On the way home tonight Lauren and I had a spot of car trouble. Nick refuses to buy good cars for his fleet so we end up with terrible
bags of shit mounted on wheels to run about in. Most of these 'cars' would be of better service if they were
set on fire and shoved off a cliff. The cost of keeping them running must be astronomical compared to the original layout cost (about £100 by the look of the things...). When I worked in
Lichfield a year or so ago there were at least two instances of the big white
Passat breaking down, once on the way to
Lichfield and once on the way back home. Both times we ended up getting to the destination about seven hours after we had set off. What was particularly galling was the fact that when we were driving home we broke down only twenty minutes outside
Lichfield, I was listening to a program about
Kraftwerk on the radio and the breakdown also interrupted that. I then finally got home about eight o'clock in the evening after we'd set off for the two hour journey at about 1.00 pm. It seems to be a trait programmed into these vehicles that they break down on the way home from work rather on the way to work. Anyway, the arse fell out of the
VW Golf that Lauren and I were travelling home in tonight. True to form. Twenty minutes away from site and forty minutes left to go on the journey the engine gave up the ghost and we pulled up on the side of a very deserted country road outside of
Hooton Pagnell.
I think it might be the clutch
This event further depressed Lauren as she had spent the entire day being told by
Robot the Bruce about his
43 inch chest and 23 inch waist. (She was unable to break free of his droning because
Stanners, Alice and myself were behind the
spoilheap down the bottom of the hill. I think this was done to keep the three of us out of view of the public who had come for the site tour. I think it's no coincidence that we had also been sent '
down there' on Friday when there was another tour on.) I tried to cheer her up by playing
MANOWAR really FUCKING LOUD. It worked for me anyway. The
RAC man eventually turned up, condemned the car and dragged it back to Rotherham.Two and a half hours after I was supposed to get in.
No it's not the clutch, it could be something to do with the electronics...
Not only that, but today
Sir Stanners found a fucking
Roman Trumpet Brooch in the 'kiln' he was digging. I had been excavating a similar feature last week and only found crappy
cooking wares. He started his kiln last Friday and immediately found
Samian pottery. Decorated Samian pottery at that... Mind you, in the ditch I had been digging for the past two days I have found more
pottery than I have found in the past three years combined. I think I have found more pottery than has been found in all of West Yorkshire, ever. I tried shoving it in Stanner's face but he retorted it was a question of Quality over Quantity.
My load of crappy broken olden-days shit is much better than yours!
It was the
ARCUS Carcass rats-from-a-stinking-ship party on Saturday, I wasn't going to go, then I went and I'm glad I did. Although it was good to see all the old faces there was only really one person I wanted to see there and I saw her and that's all I'll say on that subject.
