Russia (on foot), living out of bins or scrounging whatever they could. Finally, they get back to the farm, only to be told that their mum has gone to South Africa.
Not to be deterred, this 11 year old kid and his 8 year old brother set off for South Africa, getting a job on a ship out of Gibraltar. They work their passage to South Africa and find the farm that their mum is working on - only she ain't there. She 's gone to Scotland...
...so, off they set, this time across most of Africa as they couldn't find passage on a boat, all the way through Europe, across the channel, into England, then Scotland. Find their mum, a few months later, she's dead...
He ended up marrying a Scottish girl and eventually moved down to London.
He was an amazing mechanic too - kept my MGB on, the road for me when I was younger. He'd worked on pretty much every make of car from Minis to Rollers. Still alive now (in his 80s) and still fit as a fiddle. A legendary chap all round.
Ecveryone has one, we all have exciting life stories. Most folks thnk that there lives are boring though, take a some time to think about it though and you can always come up with something. Here is a little extract from one of mine that I jotted down a while ago, the whole thing is quite long so will post more later.
Another cold wet night in my little hometown in Scotland with the rain doing its usual job of hitting off the ground so hard that it went back up again.
I had just turned 24 at this point. Computers had just started to come in to their own with large companies and I had found myself in the fortunate position of having a bit of a knack for technology. This combined with a certificate from the local College confirming the fact that I had the ability to turn one on placed me in a rather small minority of computer skilled people. The fact that I was bereft of anything other than this in terms of qualification was somewhat irrelevant and this rare "skill" had led me to wiggling my way into a few good jobs. I was, therefore, at this point in my life making the crazy sum of £10 an hour, had bagged a lovely girlfriend, bought myself a nice ex-council house in a lovely area and drove around in a rather smart Alpha 33 Cloverleaf that I had picked up for a steal at the local car auction.
Life seemed quite sweet. Apart of course from the horizontal rain that continued falling outside.
So there I was on this Saturday morning reading the job adds in the Glasgow Herald. Having worked my way through the proper ads I was now straining to read the short little 40 word ads that filled up the rest of the page. These ads tended to be written in a font so small that anyone lacking complete 20-20 vision or above would require the use a microscope to read them. On the whole these ads consisted of available positions for cooks, live in nannies, small shop jobs and a multitude of sales type roles that promised unlimited earnings for the right type of person. The right type of person generally meant that you would be trudging the streets, knocking on office doors, trying to sell Photo copiers. Your basic pay was 0 but the commission, should you strike it lucky, was enough to just about keep you going.
Not many struck it lucky though, with most ending up with nothing more than sore feet and an inferiority complex from constantly having doors slammed in their face.
Half way through my trawl though I come across a rather unusual little ad that read something like this;
“Computer support person needed. Come to Gabon and earn a over thousand pounds a week, tax free with all expenses paid. A life of luxury awaits you in this unspoiled tropical paradise. Call 555 439 Holland if interested”
Now this perked my interest, a grand a week was a huge amount of money back then, come to think of it, its still fair old wad of cash today. The fact that I had never actually heard of Gabon was somewhat irrelevant at this point, it was a thousand pounds a week and it sounded really exotic.
Being the rather reckless type I reached for the phone and dialed the number. A few ring later and I was greeted in Dutch by a voice with a distinctly English accent. Chap on the phone introduced himself as Jim and I proceed to express my interest in his little add.
Turned out be a very nice chap, rather short on details for the job mind. He did though proceed to tell me that he was acting as an agent for another agent in Holland. As mentioned, not much detail about the Job, he was though very keen to have my CV and stated that I sounded ideal for the role.
So off pops my CV in the post as this was 1991 and unfortunately personal Email was still just a gleam in Mr. Gates eye.
Life then goes on. Since as I considered myself to be somewhat of an “entrepreneur” I decided to go open a little shop, building and selling computers. This if you cast your mind back was very much how it was done back then. You bought in the bits and built the machines up. They where though rather damn expensive, with a 1 meg little strip of RAM costing 70 quid alone. This meant that it was not a huge market at the time, the potential though was seen as huge so there was a great deal of emerging competition.
So it turned out to be a bit of struggle and things got tough. I was after a few months in a bit of debt, my relationship was suffering and it was still fecking pissing it down. Not great.
