The wireless on the caravan site didn't like Linux (it wanted to install some software which I think upset it when the pop up was told in no uncertain terms to Feck off).
With that in mind I resigned myself to a week without internet and decided to go cold turkey - the first few hours were hell but after that I started to notice subtle things such as colours, smells and my eyes managed to focus more than 2.5 feet in front of me.
It seemed there was a whole new world out there - the question was would I like it ?
Today we decided on a trip to dullsbridge.
You soon realize when a small town has more charity shops than people and more cafes than parking spaces that you've perhaps over paid your car parking time.
Yes we're in Kingsbridge - we passed through it on our way to Challaborough and thought it looked OK for a bit of a ramble and shopping but we soon found it consists of one main road with about 40% charity shops.
So a quick U turn and we're on the A379 to Plymouth.
If your going look for Drakes Circus (the Entrance is on Charles Street), this is a modern shopping center with exits onto the main shopping areas. Lots of parking (not bad prices) and your right in the thick of things so no complaints there and hardly a charity shop to be seen.
You can see the top of Smeatons light house if you get the right angle so your not far from the Hoe (crap nav says about 0.5 miles but will more likely be about 15 once sat nav works out some crappy tiny Devon roads).
Anyway, a bit of shopping (Plymouth center has at least Two Thorntons and Three Game shops so it's sorted), and we head down to the old harbor area (Barbican) for some lunch - Unfortunately a distinct lack of computer shops or Xbox vendors, in fact far too much of a Nautical theme for my liking.
Lots of places to eat and unlike some of the places we've been, no smell of shit so it's quite pleasant to sit and eat your fish and chips without the waft of eastury mud.
Watch for the seagulls though, they know you have food so one tried to land into our dinner !
As towns go Plymouth is a little strange, its long and thing rather than centered around a main icon, Nottingham for example grows out from the Market Square, Leicester from the Clock tower, Plymouth has to fit into whatever land is there although in some ways it's better as you walk out down one side of the shops and back up the other rather than two large circles through the tramp infested back streets of the latter.
It was clean, cheerful and no problems at all wandering around it which was in stark contrast to Frankfurt where I was accompanied through my visit by the invisible shit monster who attacked my nose at every opportunity and the high number of tramps, drunks and beggars on the street - Plymouth gets my vote against Frankfurt any day and on the plus side no Ryan Air checkin desks !
A quick trip to Morrisons for some supplies (Just off the A379) and we're done - all in all a far better trip to Plymouth than the "other direction", Apologies to Thorntons for not managing to visit all the stores, we'll try harder next time.
Tomorrow - It's Tigggaaaarrrsss
Saturday, 12 September 2009
Tuesday, 8 September 2009
Gateway to Hell
Now that we've made friends and seen the sea we're probably regarded as locals.
It appears that to be a local you perform the following.
a) Drive down any road not less than 50mph
b) Stop "just" before hitting any on coming traffic
c) Squeeze your car through a gap smaller than the popularity vote for
the Scottish Parliament after freeing the Iranian Terrorist.
d) Wave politely at the idiot who nearly wiped you off the face of the
earth or wave politely back at the idiot who should have seen you coming.
I've started to get the hang of this lark so I find the nearest BMW,
Mercedes or R - Registration Peugot and hang on their tail in the hope
that they will sacrifice their airbags and front body work to keep the
road clear for me.
The Trick with Challaborough is simple,
1) Turn your Sat Nav on
2) Open your car window
3) Throw it out and shout "Fecking celebrity voices - Navigate that"
4) Use your Primeval instincts to guide you
Go out of Challaborough, into the local village (Ringmore) and straight though,
follow your nose to St. Ann's Chapel and you come out onto the A379, this carries a far
lower risk of death even lower than some cafe's and restaurants I've
been in.
Although this adds a mile or two to any route you take the fact you
emerge onto the main roads with your front bumper, headlights, paintwork
intact and even better that your pants are not full of your own shit as
you violently scream and attempt to prevent a head on collisions.
