neo2810
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I'm selling my car, and thought I'd go and grab a few shots after work this evening to help advertise it.
Well why don't we take it to a nice picturesque field instead of some scabby potholed road, I thought. What I great idea, I thought immediately after.
So off I scooted, camera bag in tow, and drove to a little field I knew had a nice hill behind it that would give me the shot I wanted.....
.....and that's where things begin to fall apart.
What I didn't notice, was that the little puddles I had to drive through to get to the spot I wanted weren't puddles at all. Oh no, they were more like camouflage for the peat bog they were hiding, and the same peat bog I dumped my unsuspecting car slap bang into. The satisfying plop heard after I felt my front wheels gave way would have made my day had I been standing nearby watching someone else run his car into a bog. Sadly, it was my evening ruined.
Now I was stuck, properly stuck, in a strange field, probably trespassing, definitely looking like a pervert who hadn't quite made it to his usual spot, and not quite knowing whether to get out and ruin another work suit, or sit like a twit until help turned up to laugh at me.
Eventually pride gave in to sense and I squelched my shiny black shoes into 3 inch mud (actually that was quite satisfying somehow) and picked out 2 big rocks from beneath the hedge. I wedged them underneath my 2 front tyres and jumped back into the driver seat. I'm not quite sure what I expected to happen but it didn't. I was still stuck, but now with 2 obsticles further preventing my getting out of the holes.
I resigned myself to the fact that I would need help, so ignoring that I had a portable communication system in my pocket, I ambled down the road as inconspicuously as I could (well, as much as a man on a country lane, in a suit splattered in mud can) to a guest house I had spotted 100 yards back. The lack of 4x4's in the drive gave me little hope that my saviour was within and that was confirmed when a little old lady answered the door. She did confirm the field belonged to a church society around the corner so at least I was contending with and angry priest rather than a burly farmer if discovered and I reckoned I could take on a priest so things were looking up. The lady made some wonderful suggestions about getting someone from the garage around the corner, or the steel yard to help, but then realised it was 5.25 and they apparently all knocked off. She did then offer me her phone, which woke me up to the fact that I had everything I needed at my fingertips.
I ambled back to my car, used iPhone maps to locate my GPS position, used Safari to find the RAC's number (bank account gives me free cover conveniently), and rang them in the hope they wouldn't laugh at me as well. To my delight, the girl confirmed they do help ****wit's who drive their sportscars into muddy fields and raised a case. Literally 10 minutes later the big chap in his orange van was behind me giggling at my predicament while I tried to splutter out an explanation for the situation which didn't involve the words "laptop porn" or "dogging".
I got out, washed my car and myself with a Tesco's jetwash (I'm pretty sure the skin will grow back) and finally drove home to more giggling from the wife.
Morale of the story?
Don't wear an expensive suit when driving a Celica into a field after rainfall!
Well why don't we take it to a nice picturesque field instead of some scabby potholed road, I thought. What I great idea, I thought immediately after.
So off I scooted, camera bag in tow, and drove to a little field I knew had a nice hill behind it that would give me the shot I wanted.....
.....and that's where things begin to fall apart.
What I didn't notice, was that the little puddles I had to drive through to get to the spot I wanted weren't puddles at all. Oh no, they were more like camouflage for the peat bog they were hiding, and the same peat bog I dumped my unsuspecting car slap bang into. The satisfying plop heard after I felt my front wheels gave way would have made my day had I been standing nearby watching someone else run his car into a bog. Sadly, it was my evening ruined.
Now I was stuck, properly stuck, in a strange field, probably trespassing, definitely looking like a pervert who hadn't quite made it to his usual spot, and not quite knowing whether to get out and ruin another work suit, or sit like a twit until help turned up to laugh at me.
Eventually pride gave in to sense and I squelched my shiny black shoes into 3 inch mud (actually that was quite satisfying somehow) and picked out 2 big rocks from beneath the hedge. I wedged them underneath my 2 front tyres and jumped back into the driver seat. I'm not quite sure what I expected to happen but it didn't. I was still stuck, but now with 2 obsticles further preventing my getting out of the holes.
I resigned myself to the fact that I would need help, so ignoring that I had a portable communication system in my pocket, I ambled down the road as inconspicuously as I could (well, as much as a man on a country lane, in a suit splattered in mud can) to a guest house I had spotted 100 yards back. The lack of 4x4's in the drive gave me little hope that my saviour was within and that was confirmed when a little old lady answered the door. She did confirm the field belonged to a church society around the corner so at least I was contending with and angry priest rather than a burly farmer if discovered and I reckoned I could take on a priest so things were looking up. The lady made some wonderful suggestions about getting someone from the garage around the corner, or the steel yard to help, but then realised it was 5.25 and they apparently all knocked off. She did then offer me her phone, which woke me up to the fact that I had everything I needed at my fingertips.
I ambled back to my car, used iPhone maps to locate my GPS position, used Safari to find the RAC's number (bank account gives me free cover conveniently), and rang them in the hope they wouldn't laugh at me as well. To my delight, the girl confirmed they do help ****wit's who drive their sportscars into muddy fields and raised a case. Literally 10 minutes later the big chap in his orange van was behind me giggling at my predicament while I tried to splutter out an explanation for the situation which didn't involve the words "laptop porn" or "dogging".
I got out, washed my car and myself with a Tesco's jetwash (I'm pretty sure the skin will grow back) and finally drove home to more giggling from the wife.
Morale of the story?
Don't wear an expensive suit when driving a Celica into a field after rainfall!
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