My little job add application by this point had been all but forgotten and a rather difficult year then passed since the CV left in the mail.
Then one Saturday morning the phone rang.
"Hi Steven, it's Jim here. Would you still be interested in the job in Gabon” said the voice on the other end.
I had to think for a minute, Gabon, what the feck is a Gabon.... Job..... then It clicked, grand a week.
"Yes Jim, I certainly would" I say
"Great!" states Jim. "Can you get over to Holland on Tuesday to meet a chap called Bram Dehond to discuss it” Wow thinks I "Tuesday is a bit short notice Jim". "I know" said Jim "but we need you start two weeks on Monday so things have to move fast and there is a lot to arrange".
My impulsive nature kicks in again at this point and I say OK. "Great!" says Jim, "if you arrange getting here we will pick up all your costs. You are coming to Den Hague where you will meet me and then we will be going to meet Bram. Just call me back and let me know where and when you will be arriving and I will pick you up".
The call ends and I sit there a little bemused considering how I am going to cover this off with her indoors, who at this moment, is still happily tucked up in bed sleeping. So off I trot to the kitchen emerging five minutes later with a cup off coffee in hand. I proceed upstairs, waking my beloved up with a kiss, and proffer said coffee with a cheery "good morning Darling". Her suspicions are immediately raised and I can feel her spidey senses tingling.
Well in truth it was more the "what the f
k have you done this time" comment that sealed it.
So I hatched the cunning plan that I had came up while brewing the coffee.
"How would you like to go on an all expenses paid trip abroad my darling" says I with a big grin. This only had the effect of raising her suspicions further. At this point her frown had deepened to point where I could have hid the coffee cup I was proffering between the furrows.
Still, I pushed on. "Remember that Job I applied for last year, the one that was offering a thousand pounds a week".
I can see her mind working here. "You mean that stupid thing in the small adds that you applied for in some god forsaken country,” says she. Her geography was unfortunately at a far high level than mine "Yip, that’s the one" says I "they want me to go for an Interview.....on Tuesday.....in Holland.
At this point she took the proffered coffee, slurped a large mouthful and laid back down pulling the covers over her head while letting out a very audible moan.
I took this as a positive and rushed back downstairs to start making arrangements.
Money it has to be said was a little tight. Although I had been told that I was getting the cash for the trip back, this did not unfortunately help with having to find it in the first place. This being the case, options where considered, flying was quickly ruled out. I had actually only ever flown once before, on a package trip to Zante the previous year and as much as I liked the idea of jumping on a plane, the whole procedure back then was a tad more involved than it is today. That and the fact that It was also very fecking expensive.
So options considered, a coach trip was duly arranged to Rotterdam. We would get on the Bus at 8.00am on Monday morning, travel down to Hull, board the overnight ferry, arriving in Rotterdam on Tuesday morning.
This done I promptly arranged with Jim to pick us up at 10am. We would then travel through for my Bram meeting at 11.00.
Sorted then. Her indoors was even a little excited at the prospect of visiting Holland, this was also helped along with a promise of getting a little bit legally stoned in one the famous Café’s.
Part 2 to follow soon
Another cold wet night in my little hometown in Scotland with the rain doing its usual job of hitting off the ground so hard that it went back up again.
I had just turned 24 at this point. Computers had just started to come in to their own with large companies and I had found myself in the fortunate position of having a bit of a knack for technology. This combined with a certificate from the local College confirming the fact that I had the ability to turn one on placed me in a rather small minority of computer skilled people. The fact that I was bereft of anything other than this in terms of qualification was somewhat irrelevant and this rare "skill" had led me to wiggling my way into a few good jobs. I was, therefore, at this point in my life making the crazy sum of £10 an hour, had bagged a lovely girlfriend, bought myself a nice ex-council house in a lovely area and drove around in a rather smart Alpha 33 Cloverleaf that I had picked up for a steal at the local car auction.
Life seemed quite sweet. Apart of course from the horizontal rain that continued falling outside.
So there I was on this Saturday morning reading the job adds in the Glasgow Herald. Having worked my way through the proper ads I was now straining to read the short little 40 word ads that filled up the rest of the page. These ads tended to be written in a font so small that anyone lacking complete 20-20 vision or above would require the use a microscope to read them. On the whole these ads consisted of available positions for cooks, live in nannies, small shop jobs and a multitude of sales type roles that promised unlimited earnings for the right type of person. The right type of person generally meant that you would be trudging the streets, knocking on office doors, trying to sell Photo copiers. Your basic pay was 0 but the commission, should you strike it lucky, was enough to just about keep you going.
