This is the story that I wrote whilst Hannah was sad about her jobs and all I could think to do was write a story in a text document entitled, "The best story ever". I think you'll agree that this is far better than you can ever imagine. I'd like to credit Mr. T Morris & Mr. J Stokes for alot of the joke structure in this story.
Amazing story
Once upon a time, there was a knight in shining armour. Not a night, like the opposite of day. Don't be fooled, I mean night, with a k'. Not K-night, coz the K is silent. I know, silly. ANyway, so this knight was called Billy-Joel. He had been named after the popular singer. His family lived in Ohio, USA and he was raised as a cowboy on his dad's ranch.
He was an expert at lasooing cattle and his dad was very proud. But Billy-Joel had dreams far surpassing his dad's ones.
At night when it was quiet and all that could be heard was the sounds of owls and wild rabid dogs chasing
squirrels, Billy-Joelly-Pie would lie awake and dream of teaching children in the mornings adn then childminding for children in the afternoons. It wasn't so much the children that he dreamt about (in a good way), it was the un-equatible challenge that this dream posed.
He would have to say goodbye to the cows with their simple minds and big bulging udder0-bits, and he'd have to say goodbye to being able to control them with a flick of his lasoooo. He dreamt about chaos and confusion and stress. Because Billy-Joel had a life of ease and country living where he ate well and thought little.
Chapter 3
"Pardon me", said Billy Joel as he burped up an oniony flavoured pizza sort of thing. He ran outside and was never seen again by his dad. Well not quite never, but a long time.
SO Billy Joel was on his way to his dream adventure. He got a ferry over to England because he managed
to sneek into the lifeboat whilst the sailors were all having a ciggi break. And he ate spiders and worms that
happened to be crawling around inside. He was truly committed to his dream, and this was no problem.
It was September 29th when Billy Joel landed in England. He slipped passed the border guards by pretending to be a passport and he was inside the land of the free, home of the queen. You may be wondering whether Billy-Joel was describing England like America, you'd be right. But others would say you are wrong.
Billy-Joel found himself hanging underneath a lorry bound for Bristol. He had some company, a man from Yorkshire called Stephhien. Stepphhien liked to play the flute, which drove Billy-Joel absolutely happy-insane. So the journey went really fast and they both arrived in high spirits.
Billy-Joel asked Ste[[hiel;
"Do you know where I can teach children in the mornings and then childmind in the afternoons? It's been my dream since I was a little ranch boy".
Stephhils replied:
"No, but I doue knows a laass nameed of Hinnah Bates who doth something similar!"
"Oh yippee" cried Billy-Joel.
He accidentally let go of the lorry and tumbled down into the road.. Luckily he'd tumbled off the M32 motorway and landed in the garden of Rosebery Court. His small blonde cropped head bumped against the garden door.
End of Chapter 2.
Monday 25 January 2010
The near death, mountain slide story
A year ago this weekend, the 31th of January or something, I thought it would be nice to drive up to Liverpool in a lovely shiny hire-car to visit my friends Jack and Andy and partake in a bit of Welsh mountain climbing followed by some evening poker, this is the story from last January, 2009:
On Saturday we drove over to Wales (in my hire car). There were 5 of us. We planned to hike up Glyder Fach which is near Snowdon. It’s a scrambling mountain where a lot of the time you’re climbing up big boulders and rocks rather than walking on a path so it was hard work but more fun. Going up was fine and easy and as we got higher there was more and more snow lying around. We reached the peak and set off along the ridge to where the path goes down and around and back to the road (not the way we’d come up).
The path down turned out to be rather treacherous for people without any equipment, i.e. us; more specifically, me. The mountain was really steep and covered in scree, which fell the instant you touched it. Nothing was very solid, and the only way to go down was to keep low and try and not dislodge too much scree. The main path was covered in snow and you could see where people with crampons had climbed up it.
I had a ‘good’ idea of using the footholes that were left in the snow as places to grip. So I slid on my bum with my feet in these footholes. It was like decending a ladder forwards and a lot quicker than the scree method. I reached a point where the footprints ran out and started making my own holes in the snow by digging my heels in which worked fine.
As I got lower the snow became more icy and less easy to make holes in. I realized that I’d need to move across to the scree area now as my snow route had run out. However, the scree area was about 5 metres to my left with nothing in between.
In the process of testing out whether I could make any footholds to my left I lost all grip with my feet and was holding on to a ‘foothole’ above me with one hand. I considered the fact that if I lost my one handed grip then everything would be aweful, and I found out that I was right.
I lost everything and started hurtling down the slope. It was really fast, faster than I could react, and completely uncontrolled and I really thought I’d be seriously injured, particularly if I hit the rocks which were scattered everywhere.
