Bazooka that veruca

So I was in heeerfvdrreeerfhjeegrfeggeerededeedddeddddd, which is a small town in Holland, to see motorhead play Ace of spades and some other songs that sound just like it.

Much beer was consumed by me and my companion. Ace of spades was, well, Ace of spades really. At least they turned up though, not like some high class entertainers I can think of. Yes thats YOU Im talking to Phil.

So the gig ended and we left herfeeerdhehrhehhdhehhdhehehehdhhereedeedddeed, and we were given a lift to Alkmaar, which is a small town in Holland. From Alkmaar we got on a train where we immediately encountered the sidekick of The Man With Microwave Eyes, The Ticket Inspector.

'You have a ticket?'

'er... nope'

'Go and get one then'

So we gets off the train, which was still at the platform, walk down the platform looking for a ticket machine, give up and get back on the train via a different door. Me and my travelling companion then decide the safest option is the age old haven of the ticketless traveller, the extended bathroom stay.

So theres a knock at the door.

Still we wait. Tick followed Tock. Another knock at the door.

My companion rustles some paper and spashes some water in order to shake off the man at the door.

We decide to scarper but in about a minute so that whoever it was will have found a new toilet or got bored.

We emerge...

Straight into the evil clutches of The Ticket Inspector, who we were already aquianted with.

We leapt to our own defence. My companion had instructed me to act Italian as that might be the deciding factor in securing hospitable treatment.

Me: 'Ima soa Soree, I ama Italiano, mea noa havea anya Maney'
The Ticket Inspector: ' that will be 48 Euros'
Me: 'Buta Iya hava noa maney'
TT: 'Well then get the fuck out of my face and get the fuck off my train'.

So we were ejected from the train. Unfortunately the train wasnt moving so I didnt get to alight from a moving train and roll down a hillside like what they do in films what i've seen and I was thus unable to complete number 46 on my list of things to do. There arent any hills in Holland anyway.

So we found ourselves in Fuck Knows Where, Holland, which isn't a small town in Holland.

Seeing as that was the last train we'd just parted company with, I got My Thumb out. Me and my Thumb go back a long way.

Some nice bloke gave us a lift to the intersection where the road leads to Amsterdam.

Unfortunately that was a motorway. By the time most drivers see a hitchhiker when they are on the motorway they are already two hundred yards past or it requires an exquisitely dangerous emergency stop. So all in all, it was a rather piss poor position to be in.The contingency plan was then created. We walk down the road for about a mile to the services, where we would be able to procure a lift and if that failed, at least it was indoors.

Off we set. It was like the modern day equivalent of the Canterbury tales. Except we weren't on a pilgrimage. And there was only two of us. And we didn't tell any stories. And we weren't aiming for Canterbury.

When we had about four hundred yards left to walk, I heard a car approaching so i got my trusty thumb out and by jove, it worked. The car signalled to pull in and slowed to a halt. The joys! The relief washed over us like warm rain on a summers evening, only to be replaced by the cold damp soul destroying drizzle that feels like the piss of an incontinent sailor on a monday morning after your pet rabbit gonzo has died of cancer.

The car was full of policemen.


After being told with a very straight face that walking down the highway is strictly prohibited, he got his breathaliser out. Now i didn't know it was illegal to be drunk in charge of yourself, but apparently it is. Somewhat predictably, we both failed by some considerable distance. Consequently we were charged with being 'drunk and disorderly and having a negative effect on the highway' or something equally bollocks. This was accompanied by a fifty Euro fine.

Thatchers Britain eh?