Not many struck it lucky though, with most ending up with nothing more than sore feet and an inferiority complex from constantly having doors slammed in their face.
Half way through my trawl though I come across a rather unusual little ad that read something like this;
“Computer support person needed. Come to Gabon and earn a over thousand pounds a week, tax free with all expenses paid. A life of luxury awaits you in this unspoiled tropical paradise. Call 555 439 Holland if interested”
Now this perked my interest, a grand a week was a huge amount of money back then, come to think of it, its still fair old wad of cash today. The fact that I had never actually heard of Gabon was somewhat irrelevant at this point, it was a thousand pounds a week and it sounded really exotic.
Being the rather reckless type I reached for the phone and dialed the number. A few ring later and I was greeted in Dutch by a voice with a distinctly English accent. Chap on the phone introduced himself as Jim and I proceed to express my interest in his little add.
Turned out be a very nice chap, rather short on details for the job mind. He did though proceed to tell me that he was acting as an agent for another agent in Holland. As mentioned, not much detail about the Job, he was though very keen to have my CV and stated that I sounded ideal for the role.
So off pops my CV in the post as this was 1991 and unfortunately personal Email was still just a gleam in Mr. Gates eye.
Life then goes on. Since as I considered myself to be somewhat of an “entrepreneur” I decided to go open a little shop, building and selling computers. This if you cast your mind back was very much how it was done back then. You bought in the bits and built the machines up. They where though rather damn expensive, with a 1 meg little strip of RAM costing 70 quid alone. This meant that it was not a huge market at the time, the potential though was seen as huge so there was a great deal of emerging competition.
So it turned out to be a bit of struggle and things got tough. I was after a few months in a bit of debt, my relationship was suffering and it was still fecking pissing it down. Not great.
My little job add application by this point had been all but forgotten and a rather difficult year then passed since the CV left in the mail.
Then one Saturday morning the phone rang.
"Hi Steven, it's Jim here. Would you still be interested in the job in Gabon” said the voice on the other end.
I had to think for a minute, Gabon, what the feck is a Gabon.... Job..... then It clicked, grand a week.
"Yes Jim, I certainly would" I say
"Great!" states Jim. "Can you get over to Holland on Tuesday to meet a chap called Bram Dehond to discuss it” Wow thinks I "Tuesday is a bit short notice Jim". "I know" said Jim "but we need you start two weeks on Monday so things have to move fast and there is a lot to arrange".
My impulsive nature kicks in again at this point and I say OK. "Great!" says Jim, "if you arrange getting here we will pick up all your costs. You are coming to Den Hague where you will meet me and then we will be going to meet Bram. Just call me back and let me know where and when you will be arriving and I will pick you up".
The call ends and I sit there a little bemused considering how I am going to cover this off with her indoors, who at this moment, is still happily tucked up in bed sleeping. So off I trot to the kitchen emerging five minutes later with a cup off coffee in hand. I proceed upstairs, waking my beloved up with a kiss, and proffer said coffee with a cheery "good morning Darling". Her suspicions are immediately raised and I can feel her spidey senses tingling.
Well in truth it was more the "what the f
k have you done this time" comment that sealed it. So I hatched the cunning plan that I had came up while brewing the coffee.
"How would you like to go on an all expenses paid trip abroad my darling" says I with a big grin. This only had the effect of raising her suspicions further. At this point her frown had deepened to point where I could have hid the coffee cup I was proffering between the furrows.
Still, I pushed on. "Remember that Job I applied for last year, the one that was offering a thousand pounds a week".
I can see her mind working here. "You mean that stupid thing in the small adds that you applied for in some god forsaken country,” says she. Her geography was unfortunately at a far high level than mine "Yip, that’s the one" says I "they want me to go for an Interview.....on Tuesday.....in Holland.
At this point she took the proffered coffee, slurped a large mouthful and laid back down pulling the covers over her head while letting out a very audible moan.
I took this as a positive and rushed back downstairs to start making arrangements.
