Rudi
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Blue_Lou_Boyle
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kaydubya
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abig
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borntobemild
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Postman_Not_Letterbox
RudiDenton the lead-singer of seminal greedo band the Janitors told me a very similar anecdote about some guy who gave him a lift - with the same "do you know anybody who would be prepared to punish me?" line. Denton's reply was ' "not in this car I don't," and he jumped out the car as soon as it slowed down enough. This also took place in the eighties so it's very probably the same guy - or are our motorways jammed with broken homos on a last chance pervy drive?
onandoff
Good stuff, chapsAs a lad, I got myself stranded in S Portugal without any brass and, deciding against handing myself in to the consulate, threw myself upon the mercies of the road, which was largely a great experience that made me grateful for how generous people can be to absolute strangersI had a few adventures over a few days, sleeping in haybarns and shoplifting between lifts but it got a bit tricky when some fella offered me a few drinks after a lift, then tried his best to drown me in whiskey for what started to seem suspicious reasons. Miraculously managed to convince some guy at the bar with my shit Spanish skills to whisk me straight out of there all the way to Madrid in the middle of the night, nearly a whole day's drive, where he laid on great scran and a room. I think he was bit fucked off when I went to bed suddenly instead of waiting up for his English speaking friend to come around. In the morning he looked at the map where I wanted to go and said he'd drop us on the way to work. Once out of the car, there was a citymap and it turned out this was exactly the wrong side of town. Weird. I walked around the corner, then saw the sign for the one and only branch of Natwest in the whole of Espana. My bank - pity there was nothing except an unauthorised overdraft in it. It was closed but I could see people in there readying themselves for trade. I rang the intercom and said that I had just been mugged. They let me in and agreed to try to phone my UK branch to spring 50 squid's worth of cash. Triumphant, I walked out knowing the rest of the journey was going to be a bit easier, with the price of a ferry ticket and a bit of scran in my pocket. I jumped a bus to the right side of town and got on to the right hard shoulder for a 2cv to pull up with my new mate Jose and his SP in the front. Jose gradually turned out to be a smackhead demanding money to pay his 'petrol bill'. I explained nicely that I wouldn't help as I was hitching because I couldn't afford to pay for transport. The bonhomie blew out the window.Jose picked up a crowbar and waived it around whilst still haring up the road towards the Pyrenees, suggesting that I reconsider my options. Having already exhausted my supply of Spanish, I began growling in the manner of a dog. This got my point across and he compliantly pulled over to the side of the road at which I was pointing. Some words were exchanged but I think we were both pleased when i climbed out. All ended well - 8 or 9 days after setting off I was back home.Other weird lifts: the tree-hugging psychic lorry driver. The lorry driver from the Black Country who, sadly, I enraged by being unable to understand any fucking thing that he said. The woman who was going to exactly the same street as me in Liverpool.
soldierant
HITCHIKING:To say a spent a lot of my teens hitching I can remember very few stories.I used to hitch all over the country in those days mainly to gigs I used to do whole tours .It was a lot cheaper then paying to travel & I didn’t have enough money anyway.The only affordable way of doing these tours was hitching then saving what ever money you had for beer .You would probably get some food & beer from the bands rider depending on when you got there or if there was an left when you did?Sometimes I would get lifts of other fans on the tours or even the bands themselves Sometimes I stopped in their hotel Sometimes a few people chipped in to pay for a room for the night && every one would crash out in it.In the morning we would sneak the people out who weren’t supposed to be there then go down for breakfast.We would then make sure we took all the left over toast ,bread, butter etc for the others in a doggy bag.If this wasn’t possible we would walk to the motorway or go by bus if they were still running & sleep next to the motor way till the morning then hitch to the next gig Here’s what I can remember.It didn’t take long for me to realise that the motorway as plenty of weird people travelling on it.One of my 1st encounters was around 78.I was hitching to London & I had been waiting for a lift for about 3 hours I was due in London to meet some friends at their place before we went on to a gig .I was at the Leicester Forest services I think?Suddenly this car pulled up & asked if I would like a lift “say I replied”“Where are you going he said ?LONDON!I got in the car & he said he was only going about 30 miles “but at least you’re a bit nearer”I sat in his car looking out of the window suddenly I felt a hand touch my leg I froze wondering what was happening?.I looked round at him He said sorry I was trying to change gears So thought no more about it., thinking it was an accidentWe chatted for a while ,but conversation soon stopped as we had little in common to discuss For some reason he was sweating like mad & kept wiping his brow with his hankie. Which I thought was strange .He was a fat bloke of about 50 years old who reminded me of Sydney Greenstreet in the old Bogart films he was fat & he also kept wiping his brow .Anyway I am back to looking out of the window & I feel him touch my leg again This set my mind racing .It can’t be a accident twice ?I looked round & smiled at him Bad mistake why did I do that ? I thought to myself .I was wondering what I could do if he came on to me ?It was a strange feeling , I didn’t feel like I was being violated , I felt more sorry for him I thought I would just tell him I am not into that stuff & he would probably just stop? Suddenly he put his hand on my knee again I looked round again & i bloody smiled again ,god knows why ?He obviously thought I was giving indicate to carry on So he did it again so I removed his hand .Suddenly he said this is where I come off the motorway ,but you have been so nice I’ll take you to the next service station which was Toddington or something near Luton?Before I had chance to reply we had gone past the turn off .I thought shit! I didn’t feel worried for my safety I just wasn’t particularly keen to be touched upOn the positive side I will be only about 40 miles from London , but I have another 50 miles of this to cope with .I turned to him & told him the score ,but somehow I could feel myself smiling again Must have been some nervous twitch ?He obviously thought I was playing hard to get Straight away he started trying to stroke my knee .with one hand then letting go wiping is brow with the other ,then back to the knee again I grabbed his hand & moved it again .The attacks were becoming more frequent now Has he went grab leg ,right hand on steering wheel , change to left hand steering wheel ,wipe brow. with right hand The car was starting to veer all over the motor way by this point as I kept removing his hand .I was fearing we were going to crash as his attempts became more frequent.I was just on the verge of grabbing the steering wheel & making for the hard shoulder Then suddenly he had that look of relief all over his face .I was thinking the guys shot his load .This made me feel angryHe removed his hand from my knee ,wiped his brow then carried on driving as though nothing had happened.We never said a word to each other .I was thinking though as soon as he lets me out I am going to , well I wasn’t sure what I was going to do to be honest?,but I was far from happy.We get to the service station he says “good luck “ as though nothing as happened I jumped out of the car to go round to his his door as i couldn't do anything in the car because it was to small for manouvre.He doesn’t realise what I am about to do until I get around to his door & try to open itthen he see's iam far from happy .He then realises as I shout abuse at him ,suddenly he drove off with me holding the car door.I then realise my bondage shirt ,which had these d rings on had gotten trapped in between the handle of the door .he then realised I was still attached to the door .He then stopped the car so i could free myself , i presume ?Iam trying to get into the car while still trying to free my shirt. realising iam still attached to the car he panic’s & sets the car in motion again.as he speeds up iam starting to lose balance then the arm of my shirt tears & I have slipped into all this black oil or diesel., flat on my face .As I get off the floor I can see him wave out of the back window .I didn’t have any spare clothes & I was covered in oil from head to foot .Luckily I didn’t have to wait long for another lift & I was in my friends house 2 hours later.The motorway is full of dodgy people & this story could have ended a lot differentlyIf it had been a year a so ago before when I was a young naive lad but I was quite confident at this point & had already learned a few life experiences. or if the guy had been younger & fitter who knows ?I also remember trying to hitch it with my friend Roy & Alvain who was small & quite feminine to look at .We asked this guy in the services for a lift .i said “I can only take the pretty boy as my van is full of railway signal box’s that I collect “He showed us the back of the van & still offered Alvian a lift I remember another time with Alvain & Roy going to see Southern Death Cult at Aylesbury Friars .One thing that amazed me over the years was we always managed to get to all the gigs we set out for .This gig was the closest we ever got to missing it.We set off from Bradford about 9 am We were very lucky to get a lift almost immediately which took us about 2 thirds of the way .We were dropped off at Junction 9 or 13 southbound .To somewhere beginning with D .Maybe Daventry?The only thing we could see for miles was a pub & a railway station.As we waited for the next lift we were laughing too our selves about who used the train station & I bet it takes ages to get served in that pub lolIt’s always harder hitching when there’s 3 of you ,even 2 but because we had struck lucky with our 1st lift we thought our luck might be in ?But we used all our luck up in that 1st lift we had made some bad errors of judgementWe had been dropped of at a turn off that no one appeared to use We didn’t see a car turn off in 3 hours We should have got the guy to drop us off at the last services were we would have had the option of splitting up & also more chance of getting a lift with more vehicles about..It’s also easier at the services because you can ask the drivers directly enabling them to see your ok.We weren’t that far from Aylesbury so we decided to go down to the train station & ask if there was a train thereWe got to the train station & went to the ticket office We asked if there was a train to Aylesbury he said “Not directly”We had to via somewhere I have forgotten?We said we’’l have 3 tickets there then he said “there’s no more trains now till tomorrow “ we started mimicking the guy “no more trains till next Tue “ in a South West accent We went to the pub for a pint & think what to do?When we got in the pub, which was a big pub we asked why have you got a big pub & know one seems to live round here ?The lady told us it was packed at Nights people came from all over the area Anyway we went back to the motorway .we were there for another 3 hours It was now dark & the gig would be starting in under 1 hours .Suddenly we got picked up by a couple of Army lads in their Army truck.They said they were passing Aylesbury.We got in the back of the truck.As we sped along the motorway it was great because the canvas was down so we could stand up & look out over everywhere After about 10 miles they pulled off the motorway & proceeded to drive down these country roads .We weren’t that concerned at first.After about 3 hours when we should have been nearing Aylesbury we were still driving down country roads without a clue where we were ?At one point we even went across country through a field. We were starting to get To get a bit worried by now .We had stopped worrying about missing the gig by now & were more worried about what ,who what was happening We were thinking all sorts off crazy thoughts were they really Army lads ?or deserters ,IRA who had nicked the lorry?Are we being kidnapped ? etc ,etcThese lads were huge so we didn’t really fancy tackling them, but we were seriously thinking