With this in mind it's only the last 1 mile thats more risky than being
a member of the Klu Klux Klan at a Deep South Wedding, I've decided to
park my car in some womans drive and walk the final mile to Challaborough - if she can
find me then I'll move the fecking car.
Ringmore itself is literally wide enough for one car only so be careful going through there, the roads are then not bad until you get that final mile for Challaborough, we followed some local idiot in a white micra who (I kid you not) did 60mph down these roads and bearing in mind you cannot see around any corners is nothing short of plain stupid - I'll keep an eye out for his obiturary.
Today saw the annual trip to Torquay, so a quick negotiation of the
twiddly roads, stop and change my pants on the A379 and we're off to
Totnes - Or as I have now named it "Gateway to Hell".
Now before my mail box bulges with Local Devon women sending topless
shots of themselves and the local male population threatening to kill me for ridiculing their roads let me explain.
Having seen the way the locals drive It appears they all head for Totnes.
All the loonies who tailgated, overtook at high speed or generally drove like madmen seemed to dissapear there so I assume the
Devil himself rides the traffic lights here.
We headed off and in fact arrived at Torquay without too many problems, parked up and visited the local purveyor of fine coffee and snacks,
that's right we went to Subway.
To be honest it was a decent coffee and suitably refreshed went to the Living coast.
A pit stop later and we had a Mexican "all you can eat" buffet, I did attempt "all I could eat" but they managed to reduce my "additional" steak to ashes so a few bad marks there.
Personally I like Torquay, they have cleaned it up considerably in the last few years so it's clean, bright and everything looks good - Add to that the parking is not too bad and its all OK in my book.
A quick stop off at Paignton and were sorted for the day.
The good news is that the site here has Wireless access, the bad news it appears to be a piece of copper stretched to the nearby island - it locks on for 10-20 seconds then goes to wireless heaven and stops working for 10 minutes (I found out later in the week it wants to install an applet in Windows but seeing as I use Ubuntu Linux it's tough shit little Applet, no way are you running on this PC !).
It doesn't help much in the middle of bingo if someones shouting "Fecking wireless shit" ..... "Is that a house at the back ?" .... "errr no it's OK".
Sunday, 6 September 2009
The Road to Death
Well as trips go it started well, a sleepless night the evening before - caused mainly by my considerable farts.
It didn't help that Beth shot up in the middle of the night, shouted "Dad's on the airbed 1... 2... 3" then went back to sleep.
Barbara decided to sleep downstairs but found out the Parrot snores.
So after about 2 hours sleep we cram the remaining laptops and computer gear in the car with one or two items of clothing and set off for the trip .....
3 mins later we arrive .... at Tesco, quick tyre check and some fuel and we're on the push.
Blue skies and sunshine were the order of the day as we pass the roadworks, Birmingham and even Bristol.
Reaching "Welcome to Devon" it then rained.
We decided not to hit Torquay but have a drive around the coast so we headed for Slapton sands, Dartmouth and around those bits - After freezing at Slapton sands and telling all the war vetereans that £1.80 to park was not the reason they fought in France and Germany we set off for the sunny costa del Challaborough.
Now when your in normal civilisation the Sat nav chooses, Motorways, then A roads etc, when your in Devon it regards all roads as equal.
Not knowing the perils or fate that awaited we eagerly followed the "300 yards and turn right then turn left then left , left again then right" etc.
Leaving Slapton we appeared to be going up someones garden drive but the absence of sheds and garden gnomes plus several on coming high speed Land Rovers led me to believe we were indeed on a road.
A few quick emergency stops and some amazing squeezing of two vehicles through gaps smaller than Viet Cong tunnels and we headed a little further towards our goal.
With just a mile or two to go the Sat Nav declared "Turn Left" - now most people's perception of "turning" and "left" are their vehicle turns into an opening large enough to allow the vehicle to pass without removing the paint from the body of the vehicle or the shite from the bowels of the driver.
Regardless of any expectation the Sat nav insisted on a left turn - now most people including myself may not have noticed the "tidal road" sign but anyway that was the least of our worries.