Money it has to be said was a little tight. Although I had been told that I was getting the cash for the trip back, this did not unfortunately help with having to find it in the first place. This being the case, options where considered, flying was quickly ruled out. I had actually only ever flown once before, on a package trip to Zante the previous year and as much as I liked the idea of jumping on a plane, the whole procedure back then was a tad more involved than it is today. That and the fact that It was also very fecking expensive.
So options considered, a coach trip was duly arranged to Rotterdam. We would get on the Bus at 8.00am on Monday morning, travel down to Hull, board the overnight ferry, arriving in Rotterdam on Tuesday morning.
This done I promptly arranged with Jim to pick us up at 10am. We would then travel through for my Bram meeting at 11.00.
Sorted then. Her indoors was even a little excited at the prospect of visiting Holland, this was also helped along with a promise of getting a little bit legally stoned in one the famous Café’s.
Part 2 to follow soon
Ok, part 2. Bit longer. Ps, this is a very long story
So off we trot on Monday morning to the bus station. All goes well up until Birmingham, some sort of accident on the M6 stopping our progress. The coach driver then thinks to himself that it would be a good idea to take a diversion via the city centre. The small fact though of never actually having travelled through Birmingham before seemed to quite bypasses him, this giving way to his natural confidence in his superior sense of direction.
Three hours later and we are still trying to find our fking way out of Birmingham. We are at this point supposed to be arriving at our connecting bus station to board with the coach that will take us to Hull and onto to the ferry for Rotterdam. We eventually pull into the coach station at 8.00pm that evening feeling ever so slightly bedraggled by the journey. We have of course missed our connecting bus.
Oh well, st happens. We will just get another bus to Hull, the Ferry does not leave till 10.00 so we should still make it.
We enquire at the ticket office. “Sorry, no more buses Sir” states the helpful young lady behind the counter. Still, keep calm. There are always trains.
So off we jog to the train station and by heck did we jog. Finnally we arrive at the train station and the nice ticket man proceeds to tell us that the train had just left, next one is not till 10.00 o'clock.
Brilliant, I risk a glance at her indoors; the return look is not one that I will savor on my deathbed. Still, surly there is more than one boat that crosses the channel.
By the way, it’s really pissing it down in Birmingham.
So I purchase a ticket for Hull and off we go. We finally arrive in Hull at 11.00am and proceed in a taxi to the ferry terminal. By this point the rain has turned into a veritable river falling from the sky, vertically, due to the 70mph winds.
“Sorry, ports shut mate”, shouts the rather bedraggled looking docker above the sound of the wind. “Its this storm innit, everything’s cancelled mate” he continues. At this point my normally stoic resolve is fast sinking into my sodden wet shoes. I dare not pass a glance to the side as the look that would be returned from my rather soggy beloved would be more than I could perhaps shoulder at this point.
Still, chin up, there are always options. “so what about Dover” I ask hopefully.”. “Nope, that’s shut to” he thinks a minute and follows helpfully with “ you have more chance of getting something across from there once things clear up a bit mind” .
Dover it is then. So we set off leaning almost vertically in to the wind and rain in the search to find a Taxi rank. The taxi’s, unfortunately, where a tad thin on the ground, this I surmised had probably something to do with everyone else having the same idea.
At last though we get ourselves into a taxi and set off for Dover, finally reaching the port at around two in the morning. On reaching the terminal we are met with a rather overly officious worker who has obviously had more than enough of this night. We are greeted rather grouchily and told that nothing is moving. At this point there is a large group gathered round the chaps desk all firing a multitude of question, questions to which he has no real answers so tends to with his preferred statement of “nothing sailing and everything is fully backed up and booked for the next 24 hours. Next”
In the large car boarding area beyond him sits a multitude of backed up cars and buses. ….Then I spot it, sitting there, nestled in amongst the throng is a coach with a simple, yet to my eyes simply beautiful board in the window. The board reads Rotterdam.
It was our coach; we had booked seats on that coach. It was the very coach we where supposed to connect with for Hull. It had obviously been rerouted to Dover when they shut the Hull port.
Now all I had to do was convince the pissed off herr grupnenfuhrer behind the counter to let me on it .
That took slightly longer. After much debate and the eventual intervention of rather more sympathetic supervisor we boarded our coach. Our feelings of triumphant elation though where short lived when informed that the coach was now bound for Calais and would then be going overland to Rotterdam.