There was nothing much I could do to slow down because I was sliding on icey snow. After I’d picked up a ridiculous amount of speed I hit a flattish rock which made me airborne and I landed in a less snowy, more gravelly/rocky area. I didn’t feel like I was slowing down much even though I was off the snow and I knew that if I carried on sliding I could get seriously hurt. So I think I just dug in with my hands and eventually somehow stopped.
I checked myself and seemed to be alright apart from my fingers which had made holes in my gloves and were dripping blood (from where I’d clawed to a stop). I shouted that I was fine to everyone above me. And a couple of walkers below me yelled to see if I was ok.
From where I’d settled it was pretty straightforward to get to the bottom, there were lots of big rocks to move between. I got down and met a walker who said I should buy a lottery ticket & he knew people who’d died falling that distance, which was nice.
Anyway, another of our guys Jon met me at the bottom and we walked to the car which was still 1.5 hrs away. I’d sprained my left ankle and massively bruised my right hip so walking was a bit painful but I knew I needed to get to the car for warmth.
Anyway, me and Jon got back to the car and the others met us there about 30mins later and I was able to drive us back with my fingers covered in Savlon.
My complete injury list is: scraped left rib cage, bruised left hip, bruised coccyx, cut right shin, sprained left ankle, bruised left instep, bruised left & right hands, and the skin missing from the tops of my index and middle fingers behind the nails.
After the shock and adrenaline of it all, I’m feeling very lucky that I didn’t hit my head or any big rocks, and didn’t break anything and was able to walk and drive home. Plus, I was wearing crap woolen gloves which allowed my fingers to break through. If I’d had proper gloves on, I’d have had less grip!
Anyhow, I feel like Bruce Willis must feel in Die Hard films now, all battered and bruised. Thank god I’m not dead. 2 people died on Snowdon yesterday. Lesson learned; don’t climb mountains without proper equipment especially in winter.
John Xx
On Saturday we drove over to Wales (in my hire car). There were 5 of us. We planned to hike up Glyder Fach which is near Snowdon. It’s a scrambling mountain where a lot of the time you’re climbing up big boulders and rocks rather than walking on a path so it was hard work but more fun. Going up was fine and easy and as we got higher there was more and more snow lying around. We reached the peak and set off along the ridge to where the path goes down and around and back to the road (not the way we’d come up).
The path down turned out to be rather treacherous for people without any equipment, i.e. us; more specifically, me. The mountain was really steep and covered in scree, which fell the instant you touched it. Nothing was very solid, and the only way to go down was to keep low and try and not dislodge too much scree. The main path was covered in snow and you could see where people with crampons had climbed up it.
I had a ‘good’ idea of using the footholes that were left in the snow as places to grip. So I slid on my bum with my feet in these footholes. It was like decending a ladder forwards and a lot quicker than the scree method. I reached a point where the footprints ran out and started making my own holes in the snow by digging my heels in which worked fine.
As I got lower the snow became more icy and less easy to make holes in. I realized that I’d need to move across to the scree area now as my snow route had run out. However, the scree area was about 5 metres to my left with nothing in between.
In the process of testing out whether I could make any footholds to my left I lost all grip with my feet and was holding on to a ‘foothole’ above me with one hand. I considered the fact that if I lost my one handed grip then everything would be aweful, and I found out that I was right.
I lost everything and started hurtling down the slope. It was really fast, faster than I could react, and completely uncontrolled and I really thought I’d be seriously injured, particularly if I hit the rocks which were scattered everywhere.
There was nothing much I could do to slow down because I was sliding on icey snow. After I’d picked up a ridiculous amount of speed I hit a flattish rock which made me airborne and I landed in a less snowy, more gravelly/rocky area. I didn’t feel like I was slowing down much even though I was off the snow and I knew that if I carried on sliding I could get seriously hurt. So I think I just dug in with my hands and eventually somehow stopped.
I checked myself and seemed to be alright apart from my fingers which had made holes in my gloves and were dripping blood (from where I’d clawed to a stop). I shouted that I was fine to everyone above me. And a couple of walkers below me yelled to see if I was ok.
From where I’d settled it was pretty straightforward to get to the bottom, there were lots of big rocks to move between. I got down and met a walker who said I should buy a lottery ticket & he knew people who’d died falling that distance, which was nice.
Anyway, another of our guys Jon met me at the bottom and we walked to the car which was still 1.5 hrs away. I’d sprained my left ankle and massively bruised my right hip so walking was a bit painful but I knew I needed to get to the car for warmth.
Anyway, me and Jon got back to the car and the others met us there about 30mins later and I was able to drive us back with my fingers covered in Savlon.
My complete injury list is: scraped left rib cage, bruised left hip, bruised coccyx, cut right shin, sprained left ankle, bruised left instep, bruised left & right hands, and the skin missing from the tops of my index and middle fingers behind the nails.