something was not right & that we might have to?So we started psyching each other up for what we thought was a life or death situationBy punching the back of the lorry’s headboard ,fuck know’s why we could have broken our hands It seems crazy now writing this lolAfter about another hour though we landed in the centre of this town , much to our relief. We were just getting ready to jump off the truck Suddenly the back off the truck opened & one of the army lads said “ok lads”Yes ! we said very nervously climbing back down into the truck .We didn’t bother inquiring as to what they had been up too we were just relieved to get there .It was now about 9.30?So we immediately set of to find the gig .We got there about 15 minutes later .We asked for the Guest List ,got ticked in then straight to the bar .We could see SDC were on stage as we queued.Just as we got served I could here Ian say thanks a lot .It was the last song This was followed by the bell for last orders .It was only about 10 pm As we were telling everyone about hitching down a fight started with some locals .It was just in front off us .They were having a go at a couple of lads I knew from Hatfield who were with their sisters .The leader of the locals was gobbing off to them& tried to punch one of them.There was a little melee then a brake .I suddenly saw a metal bin so I put it over this lads head then grabbed the stick that was used for banging the last orders bell then proceeded to bang the shit of of this bin on his head.Everyone else stood around the lads from Hatfield as a show of support.The lad then took the bin from his head & he looked a little dazed.The locals then realised there was quite a few of us & backed down .I remember once hitching From London to get back north for a Leeds game .I got as far as Watford gap .then the lifts seemed to have dried up when these guys drove past leaning out of the window shouting something?They then stopped a little further along & shouted back if I wanted a lift?I was a bit reluctant but time was getting on so I said ok!There were 3 of these lads the guy in the front got out & said you’ll have to sit in the back. These lads looked pretty naughty which immediately put me on my guard because if things turned nasty I was trapped .This was in the 70’s before the casual thing ,or in it’s early stages These lads looked like they were the local Luton bad boys It turns out these lads were Luton town fans on their way to Rotherham for a game They asked if I liked football & which team I supported so I “Leeds “The lad in the front went to the glove compartment & took out a Bowie knife the blade was about 8 inches long .I gulped & feared the worst .He then took out a piece of draw & started building a spliff .using the knife to strip bits of this piece of ash that looked about the size of a ounce .He then opened the glove compartment to put the knife back .as it was open I could see there were knuckle dusters ,other knives .They had a right little arsenal in there.The rest of the journey was a bit of a blur They passed the spliff round followed by a bottle of vodka.We talked about watching our teams & some of the scrapes we had gotten into.They were telling me that Luton didn’thave a lot of lads but the ones that did go regularly were a rum old bunch By the time they dropped me at Sheffield I could hardly walk .They drove off hanging out of the window waving the Bowie knife & knuckle dusterI had to sit down for a while by the side of the motorway .Luckily some one pulled up immediately.It was a stroke of luck as well because he was a Leeds fan on his way to the match.I can’t remember who we were playing?I struggled to hold a conversation with this guy.I got into Leeds had a couple of pints in the Peacock before the game . Another time I was hitching back to Bradford from a gig somewhere? & got as far as SheffieldI don’t know what it is about Sheffield but it is a really bad place to get a lift ?I had been stood there for about 4 hours when this biker stopped & asked if I wanted a lift?I said how far are you going He said “Leeds”I thought I could get the bus from thereI wasn’t that keen because I have this thing about 2 wheeled vehicles, it’s called fear It stems back to when I was about 10.My dad was a fanatical Speedway fan & he would take us all over the place to watch it..I got into it a little around this time & the local kids would get on there push bikes & pretend we were speedway riders .There used to be this little track on Scalley Hills That we used to ride around.One day I skidded & went over the edge of the track & landed in a tree which was about 3 feet below the track.This really shuck me up .I went home & my dad said you have to get back on the bike as soon as possible or you wont get on againThe next day I took my bike out & rode it up to the top of Brownroyd Hill which is parallel to Scally hills & St Enochs so it’s pretty steep.I set off down Brownroyd hill as fast as I could .As I got near the bottom I could see this milk float reversing into the road from the dairy .I tried pulling on the brakes to slow the bike down ,but the brakes weren’t workingAs I started veering all over the rd trying to slow the bike down .I was in a panic by now.The milk float hadn’t seen me & was by now blocking off the rd just as I was about to hit the float I managed to swerve around it only to hit a gate that someone was coming out off on the opposite side of the rd.As the bike hit the gate I flew over the fence 7 landed into a pile of freshly cut down nettles.As I got off the floor covered in stings from the nettles I swore I would never get on a bike again.I thought it was better to be a live coward then a dead hero .Anyway back to the hitchhiking.I really didn’t want to get on this motor bike .I spoke to the guy about my reservationsHe assured me he was a really careful driver & didn’t drive like the majority of other bikers .Reluctantly I accepted is offer of a lift. mainly because I was freezing & it didn’t look like I was going to get a liftHe told me to just hang on to him & lean whenever he did.Everything started well we set of at a steady pace & I was starting to feel comfortable When this jag flew past us ,suddenly I heard my careful bike rider shout “BASTARD” he then flew off after him. This was my worst nightmare as he darted in between all the other vehicles swerving as we went trying to catch this Jag.This went on all to Morley .If I thought it was bad on the motorway it was