This little nugget, combined with the fact that the ferry it was destined to board was currently sitting in the middle of the English Channel in the middle of a hurricane did not bode well for arriving at my 10am pick on.
Still, could be worse. I will intercede here and offer these words of wisdom. Should you ever find yourself in a situation where you feel the need to say “It could be worse” just don’t, clear your mind of said thought and certainly do not voice it. Why, because fate my friends is a complete bh of the highest order and listens carefully for any and all temptation. As soon as she hears you utter this statement only one thing is guaranteed…………………things will get worse
Still, at least our soggy butts are sat in our seats on the coach. At this point the clock has just ticked past 3am in the morning.
Point of note here, It is an incredible quirk of human nature that despite the obvious catastrophic events surrounding you in these situations, events, that should on the whole, reduce you to a jabbering wreck sobbing uncontrollable in a corner, we do in fact react in the opposite manner. Suddenly little victories become major achievements.
So it was then that we sat on that bus, famished, having not eaten since early the previous morning, knackered and as mentioned sopping wet, grinning from ear to ear like the proverbial Cheshire cats. This feeling elation achieved with nothing more than getting a seat on bus the bus that we where supposed to be on in the first place.
Most strange.
Finally the ferry docked at 6.00 am in the morning and our little coach boarded to very much applause from its many pissed off but surprisingly stoic passengers. At this point our thoughts where very firmly fixed on the extra large full English breakfast with lashings of hot tea that we where about to throw down our throats. The anticipation of this as we left the bus was positively electric.
“fk me, did the boat sink prior to docking”. I said as emerged from the loading deck into the lounge area. The whole place looked like world war three on a bad day. The thing was a wreck and the crew…. well suffice to say I have seen healthier looking week old corpses. Weathering a hurricane in the middle of the English Channel was no doubt something that they had not banked upon when they signed up for a life on the ocean waves.
I should point out at this junction that the storm that night was in fact classified as a hurricane and did in fact turn into a somewhat famous event in meteorological circles, this even being, to this very day, fondly remembered by these types.
Fondly, it must be said, is not the adjective I now use to describe it.
So, there we where, standing open mouthed purveying a scene of utter destruction as the bedraggled looking crew, brooms and bin liners in hand, do their best to clear up the mess. On wandering up to bar, or what was left off the bar, we enquired of the steward as to the possibility of some breakfast, or perhaps some light refreshment.
He never spoke, which at first thought could be considered to quite rude. To be fair though he had no real need to speak. His look rather portrayed everything that he wanted to say. That look roughly translated into;
“does it fking look like we are in a fit state to lay on a fking buffet for 300 people. Perhaps you have not fking noticed that the ship is a wreck and the very fact that it’s still fking floating is a bit of a miracle. Now fk off.
So we did, opting to sit in a corner and watch quietly as the crew went about the task of rebuilding the ship.
An hour later though we where back on the coach and leaving the sorry ferry behind and heading into the port of Calais. “Looking good dear” I say “Its only 8.00am, if the driver puts his foot down a bit we could still make Rotterdam on time”. My beloved it has to be said did not share my optimism at this point. In fact by this point I think she was ruing the day we met.
So onwards driver and don’t spare the horses. And off we set……….to the end of the car park….where he stopped.
“Sorry folks, out of driving hours” he announces from his seat.
So off we trot on Monday morning to the bus station. All goes well up until Birmingham, some sort of accident on the M6 stopping our progress. The coach driver then thinks to himself that it would be a good idea to take a diversion via the city centre. The small fact though of never actually having travelled through Birmingham before seemed to quite bypasses him, this giving way to his natural confidence in his superior sense of direction.
Three hours later and we are still trying to find our f
king way out of Birmingham. We are at this point supposed to be arriving at our connecting bus station to board with the coach that will take us to Hull and onto to the ferry for Rotterdam. We eventually pull into the coach station at 8.00pm that evening feeling ever so slightly bedraggled by the journey. We have of course missed our connecting bus. Oh well, s
t happens. We will just get another bus to Hull, the Ferry does not leave till 10.00 so we should still make it.We enquire at the ticket office. “Sorry, no more buses Sir” states the helpful young lady behind the counter. Still, keep calm. There are always trains.
So off we jog to the train station and by heck did we jog. Finnally we arrive at the train station and the nice ticket man proceeds to tell us that the train had just left, next one is not till 10.00 o'clock.
