Lads,
I've been giving a bit of thought of how we all get down to Le Mans.
For me, it has to be as quick as possible. Not just because we're in a hurry to get there, but that's just the way it is. Stopping is 'down time'. It follows therefore, that you have to treat your stops like pit stops; stop, get it done, get out. Some stops however, seem unavoidable.
If you walk along the verge of any A-road in the UK, you'll find quite a lot of little 'golden surprises' in the hedgerows. Plastic drink bottles full of piss. Now you don't have to be Einstein to work this one out (or that eejit from Who Wants to be a Millionaire), our van and lorry drivers have deadlines to meet, and widgets and shite furniture to deliver, so like us, stopping is not an option. An empty bottle in the cab, you get caught short, you fill it up, you chuck it out the window. Which is great news for our trucker and his deadlines, but not such good news for the sociology student hitching his way up the A1 towards Leicester University. A 70 mile an hour bottle of exploding urine on the back of your head will really take the sunshine out of his day, and probably the eyeballs out of his sockets. Maybe we can learn a thing or two here.
Hammering down the N138, you're busting for a leak. No problem! Get out the 2 litre drinks bottle, put your knob in it, instant relief and no down time. Mind you, this is Le Mans weekend, you could have been sitting on the vinyl seats in your 70's classic now, for three or four hours, and the Chalfonts are sure to be giving you a bit of jip. So while there's a bit of action going on down south, nows the time to rub a handful of cream on the little mothers, or, if your bumhole is in tip-top shape, maybe just check for a few winnets. Picture the scene: the classic motor is weaving all over the road, engine screaming, the chassis is on the limit and your attempting to snatch a gear, any gear with an oily left hand. Your knob's in a bottle. Now is not the time for the Gendarmes. Also, and we're all men of the world here, your pride and joy might like it in there, after all, it's a tight neck and slightly moist. And if it likes it, you know what happens next! Before you can say Englebert Humperdink we have an escalating constriction problem (there is a medical term for this, but a family forum like this is not the place to quote it). In a matter of minutes your policemans helmet is looking like a Golden Delicious in jam jar. Except it's neither golden nor delicious. It would seem a stop is now inevitable, pulling in to a service area, exiting the car in a frog marching position, one 'canary hand' white and dripping with winnets or sharks liver oil, Germaloid tube behind one ear, shorts round your ankles and your tadger wedged in a bottle of Tizer.
On second thoughts I might stop for a while in Bernay.
H
