Good Morrow,
This week I’m not living in a Travelodge, I almost feel a little sad about it. I’m in fact staying in a proper hotel that I found on laterooms, but don’t worry, it is shit. And it has no bible and a 70s retro hairdryer. I miss the Lodge!
On the way up to Northants on Tuesday I picked up a hitch hiker. Obviously as we all know, most hitch hikers are rampant murderers who have a machete in their bag, which they use to hack helpful wide-eyed motorists to death. However, this morning I was hoping for some good karma, so decided to take my life (and giblets) in my hands and picked up a suitably harmless looking hitcher.
I’m slightly fascinated by hitch hiking, but wont do it myself on account of not wanting to end my days in a series of carrier bags, sprinkled up and down the M1. So I questioned him closely to see if he had any good mental stories. Apparently not it seems, or he’s just not very good at stories. Still he should have a good one now...
He did however have some interesting views, including compulsory immolation for caravan owners which I am wholly in favour of. Why should I drive for hundreds of miles at 40mph just because you want to spend the weekend in a shed?
Apart from that it was rather disappointing. A bit like this entry.