I turned onto what I strongly believed was a boat slipway, i.e it was small, angled steeply, made of concrete and covered in mud and shit.
We followed a few other helpless deciples to the Lord Sat Nav and proceeded down what I would still describe as a boating lane.
The signs then gave a clue, "Road may flood at high tide" - Hmmm the boat moored on the road seemed to back this up and the smell of Estuary shit.
Fortunately the tide was out (or not quite in) so we picked our way along this 6ft wide road of death, the large wooden markers hammered into the ground gave some clue as to the fun you must have at high tide playing "is this the road?".
We then met the local Royal Mail driver, I knew he was Royal Mail when he swerved violently to avoid hitting the car in front of me but not violently enough to stop himself from chatting on his mobile phone.
Obviously being a stranger to the region i thought it wise to make new friends to I'm sure he appreciated the "Get off the F%^king phone you stupid W%"£er" as I went past.
It's nice sometimes to reach out and touch someone.
We then negotiated what I will call "The hill of death", this was a hill with more bends than a team of crap divers and steeper than the service charges at Gordon Ramseys restaurants.
There should be a wooden hut at the top giving out "You made it alive" badges and giving everyone a free car sticker.
I've never:
a) Driven up such a winding and nerve racking road
b) Met such large vehicles coming the other way
c) Crapped myself so much
We then proceed to go down roads which are narrower than the path between our house and our neighbours, finally we find the sign (well when I say sign it's a large mirror mounted on the side of the road, kept in place by pieces vehicle debris.
We then proceed down a slightly larger road until reaching the final destination which involves going through a village that is only "just" wide enough for one car, then down a road with less passing places than a dodgy funeral parlour.
Finally we arrive at Challaborough - gateway to Burgh Island.....
More shortly
It didn't help that Beth shot up in the middle of the night, shouted "Dad's on the airbed 1... 2... 3" then went back to sleep.
Barbara decided to sleep downstairs but found out the Parrot snores.
So after about 2 hours sleep we cram the remaining laptops and computer gear in the car with one or two items of clothing and set off for the trip .....
3 mins later we arrive .... at Tesco, quick tyre check and some fuel and we're on the push.
Blue skies and sunshine were the order of the day as we pass the roadworks, Birmingham and even Bristol.
Reaching "Welcome to Devon" it then rained.
We decided not to hit Torquay but have a drive around the coast so we headed for Slapton sands, Dartmouth and around those bits - After freezing at Slapton sands and telling all the war vetereans that £1.80 to park was not the reason they fought in France and Germany we set off for the sunny costa del Challaborough.
Now when your in normal civilisation the Sat nav chooses, Motorways, then A roads etc, when your in Devon it regards all roads as equal.
Not knowing the perils or fate that awaited we eagerly followed the "300 yards and turn right then turn left then left , left again then right" etc.
Leaving Slapton we appeared to be going up someones garden drive but the absence of sheds and garden gnomes plus several on coming high speed Land Rovers led me to believe we were indeed on a road.
A few quick emergency stops and some amazing squeezing of two vehicles through gaps smaller than Viet Cong tunnels and we headed a little further towards our goal.
With just a mile or two to go the Sat Nav declared "Turn Left" - now most people's perception of "turning" and "left" are their vehicle turns into an opening large enough to allow the vehicle to pass without removing the paint from the body of the vehicle or the shite from the bowels of the driver.
Regardless of any expectation the Sat nav insisted on a left turn - now most people including myself may not have noticed the "tidal road" sign but anyway that was the least of our worries.
I turned onto what I strongly believed was a boat slipway, i.e it was small, angled steeply, made of concrete and covered in mud and shit.
We followed a few other helpless deciples to the Lord Sat Nav and proceeded down what I would still describe as a boating lane.
The signs then gave a clue, "Road may flood at high tide" - Hmmm the boat moored on the road seemed to back this up and the smell of Estuary shit.
