How hard could it be? (Part 1)

Four 19 year olds (and an 18 year old). Two cars. 450 mile round trip. One destination - Alton Towers.

How hard could it be?

The route was simple enough - four stretches of motorway would do the direct bit. Then the A-roads to just get us around the smaller bits. The drivers had been agreed - Ross and Ben were given the responsibility of getting us all there, Jez with Ross; Kev and myself with Ben. Due to leave at 9.30, my phone rang at 9.45am - it was Ben, "Matt, we've got a slight problem. My car's engine light has just come on - what do you think we should do?". We agreed that it wasn't wise to drive with a dodgy engine. Now, with Kev not holding a license, never having ever sat in the driver's seat of a car before, because he was upstairs strumming away on his guitar - the solution was simple. I'd drive.

OK, a minor hiccup. We were on our way by 10 o'clock. Met Ross and Jez at the petrol station that no-one knew the name of, but it was at the lights at West Grinstead - had a Maccy D's brekkie then headed up on the first part of the journey. Accompanied by many great tunes from mine and Ben's "generic indie band" genre, a few from Kev's generic "one-man and a guitar" genre. Everyone's happy. Kev's strong start to the car transporter game soon ended when he was distracted by an article on 5-year old Brazilian wonderkids in FourFourTwo and I soon capitalised, all while Ben was wondering over what was up with his car...

There was something up with my car - no petrol. Paid an arm and a leg in Oxford services for petrol - 98.9/litre! F*cking disgrace. And now we have an economist for Prime Minister [well, for 3 hours at least] - perhaps Browny might pull a few strings with our mates in the Middle-East, well the ones who don't want to blow us up anyway. Petrol was in. Meanwhile, Ross' sense of direction had deserted him [for the first time this trip] earlier, having gone a number of junctions the wrong way around the M25. Tit. He corrected it, and duly passed us when we were grabbing fuel, and some toilet paper - sorry, I mean the Sun newspaper.

Back on our way on the motorway, making our way up the M42, then onto the M6 toll road, which was nice and open, allowing pedal to the metal and cruising past all, even in my little 1.3 Fiesta - wahay! For some reason unknown to man - we played a game called Hot Car at this point for an hour or so, where you turn the heating up in the car at full blast and just sweat your nuts off. Up until Monday, I didn't know my car doubled up as a sauna, now I do. Well, barring the nakedness bit anyway, that's probably best left optional and to attractive ladies. Some more one-man and his guitar music later, it was time for a break at the services. No-one really fancied getting ripped off by about £7 for a burger and chips from Wimpy, so we all emptied our bladders and then pockets in the shop (we didn't empty our bladders in the shop by the way...) and all came away with stuff for the relatively short trip from there on in to Alton Towers. Ross even came away with a dance CD - they sell everything, even solar powered lights for your drive - though I guess you could whack them on your car too.

Hot Car had made us all rather dripping with sweat and just looking rather minging, so we decided to deoooodorise (sounds boring this bit....but read on) so we went to the boot of me motor. When suitably refreshed, the boot was shut.

Bollocks. Where are the car keys?

We're stuck in the middle of the M6 Toll, in the middle of nowhere and I can't get into my bloody car because I locked my keys in the boot. Cue a variety of ingenius ways to get into the boot...

In no particular order:
* Using Nuts magazine to wedge the window open, then open the door.
* Using a 20p to wedge the window open, then open the door.
* Trying to pull the windows down with our hands.
* Going underneath the car and under the boot, trying to find a hole to get into it.

We even contemplated breaking into the car. After all, that's what they all do up north isn't it? Jez seemed clued up on it - "use a jumper to protect your elbow". Something you're not telling us? Anyway, I then realised I had breakdown cover which meant I could get some bloke out to come and get the keys out for me. And he did. Job done - and only 45 minutes wait. These trips wouldn't be worth going on without such incidents...