worse once we came of the motorway. The roads with all the tight bends etc. was leaning one way one minute then the other the next. I was feeling sick .As we turned corner after corner sometimes the bike was that close to the floor I was expecting to be sliding along it any second.I was clinging to this guy stricken with fear clinging on for sheer day life.I tried shouting to him to slow down but we were going that fast & with the wind he couldn’t hear me.I have no idea what the point of this exercise was ?All it seemed to involve to me was they were constantly overtaking each otherEventually we landed in Morley. The guy pulled up I staggered off the bike I took the helmet off & was about to have a go at him & he was off againAfter the car .I sat down on the grass for a couple of minutes to gather my composure then got the bus back to Bradford. I have never been on a bike sinceI remember getting a lift back to Bradford after a gig in 79 .I was stood at the Bottom of the M1 North bound .There were quite a few people hitching I was feeling a bit rough after a heavy night the evening before at another Ants gig so I went for a kip while it became less congested. After about an hour I started hitching .There were 3 off us left. One was this tidy looking lass who was stood next to me .almost immediately this van pulled up .i think his intention was to pick the lass up but by the time the van stopped he had pulled up in front off me .As I opened the door the driver was looking back in the direction of the women hiker, but she had assumed that the had stopped for me .so she was looking the other way.I said where you going mate ?he said “Leeds” not really concentrating on me .I jumped in the van & shut the door before he could change his mind.We set off & I could detect straight away that this guy was feeling quite uneasy I suppose I did look quite intimidating in my full Westwood’s Seditionaries bondage suit & red ,blue & white hair.We got to Scratch wood service’s the 1st service station about 3 miles on & the driver said he had to stop a minute.He got out of the van & went to the phone box he was looking over at the van constantly I am not sure whether he was he thought I was going to try hot wire his van ?i got the feeling that he was describing me to who ever was on the other end of the phone in case something happened to him.Anyway he came back & we set off again. I thought I would strike up a conversation to try put him at ease & to show him he hadn’t picked up a potential homicidal maniac .After about half an hour we were getting on famously. We got on that well that when we got to Sheffield he asked if I fancied a pint?I said I was skint that’s why I had been hitching. He said ill buy you a pint So we stopped off at this pub just off the motorway in Sheffield..Where we enjoyed a pint or 4 .He told me that he had stopped for the women hiker .& didn’t really notice me till I was in his van.He also said he had felt intimidated .He had never met any punks before ,but could remember reading a particular negative article in the Daily Bullshit[Sun]About punks spitting & attacking people with weapons or something.?He said your nothing like the punk’s they mentioned in that article.I told him that don’t believe what you read ,it’s all rubbishWe left the pub at last orders after having a great time .This pub was somewhere he usually stopped at & he knew a lot of the locals .He was introducing me to all the regulars”here’s my punk mate “ he was telling everyone.By the time we got back to West Yorkshire I realised that if he dropped me off in Leeds I would have missed the last bus ,so he took me through to Bradford.Dropped me off outside my house.He waved goodbye & drove off back to Leeds.Another time hitching to a Ants gig in London April 79 .I was already going but there was this French lad living in Bradford at that time called Eric who Buzz [southern death cult ] had met on holiday in France.Eric was interested in Punk .Buzz told him about what was going on in England & Bradford in particular.Buzz must have made a good impression on him?Buzz had said if your ever in England call in, not thinking he ever would ?Anyway Eric turned up in the summer of 78 ..Buzz brought him to the Manneville 7 introduced him to everyone .Eric had initially come for an holiday ,but enjoyed it that much he decided to stay. He couldn’t stop at Buzz’z flat because he lived with his girlfriend in a 1 bedroom flat so he moved in with Paki Kenny .Who was actually from Ceylon ..There were a few Muslim punks in those days paki Pete ,Paki Steve& Aki the paki [notice the Muslim sounding names ].This wasn’t ment in a derogatory way & they didn’t see it that way either .My mate Pete was from Barnzley so he was called Barnzley, .French Eric etc ..Anyway Eric was due back in France[that’s why I remember this date in particular] to do his National service which everyone had to do in France at that time.He told me he would like to come to London with me to see The Ants before he went back to France.We set off hitching on a lovely April day .We got our first lift within about 20minutes.The guy was going to Lincoln so said he could drop us at the A1 .I had never hitched down the A1 so I thought we would try itYou could also walk down the A1 so I thought that would be good .Instead of waiting for a lift we could walk in between lifts .We were dropped off around dinner time we hung around trying to get a lift after about an hour we decided to set off walking .We never got a lift again all day .Luckily the gig was the day after Sunday 22.I am not sure why we didn’t get another lift maybe because we could walk on the motorway or we were just unlucky?By teatime we tired & hungry. We managed to buy a couple of mars bars & a bottle of milk each to keep us going. I had my wage from being paid the day before but I wanted to spend it on essential like alcohol & I wanted to go shopping in London If we got there in good time.It was pitched black by now & it was obvious we weren’t going to get a lift so we decided to walk to the nearest town or City.We had been walking since dinnertime & we were knackered .We looked at the signs on the A1 & the nearest place was Grantham. So we carried on walking ,but still hoping we would get a lift .We arrived in Grantham around 8 pm.we had walked about 30 miles We went to the train station & booked 2 tickets to London. we cost me most of my wages .We were notified that there was a problem with the train 7 