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Benfleet A1

Hector Of The House
Joined
Jan 19, 2007
Messages
8,107
Location
Slade Prison
It all started normally. Flat battery in South Woodham Ferrers, clutch gone on an VW Camper in Westcliff another flat battery at Southend Hospital. All run of the mill stuff. Then I got a call for an Ford Scorpio in Pitsea with a wheel bearing gone and needing recovery to Great Yarmouth. That'll do me, I thought, nice little run up to Norfolk should finish the day off nicely and it's a Britainnia job to boot. Loads of money!! Britainnia are a good motoring club. Most of the members are civil service or doctors, magistrates, decent upstanding members of society and normally good for a fiver tip. We like Britainnia.

I arrive at the given address and see the car. I give control a bell to get the customer out and go and look at the motor. Alarm bells started ringing when I peeked in the window and saw about 2 inches of fag ash on the shag pile. The ash tray had long reached it's quota and it took another glance to suss out that it was an auto. This wasn't your average nice Britainnia member.

As if by magic, Rab C Nesbit appeared, well almost. He was wearing a t-shirt that might as well been a string vest considering the holes in it, a pair of jogging bottoms that had never seen the inside of a Bendix and a pair of trainers that looked like they were on their third owner. When he opened his mouth, well, imagine a cemetery after a bulldozer had just driven through it and your pretty much there. When he spoke I couldn't understand a word as he had a thick Black Country accent made all he more difficult to fathom through the lack of teeth. Next to make an entrance was the son-in-law. He was touching 6ft 5in with a head that reminded me of the warthog from The Lion King with a tache stuck to the top lip and coke bottle glasses to finish the effect. But that was nothing compared to the beer gut. It actually rested on his knees and when he waddled (walked is too strong a word) it looked like he was playing keepy uppy with a couple of bags of cement.

And then the main attraction. She appeared from a pile of rubble that used to be a brick wall (or maybe had just walked through it, I can't be sure) and stomped towards the truck. She, and I use the word she lightly, was roughly the same size of an African bull elephant. The cheek jowls hung down like a bloodhound and paving slabs splintered under the weight, I actually squeaked EEK!! out loud. The sun was still shining yet dark clouds were gathering over my world.

Due to Health & Safety and company policy, I couldn't slaughter them all to save the human race or let Rab attempt to put the car on the back of my truck so with a deep breath and heavy heart I loaded the bag of poo onto said truck. As I was strapping down I caught some terrible smell. First of all I just assumed it was Pitsea kicking up a little more than usual but then it dawned on me, it was my soon to be passingers. I was up wind of them and could smell the BO in a open street!! This was going to be a bad trip.

It took 5 minutes to load and strap the car and 20 to load warthog and the elephant. In an confined space the smell really kicked in. I have smelled re-opened graves, been stuck behind tractors towing chicken poo (the worst) and been down wind of the Bass Brewery and Marmite Factory (which are next door to each other and a lethal combination) and nothing compared to what these three were producing, I was gagging before Neverdon Flyover.

The No Smoking rule went straight out the window as I figured second hand smoke was better than first hand BO from these criminally obese scumbags and I just hoped it would cover the stench a little. By Wickford they were on to their third fag and the sixth just before Boreham. I was starting to get desperate, the smell was making me feel lightheaded, by Witham the air freshener had wrenched itself from the interior mirror and thrown itself screaming onto the A12. Just after Colchester I could stand it no more and pulled into a BP to fill up. Diesel fumes were a blessed relief.

The trouble was that as I had been out of the cab for a couple of minutes the stench had managed to regroup and attack on all fronts until Ipswich before the countryside tried to help out with horse, cow and sheep poo in the fields that smelt as fresh as a daisy compared to my cab.

The A12 once past Marplesham is a lovely stretch of road with forest and meadow on either side for almost 30 miles. When there is a sewer like stench in the back of your truck you fail to appreciate the beauty around you. I wanted these revolting things out of my life. By now, Warthog was asleep and grunting like a boar hunting for truffles while our African Bull had settled down as well and had managed to lodge her arse up against the window which gave the impression that a side airbag had gone off. Rab was still trying to make conversation and I had still not managed to understand a single word.

Then it awoke, the Waynetta of the elephant world awoke and sat up whitch nearly caused me to swerve with the weight shift and she farted. I honestly thought my rear axel had snapped. The sheer force of it actually pushed me forward in my seat. I haven't checked the news tonight but if central Italy has suffered anymore aftershocks form that earthquake then I know where the source came from. Japan should be put on alert for a tidal wave such was the global magnitude that erupted from her neither regions. And the smell!! All I can say is if we had hit traffic at this point then I wouldn't be typing this now. I would either be dead or lying face down in a field with my face buried in a cow pat. It was that bad diet, fried food, festering in the depths of the bowls for a month sort of smell times 6. And she or her husband or father never batted an eyelid.

We finally arrived in Yarmouth at Chez Toilet, yep, you guessed it, the house resembled the car and I off loaded in record time. Sign here mate, cheers take care and roared off to de-contaminate the truck.

Remember that fiver tip I spoke of? Well they left me something alright. Half inch of fag ash, 6 fag butts, 2 burns in my rear seats, nostrals that refuse to reopen and an new air freshener that had a smiley face but now has a nasty scowl.

Britainnia, we are not amused.
 
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