On our way again, not far to Alton Towers where Ben's sat-nav directed us through Stoke. Seemed OK at the time before we hit ridiculously slow moving northern traffic. Top speed of about 5mph and this was going on for about 4 miles. "F*ck that, we're taking a shortcut." Mistake, or masterstroke? I'd have to say masterstroke, not only did I give all in the car a magically scenic tour of Stoke's housing estates in the pissing rain, we also bypassed the traffic. Well, kind of anyway....

By which time, Ross and Jez were already in Alton Towers. Hey-ho....we got there eventually. And in time to go on three of their bigger rides. Rita, which was fecking quick, 0-60mph in 2 seconds or something stupid, a bit like being in my car really. Nemesis which was quite cool and also Air in which you were suspended horizontal to the floor in like a flying position. Shame that only went about 10mph, but you can't win them all...

Offskis to the Travelodge it was then. Uneventful journey. Straight there. How boring...

I'll leave Part 1 for there - find out about our night out in Stoke and the epic journey back from Stoke (just to the Travelodge) and other bits and pieces in the next part. ETA: Monday.

Got wood?

Back of the net! No more exams. No more trigonometry, no more exchange rates, no more Mr T, no more of the disorganised, useless Batista, no more Angmering School. End of an era? Yup, but I'd probably outstayed my welcome anyway so I'll be glad to turn the page on the Angmering School chapter of my life. There have been many good times, not many bad times - it's been a blast and I think i'm getting shot of the place just before it becomes overcrowded with chavs who appear to be infecting the school at a faster rate than crap talent shows on tv. Ooooh let's choose a new Joseph for a musical and make him as camp as possible to appeal to the minorities whilst ITV1 choose to remake Grease for the 67th time, once was enough! And then there's Britain's Got Talent - magicians, jugglers, singers, breakdancers, wankers....All so we can pick someone to be the next target of the gutter press' adoration for a month before the bubble bursts and they're confined to people spotting them in the street, snapping a photo and sending it to Heat magazine in return for 50 quid. What a world we live in.

The Gasman came on Monday to look at a leak in the roof. Most boring man ever, who seemed to spend an age in the loft to come to the conclusion that we did have a leak, and that he couldn't fix it as he didn't have the parts. Always the way isn't it? I was dragged out of bed at 7.30am by Sharon to sit on the sofa and wait for this geezer arrive between 8 and 1, half-expecting that he wouldn't turn up until 12.55, I fell asleep in front of Jeremy Kyle trying to solve some 13 year olds pregnancy and how it was possible that it was in fact fathered by her mum's new boyfriend. It's like an interactive version of some glossy trash woman magazine. Excellent. The gasman turned up at about 10ish in the end and the rest, they say, is history.

So the leak in the roof's being fixed tomorrow. Again, between the ambiguous timeslot of 8am and 1pm so it'll be an early start for me tomorrow. However, for the bloke to fit a new water tank (or something) he needed a bit of wood - endless supply of jokes there - so I went to Focus today (with Jez, who still needs a room btw) to get some. There's so many different bloody kinds of wood. MDF, fibreboard, hardboard, softwood, hardwood - why is it all so complicated? I settled on some MDF in the end, and paid through the nose for it - £6 for a small piece, takes the fecking piss. Then came the fun of cutting it at home. I ain't the most practical of fellas - sawing this bit of wood - balanced between a table and some procariously balanced paintpots took me over 20 minutes. Mr Lillywhite would have gone nuts if he was here, thankfully not though - I'd have had to stuck an air freshener or 12 in his beard to alleviate the smell.

Fantastic 4 is quite possibly the worst film I've ever seen in my life. An absolute crock of shite.

90 minutes of Jessica Alba couldn't be bad, surely? Oh it was, she's the fecking invisible woman for crying out loud - why make her invisible?! The director was obviously a feminist. Elsewhere, the huge planet eating thing from space that no-one knew why it existed that threatened the earth and sent the silver man who was powered by a surfboard indicated that Hollywood's scraping the bottom of the barrel for decent scripts. What's next? Surfing pengiuns? Oh wait.