Fortunately the tide was out (or not quite in) so we picked our way along this 6ft wide road of death, the large wooden markers hammered into the ground gave some clue as to the fun you must have at high tide playing "is this the road?".
We then met the local Royal Mail driver, I knew he was Royal Mail when he swerved violently to avoid hitting the car in front of me but not violently enough to stop himself from chatting on his mobile phone.
Obviously being a stranger to the region i thought it wise to make new friends to I'm sure he appreciated the "Get off the F%^king phone you stupid W%"£er" as I went past.
It's nice sometimes to reach out and touch someone.
We then negotiated what I will call "The hill of death", this was a hill with more bends than a team of crap divers and steeper than the service charges at Gordon Ramseys restaurants.
There should be a wooden hut at the top giving out "You made it alive" badges and giving everyone a free car sticker.
I've never:
a) Driven up such a winding and nerve racking road
b) Met such large vehicles coming the other way
c) Crapped myself so much
We then proceed to go down roads which are narrower than the path between our house and our neighbours, finally we find the sign (well when I say sign it's a large mirror mounted on the side of the road, kept in place by pieces vehicle debris.
We then proceed down a slightly larger road until reaching the final destination which involves going through a village that is only "just" wide enough for one car, then down a road with less passing places than a dodgy funeral parlour.
Finally we arrive at Challaborough - gateway to Burgh Island.....
More shortly
Friday, 28 August 2009
Todays words
Throom - This is the dull but obvious noise of a non hot plug device destroying itself a short plausel after you have removed it from the server without removing the power correctly.
The drive will emit a Throom whilst in your hands causing you to notice the entire server crashing moments after - more than likely you will emit a "Feckless" comment during the Plausel.
Chancery - This is the sudden loss of all noise and activity an engineer experiences when he's just removed the main power feed to a server room only to find nothing was attached to the UPS systems.
It bears similar relations to the religeous use of a Chancery, in this case the stone cold eerie silence coupled with the faint sound of someone praying to God.
Knappling - the sound one makes as he uses a PDA pen on a pda screen, its not quite a knocking sound nor is it a tapping sound, it is however one of the most annoying sounds made on the planet and often leads to somone being told they are feckless. Knappling is regularly used with Shringles.
Shringles - the almost perceptible but not quite recognisable ring tones and key tones a mobile phone or PDA makes, the person hearing the Shringles can almost recognise the noises or tunes but not quite - this makes for an annoying rendition of the Shringles as they hum them throughout the day, this is due to Shringles being designed to be unforgettable to the human brain whilst at the same time complex enough that the human brain cannot rebuild the entire data pattern. You will notice once an attack of the Shringles starts each person can hum a different part but no one can hum the entire sequence or recreate it no matter how many people are involved.
Fertching - This is the task of considerable searching without actually finding the answer - "I'll just Fertch that for you ...". Sometimes Fertching may be used whilst you know there is no answer anyway just to pass the time.
Windless - This is the result of installing a mandatory Microsoft update despite the fact you don't want it. The machine is then rendered inoperable by the Operating system crashing and is therefore "Windless". A typical Windless update would overwrite the official graphics driver with Microsofts own for example thus installing Windless operation.
Gurdling - The pointless exercise of moving people or equipment around without actually improving the situation. You might for example Gurdle the office and move everyone's desks around or Gurdle a server, moving all the drives around but finding after all that work nothing's better than it was before, in fact it's more than likely made things worse - use with Feckless as well i.e "He's a Feckless Gurdler" or "That Gurdling was a Feckless time" or "Please send Feckless engineer to site to Gurdle the server cabinet".
Gurdling often initiates Plausels and Thattles and in worse cases leads to Chancery.
The drive will emit a Throom whilst in your hands causing you to notice the entire server crashing moments after - more than likely you will emit a "Feckless" comment during the Plausel.
Chancery - This is the sudden loss of all noise and activity an engineer experiences when he's just removed the main power feed to a server room only to find nothing was attached to the UPS systems.
It bears similar relations to the religeous use of a Chancery, in this case the stone cold eerie silence coupled with the faint sound of someone praying to God.
