Upside down cars, photographic evidence and tumble dryer girlfriends

As a teenager I worked within walking distance of home (yes the one where my boss went fruit loopy with a crossbow, see previous post) and because of this I didn’t learn to drive until it was absolutely necessary.

My friends however were eager to get out of our shitty little town so one by one they all passed their tests and bought shitty little cars.  For some strange reason I seemed to be the talisman of bad luck and in total was an eager passenger in 4 separate car crashes...one of which was admittedly my fault.

The cars also became “stoner mobiles” which we could park in secluded places around the local countryside, shut all the windows and get rather glassy eyed.

A friend, let’s call him Hamish just for fun, bought every mans dream car, a rusty yellow Mini.  The first altercation involved said rusty mini lying awkwardly in a ditch because once stoned I presumed it would be funny to hold my hands over his eyes as we pulled out of a junction on a country lane...it wasn’t that funny.  

We walked for 2 miles to the closest village to knock on a strangers house in order to borrow the phone (NO...we didn’t have mobiles at the time!)

All the way he wouldn’t speak to me.....2 miles is a long fucking way when your stoned and have no one to talk to!

The same car was eventually dragged from the grassy ditch, repaired and almost immediately involved in a second calamity.  Hacking out of the countryside towards civilisation we approached a busy roundabout at 60mph only to realise the brakes had failed and Hamish had no choice but to drive up over the curb and into a hedge which was unsuspectingly perched on the edge of a 6 foot ditch.

Again, the brave little Mini was repaired and again on a slim country road, at a speed that would feel unsafe even in the largest of cars, a stone hit the front windscreen turning it instantly white.  Hamish slammed on the brakes and we shimmied to a halt with no further injury to us or the Mini.

We had to smash the windscreen out with a tyre lever and drive 15 miles home with no windscreen, the autumn breeze trying its hardest to tear the skin from our boyish faces.  This wasn’t the third crash, you can read about that here but it’s not all that funny.

The most impressive crash I participated in was that of another friend called Johnny, he had rich parents and a Vauxhall Nova sporting excessive body work modifications and an exhaust almost large enough to camp in.  Most of the time he drove like a complete dick but on the day of the accident black ice was to blame.

We rumbled around a long sweeping bend at only 10mph over the 30mph limit, met some black ice and started to slide towards an oncoming Ford Sierra.  As a new driver Johnnys limited skill set meant his first reaction was to steer away from danger with hands as heavy as a silverback.  The Suped up Silver Nova (we had given it the name after Oasis recorded “Champagne Supernova”) began to fishtail across the road, narrowly missing the oncoming Sierra and ending up skating sideways into the mouth of an adjoining road.

We hit the curb of the adjoining road sideways, the car slammed, launched and then gracefully spiralled.....once, twice, three times (a lady) before sitting down on its crumpled roof and continuing to skim a further 50 foot down the road.  The windscreen had smashed and sprayed glass into the car, the roof careering along the tarmac provided a delightful display of sparks to join the pebbles of glass bouncing from our grimacing faces.

Coming to a stop, the silence was surreal, Johnnys face and knuckles were white (and a little grazed).

He gripped the steering wheel with the ferocity of a bear clutching a salmon and without moving he said “is anyone dead?”

Grrrrrrrr

I wasn’t and my girlfriend at the time screamed to signify that she too was still alive.

I undid my seatbelt and fell onto the crinkled roof skin, my door was crushed, the window opening half its original size, and the door would not open.  

I undid Johnnys seatbelt, he fell out of his upturned chair, broke his nose on the steering wheel and called me a cunt.  This was to be the only real injury any of us carried away from the wreckage.

My girlfriend, who was not wearing a seat belt in the back, had been treated to a bit of tumble dryer action.  When we finally kicked the driver side door open she pushed between us, clambered out of the car and sprinted immediately away...I think it was shock, I didn’t see her again that day and our flourishing relationship seemed to dwindle quickly afterwards.

Johnny and I staggered from the wreckage, checking that our limbs were all attached properly and looked at the scene we had created....hang on....what’s that?

With the sound of sirens in the distance we both simultaneously realised what looked odd, not the shards of metal and glass sprinkled behind the wreckage but the photo’s scattered up the road, about 100 of them dancing friskily in the wind.

When the car had rolled, the glove box had sprung open and a packet of photos had bounced around the car emptying its contents through the several broken windows.

I picked up the first picture which fluttered around at my feet and found an image of myself with a cheeky grin...... and a hash pipe.....the photos contained images of me and my small group of friends getting stoned via various intricate and modestly over engineered contraptions.

Johnny and I sprinted (I’m sure it was more hobbled) up the road collecting the photos as the sirens got closer, I imagine it was very Benny Hill.

We were still collecting the last few as the ambulance and police cars arrived....”yes officer the conditions are terrible, no officer we are not hurt” subconsciously thinking “please for whatever reason do not ask to look in my pockets”.

There will be one other significant vehicle based fun-time featured in the future but for now dull lovers, tutty bye.