Kim Wrong Un
Active Member
One from the swinemagazine archive.
The Adventures of a Nobody
The call came in on the Motorola flip thing - one of them first models that weighed a ton. 'Get your self a transit van and get yourself down to the smoke'. So six hours later I was in the smoke hooking up with Gerry 'Dog Cum' - He got his nick name from obviously being on the receiving end of some mutts love juice, the mutt being a mates staff which was asleep on the couch having a wet dream when Gerry got in it's firing line. He had a jet ski that needed delivering to Ibiza - without going into specifics some sweaty had a debt with the lads and had his jet ski confiscated and with the lads needing a play thing for their summer chilling out on Sellinas beach, I cop for a free holiday.
With my pockets bulging with jock twenties (exies given to me by Dog Cum) I was off in the van with only a small Sony tape machine on the front seat and three tapes for company, oh and of course a jet ski in the back. The three tapes were:
1) The Flying Teapot - Gong. For those scary night-time speeding in the fast lane motorway drives. There is nothing better for getting the adrenaline pumping than trying to dodge your way through the wagons and their spray, whilst descending down over the Massif Central into Montpelier at 120kmph in the pitch black in the middle of a relentless thunder storm, in a van with balding tyres and grinding brakes, with the wipers on full whack and visibility still down to zero thanks to the steamed up windscreen, with "I am, you are, we are crazy" pumping on the stereo. I think Fergie refers to it as squeaky bum time.
2) Rubber Soul - side A, Revolver - side B Beatles tape. For those picking up some female hitchhiker type drives. They're a great ice-breaker the Beatles, everyone loves them especially foreigners. So you can while away the first hour or so after picking the victim...errr...I mean passenger up, by chatting the usual fab four fables "me mother went to school with Paul McCartney and me dad fixed Ringo's Ford Zephyr once... honest to god la" before you get on to more important issues like "If you let me in your knickers I'll promise to take you all the way to Marrakech" before they do a runner at the next toilet stop .
3) And some Italiano piano house mix conundrum kindly donated by Dog Cum, for those cruising around built up areas, wolf whistling the skirt with the windows down and the system up, for full on white van man mode type drives.
With my cranium a little worse for wear thanks to the Tequila slammers me and Dog Cum twatted the previous night In Break for the Border on Argyll Street and the jazz funk rollie I had for breakfast before departing, I got lost. Basically I had the mother of all whities and ended up going the wrong way on the M25 and before I knew it, It seemed easier to go to Harwich and catch the ferry to Holland instead of driving to Dover and catching the ferry to France (it was one hell of a whitie I tell thee). It was no hard ship really It just added a few extra milage to the jaunt and the ferry ride taking all night instead of just an hour and a half. With bars, cabarets and casinos to entertain me on board I thought I had made the right decision. On being woken up by the boats address system at 7 o'clock the next morning telling me to disembark, I knew I had made the wrong decision. My head felt as though all its brain juice had been vaporised by the presence of a killer axe in the head migraine, as it screamed 'GET ME SOME H2O YOU BASTARD'. My last memory of the night was crawling to my cabin on my hands and knees after downing shots of gin and vodka with a long haired biker from Birmingham, who I annoyingly kept calling Boon even though he kept reminding me his name was Ray and his fat arsed leather clad misses called Tina .(I was deffo on for a 3some until I collapsed off the bar stool)