Brilliant, I risk a glance at her indoors; the return look is not one that I will savor on my deathbed. Still, surly there is more than one boat that crosses the channel.
By the way, it’s really pissing it down in Birmingham.
So I purchase a ticket for Hull and off we go. We finally arrive in Hull at 11.00am and proceed in a taxi to the ferry terminal. By this point the rain has turned into a veritable river falling from the sky, vertically, due to the 70mph winds.
“Sorry, ports shut mate”, shouts the rather bedraggled looking docker above the sound of the wind. “Its this storm innit, everything’s cancelled mate” he continues. At this point my normally stoic resolve is fast sinking into my sodden wet shoes. I dare not pass a glance to the side as the look that would be returned from my rather soggy beloved would be more than I could perhaps shoulder at this point.
Still, chin up, there are always options. “so what about Dover” I ask hopefully.”. “Nope, that’s shut to” he thinks a minute and follows helpfully with “ you have more chance of getting something across from there once things clear up a bit mind” .
Dover it is then. So we set off leaning almost vertically in to the wind and rain in the search to find a Taxi rank. The taxi’s, unfortunately, where a tad thin on the ground, this I surmised had probably something to do with everyone else having the same idea.
At last though we get ourselves into a taxi and set off for Dover, finally reaching the port at around two in the morning. On reaching the terminal we are met with a rather overly officious worker who has obviously had more than enough of this night. We are greeted rather grouchily and told that nothing is moving. At this point there is a large group gathered round the chaps desk all firing a multitude of question, questions to which he has no real answers so tends to with his preferred statement of “nothing sailing and everything is fully backed up and booked for the next 24 hours. Next”
In the large car boarding area beyond him sits a multitude of backed up cars and buses. ….Then I spot it, sitting there, nestled in amongst the throng is a coach with a simple, yet to my eyes simply beautiful board in the window. The board reads Rotterdam.
It was our coach; we had booked seats on that coach. It was the very coach we where supposed to connect with for Hull. It had obviously been rerouted to Dover when they shut the Hull port.
Now all I had to do was convince the pissed off herr grupnenfuhrer behind the counter to let me on it .
That took slightly longer. After much debate and the eventual intervention of rather more sympathetic supervisor we boarded our coach. Our feelings of triumphant elation though where short lived when informed that the coach was now bound for Calais and would then be going overland to Rotterdam.
This little nugget, combined with the fact that the ferry it was destined to board was currently sitting in the middle of the English Channel in the middle of a hurricane did not bode well for arriving at my 10am pick on.
Still, could be worse. I will intercede here and offer these words of wisdom. Should you ever find yourself in a situation where you feel the need to say “It could be worse” just don’t, clear your mind of said thought and certainly do not voice it. Why, because fate my friends is a complete b
h of the highest order and listens carefully for any and all temptation. As soon as she hears you utter this statement only one thing is guaranteed…………………things will get worse Still, at least our soggy butts are sat in our seats on the coach. At this point the clock has just ticked past 3am in the morning.
Point of note here, It is an incredible quirk of human nature that despite the obvious catastrophic events surrounding you in these situations, events, that should on the whole, reduce you to a jabbering wreck sobbing uncontrollable in a corner, we do in fact react in the opposite manner. Suddenly little victories become major achievements.
So it was then that we sat on that bus, famished, having not eaten since early the previous morning, knackered and as mentioned sopping wet, grinning from ear to ear like the proverbial Cheshire cats. This feeling elation achieved with nothing more than getting a seat on bus the bus that we where supposed to be on in the first place.
Most strange.
Finally the ferry docked at 6.00 am in the morning and our little coach boarded to very much applause from its many pissed off but surprisingly stoic passengers. At this point our thoughts where very firmly fixed on the extra large full English breakfast with lashings of hot tea that we where about to throw down our throats. The anticipation of this as we left the bus was positively electric.
“f
k me, did the boat sink prior to docking”. I said as emerged from the loading deck into the lounge area. The whole place looked like world war three on a bad day. The thing was a wreck and the crew…. well suffice to say I have seen healthier looking week old corpses. Weathering a hurricane in the middle of the English Channel was no doubt something that they had not banked upon when they signed up for a life on the ocean waves.I should point out at this junction that the storm that night was in fact classified as a hurricane and did in fact turn into a somewhat famous event in meteorological circles, this even being, to this very day, fondly remembered by these types.