that we would have to get a coach to somewhere else to catch the train.We sat on the transport that was laid on [can’t remember if it was a taxi or a little shop hopper type thing]When we got to where we were meeting up with the train .We got on the train & were told that the train would depart in about 20 minsWe sat in the carriage counting our money, we were starving & wanted to go to the chippy outside the station but the fairs had taken a huge chunk out of our cash So decided to wait till we got to my mate’s squat in Kentish town where we were hoping my mates would have some food?We ended up sat opposite this person who I recognised from the tv She was in that comedy programme about a family called the Brandons [can’t remember what it was called ?] she played the wife of Carter Brandon.At one point she got up & left the carriage & returned with 2 portions of fish & chips She said she had over heard our conversation & felt sorry for us She said “you look so young to travelling about on your own “We said thank you & sat down to our fish & chips.We got talking to this actress who ask us where we were from when I told her Bradford she said she was from Batley or BrighouseShe said she was really interested in what all this punk thing was about.So we told her we were going to see Adam & the Ants & they were my favourite band .She hadn’t heard of them [but soon would lol]We spent a great journey chatting .us about punk & her about being an actressWhen we got to London we walked through the staion with her to where she was being picked up by her boyfriend in his e type jag convertible or one of those flash sport cars?She asked where we were staying I said at my mates squat in Kentish Town.so they gave us a lift.I had the address but I had never been to this squat before as we they had just moved there. When we arrived we found the house which looked like a derelict house. Thinking I had written the address down wrongly we knocked on the door .My mate Yogso looked out of the window & said “hi”The actress said “ you sure your going to be ok?” we said “yes”As she drove off she looked behind & waved so we said thanks & waved back.Yogso opened the door of this house & we walked in.It bloody well was a derelict house .The downstairs part of the house was unliveable .We went up stairs .There was 10 lads from Middlesboro sleeping in one room .Half the floor was missing so you had to be careful not to turn over in your sleep otherwise you would fall through the roof .Not as though we were going to get much sleep.I lyed down on a couple of chairs with only the clothes I came in .There were 2 blankets that got rotated between everyone as the night wore on.We eventually managed to get to sleep mainly due to fatigue In the morning I said to Yogso I thought you said this was a squat ?he said it was all the could get for the time being.I went to look round this house & it was gutted from top to bottom with the room we slept in having any floorboards left.It was the worst squat I have ever been in as well as potentially the most dangerous We went to the shop to get some crisps or something as we left Paul from Boro said to someone “don’t forget to lock the door “I said “why! who’s going to burgle that place? .even the tramps would feel sorry for us stopping there After we had some thing to eat we went back to our luxury apartment & we had a look about to see if we could find some pieces of wood to make our one inhabitable floor more secure as we would have to sleep there again tonight.We managed to find some floor boards & over lap them with the existing ones Making a tad more secure.We had a wash in this basin with had some rainwater in then we set off to the gig.I remember we got a bit lost by getting the wrong bus & we passed this house somewhere which had “anarchy in the uk “in big white letters painted on the house outside .It looked great .I had seen this house before about a 6months previously .It was in North London somewhere so I knew we were heading away from the venue Which was at the Lyceum in the centre. We went past a tube station & jumped off Then got the tube to Trafalgar square then walked up to the gig.We went in the pub on the corner ,made sure we were on the quest list Then settled down for another great Ants show.after the gig we all went back to our squat .we were all drunk so we all fell asleep quite easily.]The next day me & Eric left early .We goodbye to the Boro punks & headed off to the motorway. this time the M1.We were lucky & we were back in Bradford by early teatime.We got 2 lifts straight after another with about 20 mins in-between.It usually works out that if you have trouble hitching one way it’s usually better going the other wayA couple of weeks later We had our farewell drink with Eric before he headed back to France
The_Last_Waltz
soldierant- another cracker. As we all said to you before the Tranmere game,you have to do a book.
Second_Skin
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Smutty_Lips
I have two hitching stories.First one I went to see the Fall on me todd when a weedy 16yo at Cleopatras in Huddersfield. All my mates had backed down at the last minute but there was no way I was going to miss them.After the gig I hung around a bit to ask the roadcrew if there was any chance of a lift upto Ainleys, not going in that direction they said, off to the M1. Fair enough I set off walking out of Huddersfield upto the road to Ainley Top.Once on that road I started hitching, after a few minutes I got the feeling that a car in the distance would stop, feeling a bit nervy - it was 1am and this was back in 1980, I decided to look for insurance, and over this low garden wall was a house-brick which i quickly smashed on the wall into two halves, sticking one in the poachers pocket of my donkey jacket.The car stopped I asked for Halifax but agreed on Ainleys, once in the car, there was three of us on the backseat i realised it was all blokes, nothing wrong with that, but as we went on I realised they were only mentioning blokes names, Puffs I thought, fucking great, my right hand which had been on the half-house-brick all the time now tightened, and my plan of action if they didn't stop just before the motorway was to try and take the driver out with one good shot, and take my chances in the crash.Anyway, as we approached Ainleys I was inwardly stressing, nervously I asked them to pull up on the left, which they did before letting me out and bidding me farewell.
