Greenwich Blade
Hitch-Hike General
I am no longer The World's Greatest Hitchhiker but merely An Okay One Between Terminal 5 and Toddington. Here's what I wrote on Facebook about my failed attempt to attend today's game:
Worst day of hitchhiking in nine years.
What makes it seem worse is the fact that at Junction 14 of the M25 the VERY FIRST VEHICLE stopped and took me to Toddington Services on the M1.
The only problem I have ever had here before was when those Millwall fans hit me on the nose (big target I know) with a well-aimed full can of Foster's.
I'm usually gone from there in half-an-hour tops, but today I was there for a full-on miserable FOUR HOURS. Nearly SIX if you include the stroll over to the southbound side where I sat down and listened to the climax of the cricket (and that wound me up too) before striking out for home.
By the time the bloke in the red van stopped and asked me twenty questions, I was a ticking time-bomb. Boom. I very rarely give the rods when hitchhiking, but this one was a special case.
The next car to stop saw me opening the door and leaping in before he could even think about driving off. He was going my way around the M25 too, so I returned to where it all started, Junction 14 of the M25.
He was a nice guy, although his English wasn't brilliant. I'm not sure if he was amused or bemused, or even concerned, by my bouncing around in the front seat when Matty Done equalised for Sheffield United.
I'm home now, and I intend to have a long lie down.
And this was my rare outburst to the guy in the red van, followed by an explanation as to why I'd got narked:
"Forget it mate, drive off; I'm not here for a fucking debate. And no, I don't want to 'do some work' for you for free." Followed by the rods.
I'm probably cursed now but folks, you know I must be angry if I turn down a lift.
How did that exchange transpire?
I wasn't in the sunniest of moods as I was heading back south by this time at Toddington Services. He was in a red van with his pregnant other-half in the passenger seat nearest the door. They stopped and as the window came down she locked the door (I heard it click). I was holding a sign saying London but he still asked me where I was going.
"Anywhere in London I can get a bus."
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm trying to get home."
"Where are you going?"
"London!"
"Where have you been?"
"Nowhere. I got stuck on the other side so I'm going home."
"Where do you live?"
"London!"
"Where are you from?"
And thus followed my above outburst. He'd not asked me if I would 'do some work for us' but I knew it was coming.
Worst day of hitchhiking in nine years.
What makes it seem worse is the fact that at Junction 14 of the M25 the VERY FIRST VEHICLE stopped and took me to Toddington Services on the M1.
The only problem I have ever had here before was when those Millwall fans hit me on the nose (big target I know) with a well-aimed full can of Foster's.
I'm usually gone from there in half-an-hour tops, but today I was there for a full-on miserable FOUR HOURS. Nearly SIX if you include the stroll over to the southbound side where I sat down and listened to the climax of the cricket (and that wound me up too) before striking out for home.
By the time the bloke in the red van stopped and asked me twenty questions, I was a ticking time-bomb. Boom. I very rarely give the rods when hitchhiking, but this one was a special case.
The next car to stop saw me opening the door and leaping in before he could even think about driving off. He was going my way around the M25 too, so I returned to where it all started, Junction 14 of the M25.
He was a nice guy, although his English wasn't brilliant. I'm not sure if he was amused or bemused, or even concerned, by my bouncing around in the front seat when Matty Done equalised for Sheffield United.
I'm home now, and I intend to have a long lie down.
And this was my rare outburst to the guy in the red van, followed by an explanation as to why I'd got narked:
"Forget it mate, drive off; I'm not here for a fucking debate. And no, I don't want to 'do some work' for you for free." Followed by the rods.
I'm probably cursed now but folks, you know I must be angry if I turn down a lift.
How did that exchange transpire?
I wasn't in the sunniest of moods as I was heading back south by this time at Toddington Services. He was in a red van with his pregnant other-half in the passenger seat nearest the door. They stopped and as the window came down she locked the door (I heard it click). I was holding a sign saying London but he still asked me where I was going.
"Anywhere in London I can get a bus."
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm trying to get home."
"Where are you going?"
"London!"
"Where have you been?"
"Nowhere. I got stuck on the other side so I'm going home."
"Where do you live?"
"London!"
"Where are you from?"
And thus followed my above outburst. He'd not asked me if I would 'do some work for us' but I knew it was coming.
