It was a really foggy day and I was thumbing for a lift and a car stopped for me. I got in sat down and went to thank the driver but there isn't a driver. I don't mind admitting I was crapping myself. Suddenly a bend appeared and I thought how are we going to get round it when all of a sudden a ghostly pair of hands grabbed the steering wheel and steered the car around the bend. When the car finally stopped I got out of the car to find another guy standing there. I said I wouldn't get in that car if I was you I think there is something wrong with it. The guy replied You're telling me I've been pushing that bastard for 5 miles.
Gone are the days when, as children, you would call at a friend’s house to see if he was coming out to play, and the answer was a straightforward “No”. Now declining an invitation needs a full back story, to stop you from being maligned as a miserable git.
Every year since I have lived in this house I receive a Xmas card intended for a couple in Newport, Gwent. Bear in mind the postmark is Wales. So there is a person/machine in Wales that believes that a card sent in Wales must be for a small market town on the Isle of Wight rather than a large Welsh conurbation of the same name. The word GWENT obviously has no impact. Every Year!!