Smutty_Lips
The second story.One bored day in approx 1983, it's early season and 16:30 pm, I said to my mate do you fancy going to watch Halifax tonight at Derby we could hitch. Halifax had lost the first leg by a goal - there had been one goal in it in the first leg, I can't remember who too. This is 3 and a quarter hours before kick off, two blokes hitching together we had no chance, I half realised this but I was so bored. I wasn't worried about getting back I knew we'd be able to scrounge a lift easy.Anyway we jumped on the bus to Stump Cross and got a lift straight away to Leeds, at Leeds we got a lift pretty quickly to the services near Barnsley. There we were stranded. It seemed like hours. Eventually we got a lift, can't remember were too but it was outside of Derby somewhere. It was now pitch black, and I was starting to think we'd be spending the night in Derby railway station. Luckily we got a lift into Derby almost immediately and this bloke agreed to drop us at the Railway Station - it was now 21:00 and in those days game finished at 9:10. We jumped out at Derby and ran for a cab, got that to the ground got there at 21:25 and the streets should have been full of the crowd going home, but no it was emptyish - somehow Halifax who were especially shit at this time had taken them to extra time (it was Derby's promotion season from the old div 3 with Bobby Davidson ex-Halifax up front), akin to a miracle of miracles. We went upto a gate in the corner of the ground and said we were a bit late could they let us in, we got a police escort around the edge of the pitch, where we were put in with the Halifax supporters.They were curious as to what we were doing there, said we'd hitched it and only just arrived, could we scrounge a lift back. They were lauding us as super supporters, we didn't mention i was Leeds and my mate was Burnley.Halifax lost in extra time.
GG_Allins_Gutrot
i would like to try it one day.
Cultural_Norm
As a teenager, hitchiking was a way of life. Didn’t think twice about heading off up the M4. Sure there were nutters on the road and many tricky moments, but I believed in the ideal of giving and taking lifts, and somehow knew that as long as I held onto this positive approach I’d be fine. I still pick up hitchhikers when I see them, which is never. One time, John Williams and I were hitching to a gig in London We were standing the Gabalfa roundabout in Cardiff when a cop stops and books us for illegally standing on a slip road. We congratulate him on the booking, tell him we’ve had a long career of criminality, now brought to an halt by his noble dedication and perserverance. A month or so later we are summoned to court. Meanwhile, we’ve worked out that the ‘no pedestrian’ signs at the sliproad had lost their red rings. So on the morning of the court appearance I cycle, in the pouring rain, to the roundabout with my b/w Polaroid camera and take snaps of the signs. John and I attend a remarkably full court with judge, the idiot cop, lots of onlookers, bizarre really. Anyway, the cop reads out our abuse verbatim, and the judge asks how we plead. We say not guilty, and give them the b/w polaroids. It was difficult to see the signs on my shitty polaroids, so the judge ordered everyone into a convoy of police cars and we drove the three miles to Gabalfa roundabout. We did the once round, and headed back to court. There, the judge thanked us for bringing this matter to the court’s attention and dropped the charges, instructing Cardiff council to renew the signs - at a cost we subsequently found out of about 22 grand. It was a bittersweet victory. If we’d pleaded guilty there would have been a fine of about two quid. A pack of Polaroid film cost more than a fiver. Another time, a mate of mine was hitching to Rome from Cardiff for charity, so I went along. It all went well until we hit Switzerland. Once inside their immaculately maintained borders it took 24 hours to get a lift back out of that fucking hellhole, from probably the only Swiss socialist. It took in all about two and a half days to get to the Trevi fountain where we were pickpocketed by a crowd of Indian women holding up sheets of cardboard, to cover what they were doing with their hands underneath. My mate lost his wallet. I kept my money in my shoe.Following on from the cycling to Bali fiasco, once I'd been dumped by the manic depressive lesbian in Beaujolais I hooked up with Gordon, who was gay. He was a kind, entertaining and a stalwart friend, now dead from AIDS. My pneumonic ex girlfriend had since forgiven me and had joined us in Beaujolais. We then hiked through the Alps to Nice en route to Corsica for the Clementine harvest. Everywhere we stopped, Gordon would use his red neckerchief in his back pocket to signal his availability, which was limited given that he shagged someone new pretty much everyday. We got to Corsica and headed for Aleria,on the East coast, stopping overnight en route in a beach hut at the invitation of a friendly Portuguese bloke called Carlos. We awoke next morning to find Carlos had already left, taking with him my cassette player and all my cassettes. Shit happens on the road. Many nutters out there. So we are quietly grateful he wasn’t a dangerous nutter and carry on hitching, heading south to Aleria, where we turn inland heading for a Clementine farm we’d been told about. The farmer tells us the harvest will begin in a week and tells us to sleep in an outhouse - a rat infested shack with a single light bulb and no beds Well we were desperate to earn some cash so decided to stick it out. Next day we hitched into Aleria to buy some provisions with the last of the money. We got a lift from two old biddies in a tiny car. We crawled into the back, and soon noticed all was not well with our driver. She was wearing very dark sunglasses. Her passenger was muttering the odd word to her, and the driver would respond by turning the wheel one way, and then the other. We suddenly realized the driver was blind, and the passenger was giving her rudimentary