Knappling - the sound one makes as he uses a PDA pen on a pda screen, its not quite a knocking sound nor is it a tapping sound, it is however one of the most annoying sounds made on the planet and often leads to somone being told they are feckless. Knappling is regularly used with Shringles.
Shringles - the almost perceptible but not quite recognisable ring tones and key tones a mobile phone or PDA makes, the person hearing the Shringles can almost recognise the noises or tunes but not quite - this makes for an annoying rendition of the Shringles as they hum them throughout the day, this is due to Shringles being designed to be unforgettable to the human brain whilst at the same time complex enough that the human brain cannot rebuild the entire data pattern. You will notice once an attack of the Shringles starts each person can hum a different part but no one can hum the entire sequence or recreate it no matter how many people are involved.
Fertching - This is the task of considerable searching without actually finding the answer - "I'll just Fertch that for you ...". Sometimes Fertching may be used whilst you know there is no answer anyway just to pass the time.
Windless - This is the result of installing a mandatory Microsoft update despite the fact you don't want it. The machine is then rendered inoperable by the Operating system crashing and is therefore "Windless". A typical Windless update would overwrite the official graphics driver with Microsofts own for example thus installing Windless operation.
Gurdling - The pointless exercise of moving people or equipment around without actually improving the situation. You might for example Gurdle the office and move everyone's desks around or Gurdle a server, moving all the drives around but finding after all that work nothing's better than it was before, in fact it's more than likely made things worse - use with Feckless as well i.e "He's a Feckless Gurdler" or "That Gurdling was a Feckless time" or "Please send Feckless engineer to site to Gurdle the server cabinet".
Gurdling often initiates Plausels and Thattles and in worse cases leads to Chancery.
Thursday, 27 August 2009
I'll have an F please Bob
Tech supports words of the day ....
We've been working on a new word of the day, so far this week we have.
Feckless - Basically someone or something that's useless or a waste of time and space i.e "He's a Feckless idiot" or "That's Feckless".
Chervil - Used in conjunction with additional verbs and nouns such as "He's Chervilized that" - Now a Chervil is a herb and in this context if you chervil something you add or change something, you might be the Chervilator who does the Chervilizing or suffer Chervilisation, nicely you can use this with Feckless i.e "He's a Feckless Chervilator"
Plausel - This is the unmeasurable but incredibly painful period of time you have to wait for something you expect to happen such as turning the power on to a server and the horrible pause before it actually bursts into life. Other Plausels are seen when you insert a hot plug hard drive, the drive then Plausels causing the customer to remark the part you just fitted was "Feckless" then just as you begin to believe him the plausel completes and the bloody thing works.
Thrattle - This relates to any part of machinery or computer equipment that makes a noise without you actually knowing what's causing it - an example will be the thrattle of a hard drive as you can hear it accessing, strip one down and there's no clue what actually makes that noise. Other Thrattles are vibrations you assume come from the case but you remove every panel and tape everything up to find the noise continues - sometimes the Thrattle is part of a Plausel and you often think the result of someone Cherviling.
Nadget - A small amount, you might need to push a hot plug hard drive a nadget to get it to latch in so the plausel can start.
Chinkle - The noise a computer part makes when you engage or release the locking latch, a hot plug hard drive for example makes a chinkle as you engage the securing latch after you have just pushed it a nadget to seat it correctly.
Sometimes the Chinkle is the result of some previous Chervil activity but technically thats a Thrattle not a chinkle.
We've been working on a new word of the day, so far this week we have.
Feckless - Basically someone or something that's useless or a waste of time and space i.e "He's a Feckless idiot" or "That's Feckless".