Fondly, it must be said, is not the adjective I now use to describe it.
So, there we where, standing open mouthed purveying a scene of utter destruction as the bedraggled looking crew, brooms and bin liners in hand, do their best to clear up the mess. On wandering up to bar, or what was left off the bar, we enquired of the steward as to the possibility of some breakfast, or perhaps some light refreshment.
He never spoke, which at first thought could be considered to quite rude. To be fair though he had no real need to speak. His look rather portrayed everything that he wanted to say. That look roughly translated into;
“does it f
king look like we are in a fit state to lay on a fking buffet for 300 people. Perhaps you have not fking noticed that the ship is a wreck and the very fact that it’s still fking floating is a bit of a miracle. Now fk off.So we did, opting to sit in a corner and watch quietly as the crew went about the task of rebuilding the ship.
An hour later though we where back on the coach and leaving the sorry ferry behind and heading into the port of Calais. “Looking good dear” I say “Its only 8.00am, if the driver puts his foot down a bit we could still make Rotterdam on time”. My beloved it has to be said did not share my optimism at this point. In fact by this point I think she was ruing the day we met.
So onwards driver and don’t spare the horses. And off we set……….to the end of the car park….where he stopped.
“Sorry folks, out of driving hours” he announces from his seat.
Quhet said:
Ruskie said:
Depends on whether you like sport or indeed football as to whether you seem my life exciting.
I was a professional footballer for 8 years from leaving school. Didn't play as much as I should of but I was very fortunate to play all over Europe with England youth teams, 11 caps in total. I was in 4 under 21 squads but never played. I made 44 first team appearances in total for 3 clubs. I have many, many regrets about how it panned out but I was alot more immature in those days.
how long ago are we talking?I was a professional footballer for 8 years from leaving school. Didn't play as much as I should of but I was very fortunate to play all over Europe with England youth teams, 11 caps in total. I was in 4 under 21 squads but never played. I made 44 first team appearances in total for 3 clubs. I have many, many regrets about how it panned out but I was alot more immature in those days.
I'm not TSF unfortunately!
I was thinking about 'life stories' recently, and it's all the little events that crop up which - if you choose - can be blown up into complete novellas for future use...
My wife has no truck with that - you live, you learn, move on...maybe it's to do with having had a paraplegic older sibling for the first 14 years of her life?
Although much of Beloved's life is straightforward - early marriage, three children, house, mortgage blah blah blah - there are some more interesting events;
- she once interrupted an armed robbery in Lloyds Bank, Southborough (offered the cashier her support after the miscreant departed with a bag of cash)
- she and a friend were flashed on the train home (full exposure to his lower half in a 'dogbox' so no exit other than exterior door) which made them both laugh! Miscreant was caught and charged.
- her best friend was brutally murdered (although there was a lengthy trial at Crown Court and the former boyfriend walked)
- another schoolfriend married royalty and the Daily Mail besieged all the classmates for gossip for weeks with incessant telephone calls (a few did 'sell out' and woeful stories were published revealing diddly but providing new cars and holidays with the proceeds)
All this in a humdrum and otherwise unexceptional existence - things happen even if you don't expect it.
If I get time I'll recount a bit about my late Dad later...
My wife has no truck with that - you live, you learn, move on...maybe it's to do with having had a paraplegic older sibling for the first 14 years of her life?
Although much of Beloved's life is straightforward - early marriage, three children, house, mortgage blah blah blah - there are some more interesting events;
- she once interrupted an armed robbery in Lloyds Bank, Southborough (offered the cashier her support after the miscreant departed with a bag of cash)
- she and a friend were flashed on the train home (full exposure to his lower half in a 'dogbox' so no exit other than exterior door) which made them both laugh! Miscreant was caught and charged.
- her best friend was brutally murdered (although there was a lengthy trial at Crown Court and the former boyfriend walked)
- another schoolfriend married royalty and the Daily Mail besieged all the classmates for gossip for weeks with incessant telephone calls (a few did 'sell out' and woeful stories were published revealing diddly but providing new cars and holidays with the proceeds)
All this in a humdrum and otherwise unexceptional existence - things happen even if you don't expect it.
If I get time I'll recount a bit about my late Dad later...
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