directions. We were way too polite to say anything, and were pretty relieved to arrive in Aleria. On our return to the farm the car we were in narrowly avoided colliding with the son of the farm owner, who liked to speed around blind corners on his moped. The next day, news arrived that the boy had just been killed in a head-on collision with a farm truck driven by a Moroccan - they make up 90 per cent of the cheap harvest labour. The Moroccan had immediately run away, pursued as he was by the farmer and various family members carrying shotguns. A day or two later I saw Carlos. He pretended not to know me. Amazingly, he had arrived at the farm and was living in proper dormitories with other labourers. Still pissed off that the guy had nicked my stuff, I stole into his dormitory and took my stuff back. At about three in the morning, Carlos arrives at our shack with about five gorillas, to accuse me of stealing from him. In my shit French I tried to explain to all gathered that Carlos was the thief. Carlos came right up to my face and asked for the return of ‘his’ cassette player. In a shit French accent I told him to ‘va t’faire encoulez’. Carlos swung his fist and sort of slightly slapped my face. I smashed the light bulb and we stood there nose to nose in the dark before Carlos and his boys edged away. Nearly fucking shat myself. After they’d gone Gordon burst into tears. Next day we were told that the Clementine harvest had been cancelled, and there was no work for us. They were lying of course, but we left anyway. Gordon broke into some cash he’d had stashed away and gave us some food money to get back to UK. We ran out of luck about 20 miles short of Calais, after avoiding a dodgy truck driver. Gordon had stayed in Nice. My ex and I had nowhere to sleep, and it was fucking freezing. So I decided that we were going to throw ourselves upon the mercy of the obviously prosperous village we’d just entered. I found the largest house and knocked on the door. A woman opens , I e the door and I explain that we'd been trying to get to Calais but had run out of money, food and energy. She sees my ex, looks us up and down, and invites us in. There was a giant bottle of pills in the opulent hallway. The father was in pharmaceuticals. They gave us cream cakes and beer, which disagreed with me. I spent the night puking, but was grateful to be indoors. Next morning they kindly gave us breakfast and the mother gave us a lift to the ferry. En route she told us about her children, and wondered that perhaps if they came to the UK our families could return the hospitality. I said yes of course, fully sincere about the offer. She then asked if my father was a doctor. I said no, told her he was a foundry worker. The woman had obviously misjudged our financial status, a look passed across her face like she’d been duped. She didn’t say another word to us all the way to Calais
soldierant
[quote=Cultural Norm]As a teenager, hitchiking was a way of life. Didn’t think twice about heading off up the M4. Sure there were nutters on the road and many tricky moments, but I believed in the ideal of giving and taking lifts, and somehow knew that as long as I held onto this positive approach I’d be fine. I still pick up hitchhikers when I see them, which is never. One time, John Williams and I were hitching to a gig in London We were standing the Gabalfa roundabout in Cardiff when a cop stops and books us for illegally standing on a slip road. We congratulate him on the booking, tell him we’ve had a long career of criminality, now brought to an halt by his noble dedication and perserverance. A month or so later we are summoned to court. Meanwhile, we’ve worked out that the ‘no pedestrian’ signs at the sliproad had lost their red rings. So on the morning of the court appearance I cycle, in the pouring rain, to the roundabout with my b/w Polaroid camera and take snaps of the signs. John and I attend a remarkably full court with judge, the idiot cop, lots of onlookers, bizarre really. Anyway, the cop reads out our abuse verbatim, and the judge asks how we plead. We say not guilty, and give them the b/w polaroids. It was difficult to see the signs on my shitty polaroids, so the judge ordered everyone into a convoy of police cars and we drove the three miles to Gabalfa roundabout. We did the once round, and headed back to court. There, the judge thanked us for bringing this matter to the court’s attention and dropped the charges, instructing Cardiff council to renew the signs - at a cost we subsequently found out of about 22 grand. It was a bittersweet victory. If we’d pleaded guilty there would have been a fine of about two quid. A pack of Polaroid film cost more than a fiver. Another time, a mate of mine was hitching to Rome from Cardiff for charity, so I went along. It all went well until we hit Switzerland. Once inside their immaculately maintained borders it took 24 hours to get a lift back out of that fucking hellhole, from probably the only Swiss socialist. It took in all about two and a half days to get to the Trevi fountain where we were pickpocketed by a crowd of Indian women holding up sheets of cardboard, to cover what they were doing with their hands underneath. My mate lost his wallet. I kept my money in my shoe.Following on from the cycling to Bali fiasco, once I'd been dumped by the manic depressive lesbian in Beaujolais I hooked up with Gordon, who was gay. He was a kind, entertaining and a stalwart friend, now dead from AIDS. My pneumonic ex girlfriend had since forgiven me and had joined us in Beaujolais. We then hiked through the Alps to Nice en route to Corsica for the Clementine harvest. Everywhere we stopped, Gordon would use his red neckerchief in his back pocket to signal his availability, which was limited given that he shagged someone new pretty much everyday. We got to Corsica and headed for Aleria,on the East coast, stopping overnight en route in a beach hut at the invitation of a friendly Portuguese bloke called Carlos. We awoke next morning to find Carlos had already