Chervil - Used in conjunction with additional verbs and nouns such as "He's Chervilized that" - Now a Chervil is a herb and in this context if you chervil something you add or change something, you might be the Chervilator who does the Chervilizing or suffer Chervilisation, nicely you can use this with Feckless i.e "He's a Feckless Chervilator"
Plausel - This is the unmeasurable but incredibly painful period of time you have to wait for something you expect to happen such as turning the power on to a server and the horrible pause before it actually bursts into life. Other Plausels are seen when you insert a hot plug hard drive, the drive then Plausels causing the customer to remark the part you just fitted was "Feckless" then just as you begin to believe him the plausel completes and the bloody thing works.
Thrattle - This relates to any part of machinery or computer equipment that makes a noise without you actually knowing what's causing it - an example will be the thrattle of a hard drive as you can hear it accessing, strip one down and there's no clue what actually makes that noise. Other Thrattles are vibrations you assume come from the case but you remove every panel and tape everything up to find the noise continues - sometimes the Thrattle is part of a Plausel and you often think the result of someone Cherviling.
Nadget - A small amount, you might need to push a hot plug hard drive a nadget to get it to latch in so the plausel can start.
Chinkle - The noise a computer part makes when you engage or release the locking latch, a hot plug hard drive for example makes a chinkle as you engage the securing latch after you have just pushed it a nadget to seat it correctly.
Sometimes the Chinkle is the result of some previous Chervil activity but technically thats a Thrattle not a chinkle.
Sunday, 23 August 2009
Countdown to the annual trek
This should be interesting is almost an understatement, perhaps similar to the thoughts going through Oppenheimers mind the moment before he triggered the first atomic bomb or Custer before he found out first hand what a pack of Pissed off Red Indians (Sorry - Native Americans) can do when they are all fired up and intent on all out massacre.
Anyway, without digressing too much off the main story it's almost time for the annual holiday.
Our choice this year was a slight move around the coast from where we were last year (we've moved from Bude to Sandy Beach (Near Exmouth), to Brixham and now moved a bit further and have picked somewhere called Challaborough Bay, opposite Burgh Island.
Reviews are few and sketchy and the site has two operators on the same small location, one appears to be gaining a reputation similar to the hospitality shown to certain nations during WWII whilst the other seems to get glowing reviews.
We've chosen to bypass the former (I think the recent comment that you can only take a shit if you sit on the toilet sideways and dangle your privates over the outside has backed up this decision), another was that their caravan appeared made up of fragments of out of date caravans.
I am sure on the day we will find out what's what, if it turns out we have a cheapo special I'll be writing my next post from prison anyway so that won't be a problem.
Reading the reviews as well it's clear that if you get anyone that regards themselves as an "ace" driver or fancies a challenge then the road leading to this location will bring out the best in you.
I'm not a major fan of Devon roads anyway, particularly last year when we were going down a road barely wider than my car only to be overtaken at 50mph (I've still no idea how they got the car through a gap of 2ft), the car then dissapeared around a right hand bend to be replaced 2 seconds later by a white Transit coming at high speed towards me - and then they wonder why the death toll is high there ?
On the plus side one person did comment the cafe food was undercooked and he was treated like shit so it sounds like a home from home.
I'll be sure of one thing though to post the hard facts (assuming I don't get killed if the food really is not cooked right).
At the end of the day as a kid I used to stop in a caravan lit only by the light of gas mantles, the nearest toilet was an option of a bucket, a quick pee out the door or a 100yd dash to the spider ridden communal toilets. Water had to be fetched in a plastic carrier but we spent many many good holidays in there and as kids it was all an adventure.
With this in mind anything with a roof, some kind of sanitation and facilities is certainly no worse.
So it's countdown to the annual trek and hopefully some posts from the bottom of the country, assuming the wifi works and we have some of Nikola Tesla's AC wonderporioum of the modern age - AC power.
Adios until then (hmmm I've noticed a distinct down turn in the crude language I've used lately so it might be better to sign off with .... Cock !)
That's better.
Saturday, 8 August 2009
Armourgeddon
Well After 25 Years of Marriage most people celebrate in the traditional way, we were no different so decided to have some Tank paint balling.