After the shock and adrenaline of it all, I’m feeling very lucky that I didn’t hit my head or any big rocks, and didn’t break anything and was able to walk and drive home. Plus, I was wearing crap woolen gloves which allowed my fingers to break through. If I’d had proper gloves on, I’d have had less grip!
Anyhow, I feel like Bruce Willis must feel in Die Hard films now, all battered and bruised. Thank god I’m not dead. 2 people died on Snowdon yesterday. Lesson learned; don’t climb mountains without proper equipment especially in winter.
John Xx
Monday 18 January 2010
The new year grapes story
This is where this blog originates from. I told this story in Austria and got absolutely roasted by Barkers, Tim & Sam. Since I've been going out with my wonderful girlfriend Hannah, I seem to have lost any ability that I might have once had to spin a story into something that can hold people's attention. I think it stems from my admiration for the way that Hannah manages to squeeze every tiny irrelevant detail from any subject she's trying to tell me about. Often I get impatient and pre-empt where I think she's going, which causes her to lose her thread, thus lengthening her stories further.
Luckily, the opposite of being a killer wordsmith is hilarious and much more fun.
So anyway, Ricard from my work who is Spanish told us about the tradition which people in Spain partake in at new year. As the clock strikes 12, you have to eat 12 grapes as quickly as possible, or as each chime strikes on the clock, something like that. Anyway, so last year (new years eve 2008) one of Ricard's friends thought it would be funny to slip an olive into the bowl of grapes! As you can imagine, an olive with a stone in the centre would be quite a contrast to the other 11 grapes that have been chomped down at pace as the clock strikes 12.
Ricard was pleased to assure me that this year (new years eve 2009), he was a good boy and no such tomfoolery took place.
I told Ricard about how my friend Tim attempted to poison me with undercooked rice at new year, but that's another story for another time.
Luckily, the opposite of being a killer wordsmith is hilarious and much more fun.
So anyway, Ricard from my work who is Spanish told us about the tradition which people in Spain partake in at new year. As the clock strikes 12, you have to eat 12 grapes as quickly as possible, or as each chime strikes on the clock, something like that. Anyway, so last year (new years eve 2008) one of Ricard's friends thought it would be funny to slip an olive into the bowl of grapes! As you can imagine, an olive with a stone in the centre would be quite a contrast to the other 11 grapes that have been chomped down at pace as the clock strikes 12.
Ricard was pleased to assure me that this year (new years eve 2009), he was a good boy and no such tomfoolery took place.
I told Ricard about how my friend Tim attempted to poison me with undercooked rice at new year, but that's another story for another time.
Wednesday 13 January 2010
The 3 point turn story
So I went to pick up Hannah from her childminding house, which was on a quiet street near the downs. It has been cold here for about 2 weeks so the small streets are very icy due to all the snow, ice and frozen-ness that's around.
I was required to be there at 7pm so I got there at approximately 7pm being the dependable man I am, after getting petrol for my car which was running low and had been sitting in the snow un-moving for 2 weeks.
So I stop by the side of the road and give Hannah a call to let her know I'm here. She only lets it ring 4 times and hangs up so I figure she's on her way, and I might aswell utilise my time by turning the car around as I'll have to do that anyway, with Hannah or without (even though Hannah does admire my 3 point turns).
Lest us forget that I had some sausages cooking in the oven at home which were part of our sausages, soup, bread, rocket and cheese dinner. Any delays to this car journey could spell tragedy for the taste of the sausages and also the lives of my unsuspecting housemates who were living next to an unattended sausage timebomb, ready to explode in a good few hours.
Anyway, so I check my mirrors, check my blind spots, check my hair and reverse to the left, all's good. I then go forwards to the right, all seems fine. Due to the camber of the road, the car (Jackson-Shirley) has nestled it's front wheels into the gutter, I have no problems with this.
I skillfully flick the gear stick into reverse, look behind me, set the accelerater, delicately release the clutch, and it's wheel-spin 'o' clock. Turns out the front wheels are nestled nicely on some icey gutter frozen-ness.
Oh no, sausages, Hannah, hair, so much to worry about, so little time!
I remember what they teach you in skills-school. If you wheel-spin in 1st gear, try 2nd gear, less torque, more traction on ice. Then I remembered that I only have 1 reverse gear, gutted! There's a wall in front of me so there's no option of going forwards.
Anyway, so I notice a nearby skip, I hop out and grab some long, thin pieces of wood and nestle them under the front wheels. I attempt to reverse as slowly as possible, using all of my extensive clutch skills, but all that results in is some burning wood smells.
Lest us forget that Hannah has now come outside and surveyed the scene, there are sausages in the oven and my housemates are completely unaware that any of this is happening!
Anyway, so eventually I got a bigger piece of wood which could go behind both wheels at once, then I reversed a little bit and managed to go back enough so that I had space in front of me to go forwards and right, avoiding the wall. The sausages were perfect and I've patented an idea for a car with 2 reverse gears, everyone's a winner, well done!
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