left, taking with him my cassette player and all my cassettes. Shit happens on the road. Many nutters out there. So we are quietly grateful he wasn’t a dangerous nutter and carry on hitching, heading south to Aleria, where we turn inland heading for a Clementine farm we’d been told about. The farmer tells us the harvest will begin in a week and tells us to sleep in an outhouse - a rat infested shack with a single light bulb and no beds Well we were desperate to earn some cash so decided to stick it out. Next day we hitched into Aleria to buy some provisions with the last of the money. We got a lift from two old biddies in a tiny car. We crawled into the back, and soon noticed all was not well with our driver. She was wearing very dark sunglasses. Her passenger was muttering the odd word to her, and the driver would respond by turning the wheel one way, and then the other. We suddenly realized the driver was blind, and the passenger was giving her rudimentary directions. We were way too polite to say anything, and were pretty relieved to arrive in Aleria. On our return to the farm the car we were in narrowly avoided colliding with the son of the farm owner, who liked to speed around blind corners on his moped. The next day, news arrived that the boy had just been killed in a head-on collision with a farm truck driven by a Moroccan - they make up 90 per cent of the cheap harvest labour. The Moroccan had immediately run away, pursued as he was by the farmer and various family members carrying shotguns. A day or two later I saw Carlos. He pretended not to know me. Amazingly, he had arrived at the farm and was living in proper dormitories with other labourers. Still pissed off that the guy had nicked my stuff, I stole into his dormitory and took my stuff back. At about three in the morning, Carlos arrives at our shack with about five gorillas, to accuse me of stealing from him. In my shit French I tried to explain to all gathered that Carlos was the thief. Carlos came right up to my face and asked for the return of ‘his’ cassette player. In a shit French accent I told him to ‘va t’faire encoulez’. Carlos swung his fist and sort of slightly slapped my face. I smashed the light bulb and we stood there nose to nose in the dark before Carlos and his boys edged away. Nearly fucking shat myself. After they’d gone Gordon burst into tears. Next day we were told that the Clementine harvest had been cancelled, and there was no work for us. They were lying of course, but we left anyway. Gordon broke into some cash he’d had stashed away and gave us some food money to get back to UK. We run out of luck about 20 miles short of Calais, after avoiding a dodgy truck driver. Gordon had stayed in Nice. My ex and I had nowhere to sleep, and it was fucking freezing. So I decided that we were going to throw ourselves upon the mercy of the obviously prosperous village we’d just entered. I found the largest house and knocked on the door. A woman enters, I explain that were trying to get to Calais but had run out of money, food and energy. She sees my ex, looks us up and down, and invites us in. There was a giant bottle of pills in the opulent hallway. The father was in pharmaceuticals. They gave us cream cakes and beer, which disgreed with me. I spent the night puking, but was grateful to be indoors. Next morning they kindly gave us breakfast and the mother gave us a lift to the ferry. En route she told us about her children, and wondered that perhaps if they came to the UK our families could return the hospitality. I said yes of course, fully sincere about the offer. She then asked if my father was a doctor. I said no, told her he was a foundry worker. The woman had obviously misjudged our financial status, a look passed across her face like she’d been duped. She didn’t say another word to us all the way to Calais[/quote]You have to think on your feet when your hitching , a little white lie is ok?Love the blind man driving .Was he still driving when you hit the blind corner ?I thought thats where he might have excelled :lol:It's a bit dangerous wearing a red hankie to show your avialablity you might have got a lift of a guy hater who knew about Gay etiquette
Cultural_Norm
You have to think on your feet when your hitching , a little white lie is ok?Love the blind man driving .Was he still driving when you hit the blind corner ?I thought thats where he might have excelled lolIt's a bit dangerous wearing a red hankie to show your avialablity you might have got a lift of a guy hater who knew about Gay etiquettejust writing this down, feels like it happened yesterday
soldierant
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Rudi
Some marvelous stories of the road here chaps.Other vaguely remembered highlights : Shivering in a concrete pipe on the back of a flat back truck coming back from Doncaster ... getting a lift from a puppeteer in full harlequin get up and sitting amongst Mr Punch, his Judy and various papier mache pals in the back of his van. Getting a lift of a chain smoking Irish geezer on the outskirts of Reading and gradually realising he was completely pissed on vodka when I clocked the empty bottles in the glove compartment after politely getting his map out for him ... waking up under a fly-over near Ipswich and finding 50p on the road, exchanging said coin for a bottle of full cream milk off a merciless capitalist milk-man ... falling asleep on a bench outside a hairdressers near Welwyn Garden City and being gently shaken awake by a divine smelling blonde lady with a tray full of tea and biscuits ...
Smutty_Lips
I forgot about the time I got nicked at Leicester City (Sniffer's first season in charge) and they released us the minute the last train had left for Sheffield.I'd about 3 quid in my pocket, and the Irish lad who lived somewhere in Leeds I was with didn't have any more.It was about 11pm and we had no choice but to hitch it. Got a taxi to the motorway and off we went, eventually made it to leeds for something like 7.30. A bus to Halifax and off to face me mam.