ELABORATE LIFEBOAT ANECDOTE

(This stunning, ornate, and finely detailed tale stems from mid 2016)

I WAS ON HOLIDAY on my own, at one of those small islands off the west coast of Scotland –  one of the larger ones, with whiskey factories and stuff on it – visiting an old Victorian era lifeboat launch.

This “launch” was 60 to 80 ft of extremely narrow gauge toy railway style track, dug into a steep hill that sloped into a bay. The track had a sort of toothed chain built in, that – it transpired – slotted neatly into the bottom of a little sled that the boat rode on. At the top was a massive barn containing the lifeboat –  which was a big, wide, highly varnished wooden bastard. It was about 25/30 ft long and maybe 20ft wide, with 7 or 8 rows of hard, uncomfortable looking bench seats. It had a honking great big rudder; a little bell on the front and nowt else.

Basically, it was a fat longboat.

Anyway, they were doing sort of "fun" rides on it, so I joined a big queue of people, snaking up the hill. It took a while, but it was a nice, hot summer’s day, so it wasn’t too bad... Mind, how they managed to get the lifeboat back on the ramp and up the hill in anything under and hour, I don’t know. Stick a pin in that for now.

Eventually, I got to the shed at the top. In the confusion of switching from bright sunshine to dark hut – and making a mental note of all the proportions and details of the boat, which you enjoyed earlier – it took me a second to figure out that it wasn’t allocated seating, i.e. filling the front first, then the back. Instead it was a bit of a casual free for all.

And now we get the the crux of the story:

In the perhaps two seconds of hesitation it took me to decide where I wanted to sit – Do I want to be at the very front? Is the back better?? – a plummy voice chirped up from behind, “Make your fucking mind up mate.” It had come from a 20 something, well fed, sporty looking Sloane cunt, from a gaggle of other posh fucking bellends I’d been stood a short distance in front of, on my way up the hill. The bloke in question was easily a foot taller than me, and looked like he’d bought all of his clothes from the yacht holiday section of Debenhams (without thought of expense). Even his sunglasses looked like they cost money. Probably in excess of £270.

Feeling pressured, I’d piled into the front, shoulder to shoulder with this arsehole and his rich bastard, probably young conservative pals. I felt the need to say something to restore my pride: “Listen,” I nudged – ignoring our different levels of scale, fitness and wealth – “I’m sure you go on Victorian Lifeboat rides every day of the week, but don’t have a go at complete strangers for not knowing where they’re supposed to -“

“Yeah, whatever matey," he said. "Fucking shut up!”

There then followed the baying of rich student laughter. Frankly, I was furious, and not a little upset.

“Right, fuck this!" I announced. "I’m not going on this thing with a load of tory dickheads. Out the road - “

I stood up, with the boat now full and just about ready to go (which attracted the attention of a couple of members of staff). Despite this, the rich arsehole had the gaul to ignore me, and had resumed chatting to his rich arsehole friends.

“OUT THE FUCKIN’ WAY MAN!” 

I physically shoved the posho and started aggressively clambering over them. There was a lot of shoving back, and a number of gasps from startled holiday makers.

Shit, I thought, I’m in a fight here. I might die. I might as well elbow the fucker in the side of the head befo –

“TOOOOONE!” Shouted my wife. "Can you get him?”

“Whuu...?”

“Lou’s on the toilet.”

“I’VE HAD A POO MUUURM!”

“I don’t... M’mmb.”

“UUUNNGN! I’LL GET HIM!”

And she stomped out of bed. It turned out it was a “loose poo” and that my youngest child had also pissed all over the floor, from a sitting position.

...And that’s how I started my day.

(Note from modern day Tony Clark: All that lifeboat stuff was all a dream, see. That's what I was trying to convey.)

Thanks.