Aaahhh, tickets...
It seems only a short while ago that I was pulled screaming from the womb...
Covered in fresh placenta and various lubricants it seemed a good idea to book some camping tickets at Maison Blanche, ready for puberty. Like the placenta, puberty has long gone, but still no sign of the tickets; although I did recieve a confirmation letter in my early teens.
I am at my wits end now, a devout atheist, lapsed agnostic and one time pastor at the Church of Right Royal Incontinence, I feel an order placed now, ready for the afterlife will surely be a waste of time. And I'll tell you something else, one thing they didn't show you during Tutenkhamuns tour of the British Museum, was the Carting Nord ticket clutched in the b*stards dry right hand. Can you see in Dreamracers pictures the crowds of Egyptian tombrobbers huddled in the proto-grandstand? I can.
H