Elsewhere....

Sheffield United are still whinging that they got relegated because they were too shit to stay up.

Air Traffic gig on Thursday in Brighton. Should be good.

Friends is the biggest load of wank ever, after Fantastic 4 and Fanta fruit twist.

My dentist appointment's been cancelled tomorrow so I can wait for the gas-man.

And finally, I've run out of deoderant so need to go and buy some. Any recommendations? I fancy something new and manly.

Cheery bye.

WANTED: A room for Jeremy

Six exams of seven gone, now only one more left to go (now there's a twist on the opening lyrics from a song there...answers on a postcard) - this time of year always creeps up on you, and when it comes - it's gone in the blink of an eye and you wonder where it all went. It's been like that here in my 'bubble'. The hours in the day you allocate to revision are all totally innocently delegated, and then filled up with watching some funny, pointless crap on YouTube. You're then playing catch-up, revising for hours on end, missing Neighbours and confusing yourself with 3 times the amount of equations and theories. But hey, I'm 19 years old - I'm not a perfectly tuned machine who can do everything perfectly. I know the effort I've put in this year has been far more than the last two put together, and I hope I reap the rewards in the way of grades - but we'll see - still got a couple of months until "Judgment Day".

However, waiting for me - assuming I get the grades - my little shoebox room in Gloucester is waiting for me. All confirmed, the digs are sorted - Oxstalls, Birdlip Room 308 - moving in on Sunday 16th September - magic! Three months to go. Mustn't get complacent though.

And if anyone's reading from Gloucestershire Uni - give my good mate Jez a room in halls in Cheltenham somewhere. He's housetrained, he accidentally bleached his hair once or twice and he loves to dance. He'll sleep anywhere, an industrial sized dustbin, a drawer - anywhere will do. He'll even sleep with the horses at the racecourse.....if I've not sold him - I don't know what will.

Elsewhere, barring the boredom of exams and all that shiznit - Lucy's closing in on the magical 6 driving lesson mark where by which Jimbo says he'll insure her on MY car. For crying out loud, this whole sex-equality bollocks is getting ridiculous. The premium will shoot up, and she's not even going to pay her share. And she'll blatently crash it too, though as I've shown in the past, perhaps my car is leading a charmed life.

Footy fixtures came out today - Palace kick off away to Southampton which is a nice little journey down the coast for me. Summer, sun and watching Palace on the south coast - can't ask for much more than that. August 11th, it's already marked on my calendar. Elsewhere, the fixture computer's been bastardising as usual, away to Cov on Boxing Day ffs - how the hell can I abuse Dowie now?! Speaking of whom, he lost his court case against CPFC, poor bloke....NOT! That'll teach him to cross the orange, bleached one - feel the wrath of his citrus peroxideness.

Moosical wise. Got Air Traffic lined up next Thursday at the Komedia in Brighton and nearly bought some tickets for the Pigeon Detectives in Bristol for November, then I remembered I didn't know the address of my uni accommodation in Gloucester for the tix to be sent to. D'oh. As for the downloading - the Twang are worth a download, as are the aforementioned Pigeon Detectives....even Maroon 5's new album deserves an honourary mention. I was determined to hate it, but can't - it's really rather good. Got my hand on some early Arctic Monkeys EPs too, which are well worth a listen to if you can get your mitts on them, they don't actually have a name but they're on the 'net. I can't remember where though - sorry!

Jimbo and Sharon were in the New Forest on Sunday and decided to bring me back some, what Jim called, "proper cider". I looked forward to tasting it. It was pissing horrible! Paint stripper of the cheapest variety and something I wouldn't even clean my wounds with. Absolutely wrank. I'm not letting Jim buy me alcohol like that again, unless it's in a pub of course and he offers.

