Friday, 21 May 2010

Preparation H

H is for hitching of course. But also – of course – for haemorrhoids.

So it goes.

I wasn’t entirely sure how to prepare myself for going ‘on the road’, as they say. So last night I watched The Hitcher, the original one with Rutger Hauer as the eponymous nutbag. It’s a pretty dumb film on the whole, full of giant silly holes. But it did make me think of a few things not to do on Monday.

Another thing that made me think of things not to do was the story of Randy Kraft. (Thanks a lot, Maria in Oregon.) Randy Kraft. Great name for a porn star. Unfortunately, Randy Kraft is not a porn star. He is a serial killer. If you read about his early life on Wikipedia, however, you might as I did feel a certain sadness for him. You should. He was mentally ill. And it’s your duty as a human being to feel empathy and sympathy, otherwise you're not doing it right.

Another thing that made me think of a few more things not to do was a poem called Hitcher by Simon Armitage. (Thanks a lot, Sophie in Essex). Here, if you simply can’t be bothered to follow the link, is a brief excerpt:

I let him have it
on the top road out of Harrogate -once
with the head, then six times with the krooklok
in the face -and didn't even swerve

You know what?

I’m going to get the train.

No, not really. I joke, I joke. It’ll be fun. And what’ll make it fun is that I’ll be meeting people, and people are full of slips and slurs and twists and turns and grace and care and love and hate and voodoo. And I really, really love them. Really. Even the cunts.

A wise man once said: ‘Being is other people.’ It was me.

So I’ve made a list of Do’s and Don’ts, to help me on my way. (Was there ever a more annoying expression than ‘do’s and don’ts’? No matter how you render it…

do’s and don’ts
dos and don’ts
do’s and don’t’s
douze en danse always looks wrong. But there’s no way around it. Aaaaaah, life.)

No, wait!

DOs & DON’Ts


Do make a sign. Otherwise people won’t know where you want to go. Duh. I’ve made two.

Do dress like someone you might want to pick up if you were driving along the motorway and saw yourself there. Oh. Unless that is, you’re an incorrigible sex pest.

Do not dress as a French maid with a giant butt-plug round your neck, no matter what else you’ve been told.

Do smile. Smile like a man who is full of hope and dreams and excitement about his part in the endlessly emotional, eminently fascinating, predominantly enjoyable toboggan ride that is life.

Do not smile like Ted Bundy.

Do take deodorant. Apply roadside in a lull. You don’t want to be honking in someone’s private space. And it’s going to be hot. Damn hot.

Do not cover yourself in excrement before accepting a lift.

Don't smoke by the side of the road, no matter how cool you might think it looks.

Don't drink from a bottle of whiskey by the side of the road. (If there’s anybody looking.)

Don't turn to the person who has picked you up, two minutes into your journey and say, referring to the last guy who picked you up: 'I cut off his legs, and his arms, and his head, and I'm gonna do the same to you', and then start laughing maniacally. It's just rude.

Do be gracious.

Don’t despair.

Don't judge people by their appearance, but if someone looks like a psycho, make a run for it.

Don't get picked up by a serial killer. Or Simon Armitage. Neither are to be trusted.

Do the right thing.

Don’t blame it on the sunshine.

Don't blame it on the moonlight.

Don't blame it on the good times.

Do blame it on the boogie.

Actually, on second thoughts, don't blame it on the boogie. (Don’t even use that word. It’s highly offensive.)

Don’t worry. Be happy.

Do wah diddy.

Alright, I’m done. Done wah diddy.

If you have any to add, I’d be honoured to hear them. If not, wish me luck, and if I do happen to end up on the local news or God forbid, a headline in the Metro: LONDON MAN DISMEMBERED AND EATEN IN GRISLY M1 SEX MURDER – grieve not; dry your instinctive tears with the knowledge that at least a small part of me will have relished the novelty of it all.

Damn you, Maria in Oregon! Look what you’ve made me search out and devour… The Freeway Killers.

They're everywhere!

Pish. Enough of my silliness. See you in the North.


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PurestGreen said...

I just read the last post about the poo. I think you missed out a rule to get up with enough time before you have to set out, so all of your morning rituals can be seen to in comfort and not at the side of the motorway.

Have a great journey. Be careful!

Ps I make it a rule to ALWAYS blame it on the boogie.

Anonymous said...

Bon voyage La Bête.
Uncle Did

Anonymous said...

Ted Bundy killed women, so DON'T dress in drag. Jeffrey Dahmer killed men and - at times - cannibalised his victims. DO stay away from anyone who looks as if he might fancy a pecks sandwich for lunch.

DON'T smile. NO smiling! It'll make YOU look like the serial killer. I make it a point never to smile. And I'd never pick up a smiler hitcher. No way. It's just scary.

