Last Updated on February 18, 2023
We were off to see Pelican in London and for some reason after Buzz picked me up we opted for a winding route out of town through a few housing estates. These estates (by Ipswich standards) are posh ones, white goods and cars on bricks are kept down to an absolute minimum. Down in the trough of a hill in the middle of a strange green oasis in the middle of this 70s beige finger up to architecture there is a small playing field, used largely as a massive dog latrine and drinking area for local yoofs. As you are passing the middle of this field of inequity and at the absolute base of the hill there is a large concrete loop that is attached to the road at either end of it’s curve. This man made ox-bow lake is used by buses for turning round. I’m no fan of our local transport and all thier habits (I only collect the numbers okay) but I know this is where buses turn round as there is a big sign that says ‘no cars, bus turning space’.
As we three merry gig goers desended this hill the car in front in a shocking (but geographically fitting) fit of anarchy turned into the aforementioned bus only area. Our driver/ navigator did what anybody in his position would do and halted our progress using the traditional method of gentle braking resulting in our carriage rolling to a gentle and dignified halt.
As we continued what was probably a very high-brow conversation I heard Buzz (Barthomelew Stronghold) abruptly change the flow of conversation with a, “WHAT THE FUCK”. It would appear the driver behind was not such a fan of the aforementioned traditional driving practice of ceasing forward movement when the carriage in front has halted.
After the most incredible force any of us have ever felt in our entire lives Buzz and Andy in the front seats turned to ask if I was alright. In situations like this you can always count on somebody to utter something very obvious that will come to define the few very strange minutes that you are sharing in this very strangly intimate way. This time it was my turn, realising the gravity of this responsiblity I paused for a moment to give myself a chance to come up with something truely defining, “I need to get out of the car”.
You know that feeling when you ‘crick’ your neck? On impact that’s what I got, but multiplied by about 1000%. It felt like the muscles in my neck and back had reached up and strangled my brain. I’ve got some wicked whiplash but I’m pretty much okay, I have to go for some x-rays later to day to check nowt is broken.
I feel sorry for Buzz, he bought this car about a month ago for £1000 and a week or so later he had to spend £750 on a new gear box, and now this!