Ocean's 13 is a decent film, if a bit too long - saw it on one of our now regular again cinema trips. Some unsurprisingly wooden acting from Matt Damon who can't appear to ever get excited in any form, which must be a real turn off for women. George Clooney is someone I'd like as my dad though - effortlessly coooooool. Even cooler than Jim...sorry Jimbo!

Top blogging...

Mugging Sharon off, Stateside

That's it.

I'm in there. The thick of it. 2 weeks of unrivalled hell. 2 weeks of breathing equations, phrases, terms and definitions all for the sake of points to get into university. Today was the first exam. Statistics. It appeared to go all well up until the last page when the wheels may or may not have come off my gravy train. 1 down, 6 exams to go ....

Barring revision, revision, revision - a little bit's been and gone in the last week in my little bubble. Jimbo and Sharon have been to New York and come back again, minus a comedy Yank accent which was disappointing, but they came back with all sorts of random crap. Try convincing me that $80 on two tealight holders was "a good investment", especially when they look like cheap ice cream sundae glasses - whoever mugged Sharon off in Tiffany's is bloody good at their job. Thank feck for the good exchange rate.

They appeared to have a good time though and haven't even argued since being back - result! Though Jimbo's had a sly dig or two like the sly dog that he is, but he's back to work tomorrow so presumably his self-esteem will be at an all-time low tomorrow evening, and even lower after the Estonia/England match.

Speaking of Eng-er-land - the trip to Wembley to watch England vs. Brazil avec Kez was absolutely excellent. Having already been to the rebuilt Wembley for the U21 match there back in March, it was a whole new experience seeing it jam-packed with England fans all eager to see the national side back at their proper 'home'. It's a shame that Steve-o Mac was in charge, as he's a clueless, monotonous fuckwit but even he couldn't dampen the spirits of 89,000 England fans. David Bekkum's return to the international fold just added to the occasion and when he got a free kick 25 yards out in the first half, it seemed set-up for him to score the first ever England goal at the new Wembley Stadium. Alas, he fizzed it inches wide with the goalkeeper beaten. He'd just have to settle for providing John Terry with the best of whipped crosses for him to thump his header home and send the England fans into a frenzy. When England looked to be sending the Samba boys crying back to the Copacabana, incredibly shite marking at the back allowed the 3 foot Diego to trickle a header in, and all in the 92nd minute.

It was a minor kick in the teeth. Then for the fun of getting back home, having parked in Croydon - we'd left ourselves with a decent chance of getting home at a respectable time. And we did, at 1.30am - the transport out of Wembley was quite efficient really, though involved the inevitable queues. And I ran a red light on the way home, I felt so alive....

Elsewhere....plans for the summer are picking up at a reasonable pace. Alton Towers is sorted for the end of the month. Couple of gigs (Air Traffic and Athlete) lined up with probably another couple later in the summer. I'll be off to Wimbledon on the first Thursday with Loocy. Errrm, the holiday's all paid for at the end of August and I'll be coaching footy at the end of July for a week. Oh yeah, I'll be in glorious Haskins for much of my spare time otherwise so come and say hello, and I'll let you nick a hanging basket.

The new London 2012 logo is a piece of crap. It signifies nothing but 4 blobs in the rough shape of a bloke having a shit into a toilet, or another man recieving a blow-job. Last time I checked, these two things weren't Olympic events but I guess you never know - Britain might actually win something for once. Though I bet the Americans would win the shitting, they're full of it.

Paris Hilton's offskis to jail. Well, I say jail, it's a glorified hotel which she can't leave for a few weeks. It'd be harsh to say I hope she dies whilst in there, but I do despise her - she's a talentless no-mark who's only famous because she's got a bit of money from her dad's hotel chain. Celebrity my arse, and she's not even attractive - her face is deformed and mangled - anyone who has urges towards her needs their head sorting out. She is a minger.

That'll do, revision to do, people to see.

Toodles.