Change you socks - frequently.

Good luck and DO phone a friend to come save you from the madness that has possessed you to hitch should you get stranded.

Good luck x

A Twitter Friend

Anonymous said...

My goodness! The ARE everywhere aren't they?!

My son frequently picks up hitchers, especially when he's travelling down Highway 101 along the coast. There are lots of hitchers along there. I tell him the scary potential works both ways. He says I'm way too wary and should have more trust in humanity. Maybe I should rent The Hitcher again and make him watch it....

Maria in Oregon

clumpf said...

But if you do get murdered how will we know it's you? We only know you as Stan or Bete, and we've never even seen a photo of you. NotKeith will have to identify the body.

Unless you leave us a sign - like a carnation up your arse.

Love to gran x

Anonymous said...

Bete - I must add that I am touched by your compassion, even for one of most heinous serial killers ever. You really have a huge heart. (Even though you often write like a hardened cynic. Can't fool us!)I had nightmares after reading "Angel of Darkness" by Dennis McDougal, and "compassion" was the farthest thing from my heart. I really should stop reading true crime novels.

Have fun on your journey! I hope you meet some really interesting folks!

Maria in Oregon

Charlene said...

I've never hitched.

I've never picked up a hitcher.

..unless the pick-up was non-transportational!

Miss K said...

Don't accept the first offer of a lift if it's only going to take you three exits up the motorway. It's much harder to hitchhike back out of a dead-arse place. Never allow someone to drop you off on the hard shoulder. Service stations are pretty good places to hitch from. Never ever hitch a ride anywhere in the vicinity of Cluj Napoca, the black hole of hitching. I speak from bitter but brilliant experience.

Beleaguered Squirrel said...

Hang on a minute... you're about to start 2 weeks' holiday... which would take us right up to 4th June... which you haven't mentioned recently... please tell me you'll be back in time for the party, and you will tell us where it's going to be?

That's if you haven't had your arms and legs chopped off, obv.

Oh, and if anyone tells you to get out of the car and not look back, you'd better listen. Especially if this is preceded by a strange knocking sound on the roof.

La Bête said...

Thanks, PG. It wasn’t my fault I had to poo by the side of the motorway though. It was the boogie’s.

Cheers, Did. See you on the other side.

ATF, I will never phone a friend. I’ve already asked the audience, I know, but phoning a friend would be too much like giving up. After all, what’s the worst that can happen? (Apart from death, I mean.) I'll have to sleep outside maybe. It’ll be fun!

I like your son, Maria. I wish I was hitching up Highway 101. I’d like to meet him.

A carnation, Clumpf? A carnation? OK, OK, I’ll do it. Probably the person who kills me will be blamed for that though. They’ll assume it was part of his (or her?) modus operandi. The victim is bound, gagged, buggered, suffocated, disembowelled and beheaded. Then he has a carnation shoved up his bum. Actually, thinking about it, which I am – if I was anally ravaged, the carnation would probably be removed, or – I guess – pushed up inside me. Oh, Clumpf, it’s Sunday morning! Why are you making me think these horrible thoughts?

Is it compassion, Maria? I guess so. But you’ve got to feel sorry for someone who’s compelled to be evil to people, haven’t you? I mean, it must be awful. What a way to live your life.

Charlene, hello. Cheeky. Eh? Ooh.

Miss K, thanks for that. That sounds like good, sound advice, and I’m glad that even your bitter experience was brilliant. That’s what I like to hear.

BS, don’t worry. Friday June 4th is still on. I’m not going up north for the full duration of my holidays. It’ll be on Charing Cross Road, in a pub there. The Royal George in fact. There you go. Now you know. See you then then. Arms and legs permitting.

isabelle said...

Hello Stan,oh , I do wish you were coming my way. I am smiling now. Laughing in fact. Out loud in a shop full of folk who probably think I'm a bit barmy. You make me laugh, it'd have been lovely to meet you and I promise it's not all phlegm and flat caps. There's beer and pork pies too. Anyway, have an adventure. xx(and thanks for reading my stuff too)

Anonymous said...

Part of me really wants to read that book. The other part is terrified of what I might find.
Be careful.
If you're ever in North Essex, I have a carnation.

Beleaguered Squirrel said...

Oh good! Big Smoke, here I come.

PS, it was horrible, the loved-up-and-then-abused thing. But could have been much worse, and makes a great story. So, rather like when I was run over by a bus, I'm secretly glad it happened. I do like having stories to tell. Hopefully I'll have more after 4th June. But not of the Bete de Jour Shoved A Carnation Up My Arse type, I do hope.

Beleaguered Squirrel said...

When do you set off? Is it tomorrow morning? Are you all ready to go? Exciting!