The Venue was Armourgeddon near Market Harborough, Leicester (http://www.chaospaintball.co.uk/)
Nice and easy to find on the A5199 we arrived with enough time to scoff down a D-Day torpedo roll at the snack bar. It might sound expensive at £3 for a hot dog and to be honest under the trade description act calling it a 12" hot dog didn't seem accurate, 14" seemed more like it - we had these enormous hot dogs (with onions) and a drink, chilled out watching the other tanks (there's plenty of viewing area so anyone can take pictures etc) then into the hangar for kitting out in camo gear and helmets.
We had a desert tank, a mere lightweight at 17 tonnes and all took turns driving, loading and shooting the paintball ammo (paint filled ping pong balls), you drive with the hatches open and then try with the hatches closed so not one for anyone subject to sudden panic attacks.
Moving round the tank is mostly crawling around in the mud you've trodden in (take some VERY mud proof boots and some spare shoes to change into - to say it was muddy wouldn't do it justice and we laughed as one woman turned up in what amounted to flip flops !!!) make sure you keep your helmets on as there's plenty of head banging and thumping, the nearest head trauma clinic is far too far away so it's not good to leave blood pouring out the back of the tank.
So kitted out and having tried firing the tanks we then have a mini tank battle, that involves moving to a point, firing two rounds as quick as you can at the other tank, the first to fire can then move to the next point - if you get your rounds off quick then your a moving target so may get an advantage.
Whilst this sounds easy trust me with the hatches closed, your mad wife driving and mad brother shooting it's anything but easy. Our instructor (Ollie) forgot to give us the 10 rounds of ammo so unfortunately I spilled the whole box full on the floor of the tank while we had all the hatches shut and the opposing tank (with two instructors in) firing at us.
This game involves shouting as much as possible but ensuring you put "Fuck" in between every word i.e "Fucking Loading", "Fucking Ready", "Fucking Firing", "Fucking missed" etc.
Trust a 46 year old fat guy when he says 10 rounds in a tank with the hatches down was more than enough - we drew 7 -7 against the instructors so were happy with that.
It also helps to shout as loud as possible to the driver, they can't hear you with their headset on but it makes for more of a laugh "Fucking GO GO GO, Fucking STOP etc".
As wedding anniversaries go you couldn't beat hurling 17 tonnes of fighting steel around a muddy field and firing rounds at the "bad guys", covered in mud and laughing we headed off for the rifle shooting which you can get for £10 if your tank driving - we fired off 30 rounds with 10 being at a target, fortunately we left a couple of targets unmarked so they can use them again, I scored 7 out of 10 with a nice cluster of three by the manufacturer marks on the lower right - I think the butterflies are safe for another day.
Another 12" (or is it 14") hot dog and we're done for the day.
Many thanks to all the guys at Armourgeddon, they reassured us while trying to ram a hardened steel hatch on our heads, talked us through the bits we needed but unlike some people they had fun with us and encouraged us all to have a good day.
We're now waiting for a CD of pictures they take of you during your travels, they use a decent camera and take plenty of photos (salutes, Hitler gestures etc) and you get to view some on your return to the hangar - it may sound expensive for a CD at £30 (for the group) but bear in mind the group is three people and some of the rip off fun fairs charge £6 or £7 for a log flume picture so in reality it's OK - and it's fucking hard taking a photo on a tank bashing and sliding through mud (I took a 3 min video of nothing - I presume the camera got knocked in my pocket and took 3 mins of my pocket) so if you don't have a camera they will take pictures and mail you a CD full.
All in all you spend 2 hours in the tank rotating around then deciding on your positions for the final battle, trust me that 2 hours is plenty, spare a thought for our troops spending their lives in these things, our tank had seen service in Iraq so it's not a nice spacious place, fart in here and you loose all your friends quickly.
If your going make sure you take a hell of a pair of boots, some spare shoes and make sure you have a D-Day hot dog as well - p.s don't over charge the gun, I charged a bit too much and my brother ended up firing into the field behind so apologies to anyone who finds a pink cow in the morning !
Roger and Out - Tangos at 2 O'Clock (or is it 13:50 ?)
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