Everyone got back from Bar Tropic at 3am, and although Charles Manson and his boys had shown an interest, their hunger for lilywhite ass was not yet at its peak and the boys survived. Big Jock had turned in early because he was still on community service.
Big Jock was first up and had yet another Hollywood shower, this time lasting 20 minutes. When he returned he noticed that Jan P had risen from his sarcophagus. The story behind this was that Jan P had been related to the Liverpudlian pharaoh “Ta fuckin Ra” because he looked like a mummy when he sleeps. He shits you right up he does!
Big Jock took a trip to the Bakers for some pastries because this would ensure that everyone would have a nice coffee break during our long journey to France. He would have got fresh rolls but Mouldy had already arranged this with Donald and they were promptly delivered at 8am. You have to be up very early to get one over on a merchant sailor!
Benger cooked a stunning breakfast of egg and ham rolls and the emanating smells did the trick and got everyone else up. The magnificent 7 broke camp, squared up with Donald, found Mouldy’s lost wallet and headed for France after lots more currency exchanging and money laundering.
Our first stop was to buy diesel and a license to travel on the Swiss roads. We’d apparently been driving illegally all this time. Cost us £40 though, so it looked like the Swiss authorities had the last laugh. General consensus – Switzerland is fuckin expensive! Bomber was banned from the airwaves because he was frankly taking the piss, so much so that the French government wanted us to buy a license because Bomber had set up an illegal radio station! Big Jock removed the radio and Bomber was tied up, gagged and chucked in the murtahurm toilet – noisy annoying bastard.
Our next stop was prior to the French border and we had the chance to spend the last of our Swiss Francs. This turned into a synchronized dumping session and a hastily prepared lunch and posh coffee stop which included the aforementioned pastries. Bomber had been released so he could take part in this, as he was turning into Diabetic Dave and we know how much trouble he is!
Thunderbird 2 made a quick pit stop to change drivers, where Tim “Ayrton Senna” Benger took over the reigns of Thunderbird 2 from Mouldy and then we made full speed for France. After an uneventful trip across the French border where the Gendarmes didn’t give a fat rat’s arse about who they let into France because Bomber was still with us, Benger decided to challenge a French murtahurm driver to a jousting competition on a narrow French river bridge. Unfortunately Thunderbird 2 faired the worst in this duel and lost her Port wing mirror. Mouldy did a quick A Team repair and Bomber put the kettle on. Once coffee and tea had been consumed, the murtahurms continued on their journey with various insults being exchanged over the airwaves between Benger and Bomber. Bomber is now claiming that Thunderbird 2 has been sold, and is now in the hands of the council.
The French roads are a fuckin nightmare with more bumps and lumps than a grab a granny night in Joanna’s nightclub. Jan P insists on driving the Spit Roast Special like a fuckin Ferrari and Bomber is not helping Big Jock’s heart problem by encouraging the can’t! I’ll have yer eyes oot ya fuckers, I tells ye a will!
Thankfully we reached the French tolls roads, which were much flatter, and Jan “Nicky fuckin Lauder” P could drive as fast as he wanted. Big Jock stuck on his earphones and settled down to some Metallica played extremely loud in order to blot out the thoughts of ploughing through the central reservation and ploughing up a French farmers field free of charge. Now that just wouldn’t be right would it?
About 30 minutes into Metallica Big Jock needed a drink to enjoy the full force of the heavy metal thunder and spotted a nice bottle of Italian Valpollicella. He asked Bomber if Spit Roast Special possessed a corkscrew to which Bomber replied “somewhere.” After a frantic search lasting 8 years and 3 months, which ended with the discovery of a pizza cutter, Big Jock gave up and decided to go teetotal. Bomber did offer to push Big Jock’s cork in, to which Big Jock replied “not while I have my strength you big gay bastard” and he reiterated that he wasn’t having any of that heemersexer shenanigans on this tour, no matter how gay the local population were!
We eventually reached an Aires (French lay by) which had a burger bar, pizza bar and booze bar. Unbeknown to Bomber and Jan P, Big Jock had swallowed all the red wine within the Spit Roast Special and had turned into a drunken version of Shrek! He came through between the pilot (Bomber) and co-pilot (Jan P) demanding that Joe Jackson “it’s different for girls” be put on the juke box as a reminder to Bomber that the fairer sex are always difficult to understand. Big Jock was then subject to the first of many shellackings from Bomber about it being alright for him because he had the lovely Janina and that she would be told all about his lazy pampered ways and the destruction he had caused in his mobile council squat!
The next part of the blog will not be written from Big Jock’s memory because he doesn’t remember a thing, but will be a written account from the rest of the magnificent 7 of what happened between Big Jock consuming his last bottle of red wine and waking up this morning in the Spit Roast Special.
Bomber – All the lads had gone over to the burger and kebab house for nosebag but Big Jock decided that he wanted pizza and went to the other bar. Half way through my nosebag Big Jock came back and started raving about some bird being at the bar in her pyjamas. This got the attention of the rest of the crew who proceeded full speed to the pizza bar, only to see the aforementioned lovely departing into the distance. Big Jock was then offered a lovely pizza but only managed to eat one slice and gave the rest to us. Perhaps this was payment for what was to come.
James – I noticed that Big Jock had not come back from the shitter and went to investigate. My initial thoughts were confirmed and he was asleep on the throne. Much banging of door ensued and I eventually woke him up and escorted him back to the table. Whilst at the table Big Jock decided to go to sleep and if I hadn’t been so quick thinking he would have ploughed backwards and smashed his head into the concrete – mad bastard!
George – What a struggle it was to get the big fellow into bed. It took 4 of us to manage the task successfully and in the process, Bomber’s Chinese calendar received some battle damage. Quick thinking and some psychological warfare from Benger (“your missus wants to speak with you but only when your in bed”) eventually got Big Jock to sleep. The range of movement on his stomach was incredible, from Lynford Christie to Lynford Gorge! Christ can that fellow snore!
Mouldy – I had a quiet night in until Big Jock got back. He came into Thunderbird 2 and was promptly told there was no party here! I then heard him tell the rest of them that Mouldy’s place was open for refreshments, so I leaned out my window and shouted, “no it’s fuckin not!”
Benger – Inverted snoring springs to mind. I have never known anyone to snore breathing out before!
Jan P – The big man nearly broke his port ribs when he got back to the Spit Roast Special. He also blocked the gangway so none of us could get in for a drink. Thankfully Benger solved this with the threat of Big Jock’s missus.
So as you can see it was an eventful night for Big Jock; there in body, but certainly not in mind.
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