I had been looking forward to last weekend for some time because my cousin, David Clark, was coming to stay.

Dave and I have had many interesting weekends together and in my present state of boredom, brought on by having little to do except job hunt, a couple of days with him were just what the doctor ordered.

Cousins United

Dave and I have always got on particularly. It all started on those visits round to his house where we could relate perfectly to the trials we were each facing. These trials took the form of our younger siblings, Craig (my brother) and Fiona (Dave's sister). At the time they seemed like creatures sent to torment us, but when we were together we were allowed to pair up and leave Craig and Fiona to their own devices. I now realise this may have been a bit hard on Craig (and probably Fiona too). Maybe Craig's attempts to break down the door to Dave's room, which he and I were holding shut with our combined bodyweights, weren't simply meant to annoy us but were an attempt to be allowed into the gang. Either way, from those early moments of teamwork (and strenuous shoulder pressure) onwards Dave and I were the best friends cousins can be.

This has not changed through the years. What did transform were the things that brought us together. At around the age of 15 I got into music in a big way and was quick to infect Dave with my interest.

We were then united by our interest in gigging and spent a lot more time together outside of our familial units. Slowly, over a few years, a phenomenon began to manifest itself to myself and Dave. Whenever we spent a few days together some form of madness ensued.

The Reading Incident

The first big example of this took place in 1997 when we were on our way back from the Reading festival.

We had only been there on a day ticket to see a range of more obscure acts on smaller stages and our day had been the Sunday. Sunday at Reading is traditionally dirty Goth day on the main stage and this year was no exception. Having no tent and no right to camp we had decided to sleep on the concourse at Reading train station and get the first train back to London. When we arrived at 1AM it was to see the whole of Gothdom spread out before us. We couldn't stay there. Where could we go though?

Then it struck us. It was a clear (ish) summer night and though we were only dressed in combat trousers and T-Shirts a late night stroll was not beyond us. We decided to walk out to a suburb of Reading called Earley, where the train makes its first stop after leaving town. It was a couple of miles but we would walk there and sleep on its Goth-free platform.

Now this may not seem too unreasonable but events, and a fact we had chosen to ignore, were to conspire against us. You see David had recently had a serious operation on a knee, which he had dislocated several times previously and done serious ligament damage to. In fact the operation had virtually consisted of rebuilding the tendon structure of the joint. Now after a whole day jumping up and down Dave's knee was tired. It was not on the limit yet but what better way to try and totally destroy it than to attempt a couple of miles walk along hard pavement.

Nonetheless we got started, using road signs to put us on the right road out of town. After about a mile and a half we had seen no evidence of Earley and signs had completely petered out. To add to our problems it was now lightly drizzling. We stopped at a petrol station to check that it was not far to go, wishing neither to get soaked or hurt Dave's knee which, though he was still denying it, was clearly giving him some trouble now.

The guy behind the bullet proof screen was, to say the least, useless. While David sat on a wall and rested I struggled to purchase chocolate. After several minutes I finally got a Fruit and Nut bar and a Yorkie. However attempts to gain geographical information were in vain.

This guy was unaware that conversation about things other than petrol, cigarettes and snacks was possible. I struggled to wring any leads on the whereabouts of Earley from him. Unfortunately he fell back on that basic mental defence mechanism, imitation. I would say 'Is it far?' and would reply 'Is it far?' and look wistful while privately praying to his primitive petrol retailing deities that I would disappear in a pump-leak related flash.

In the end I made the mistake of believing one of these guttural sounds to be an attempt at communication. I said 'Is it near?' and he said 'S'near'.

Earley was not near. Earley was far. Now we had passed the point of no return though. We knew Reading was a long way away but Earley (thanks to monkey boy at the petrol station) was constantly around the next corner. It was a shame then that we found ourselves on a ruler straight road through suburbia without a corner for what seemed like 6 years.

It was now SERIOUSLY raining. Both of us were soaked to the skin and I was beginning to have problems. I was so cold I was feeling uncomfortably warm. Moving along the road had stopped being a choice and become a chore. I felt like that guy in hell who has to push the rock up the hill till it rolls back down and then start over. Constantly there were midnight mirages of train stations in the middle distance that resolved themselves into shrubberies on our approach.

I was pushing my problems out of my mind though for worry about Dave's knee. He was still trying to hide the fact he was in a bit of pain but his cover was crumbling and a more than visible limp was developing. To take my mind off the cold I began to nanny him a bit. This was exactly what he didn't want. His technique for dealing with this stupid situation was to pretend it wasn't happening. In Dave's mind his leg worked perfectly and it was a beautiful day. Any suggestion that it was 2:30 AM and we'd been up for 20 hours and that there was a torrential thunderstorm in progress and his knee was giving way he had to forget in order to carry on.

This led to a very heated exchange. We argued in the pouring rain at the top of our voices as we struggled on. It was his fault, it was my fault, we should have gone back, he shouldn't have come if he wasn't up to it.

Suddenly this stopped. Ahead was the sign for the station. Our argument had let us both take our minds off of our troubles and we had frogmarched half a mile to our goal.

So at 2:40 AM we got to the platform at Earley. It was not quite open to the elements but it was close as can be to it. There was a canopy high above us that allowed spots of rain to blow in under it. All I saw was a bench though. At that moment that bench was the most attractive and comfortable bed I had ever known. I lay down as the big digital platform clock flicked over to 2:50.

He began punching me in the stomach and slapping me with force and I came round.

'Why is Dave hittin....' I began to think but was brought up short by the combination of another blow and the shock of how cold I was.

I have never been so cold before or since (as a result of which I am now proofed against what most people think of as cold). I could feel the way my internal organs had begun to become ice cubes. I had done basic first aid and I knew what this meant. I was in the initial stages of hypothermia. I couldn't remember anything. I stared at the clock, showing 3:50 now, and it all came flooding back.

I looked at Dave, he was ashen faced through cold but visibly relieved that I had woken. He told me what had happened while I slept. He had gone to the next bench and tried to rest himself but his knee had kept him awake. After twenty minutes he had got cold. After another 10 he was unbearably cold and worried that in our wet clothes the 4 hour wait may be seriously bad for our health. It was at this point he decided we should walk on to the next station or at least try to find another petrol station to get some food.

He then attempted to rouse me and found I wouldn't wake up. I can't imagine what it was like for him, 3:30 in the morning, cold, wet, your leg dosen't work, awake for 22 hours and now your best mate appears to have become seriously ill and only you and your damaged self stand between him and the ravages of hypothermia. This had led him, after 15 minutes of shouting and shaking, to begin pummelling me. Even that had taken 5 minutes to stir me.

After he had explained this we tried to move. We were more like a pair of old men than a couple of virile 18 year olds. It was 4:10 before I was moving and we were heading for Winersh Triangle, the next stop down the line.

Thankfully it had stopped raining. Now it was Dave's turn for concern and he helped me get up to speed. After some time moving I started to feel better. I am afraid I did a bit of moaning, unlike Dave who never complained once (well maybe once) about his knee. Soon we were laughing and joking at our own stupidity. When we started it had been a clear evening, we fancied a stroll and Earley had seemed near. Now it felt like we were in the film 'Deliverance', struggling to survive in the wild backwoods of the Reading suburbs.

Then a beautiful thing happened. We came upon a petrol station near a roundabout. This meant food but it also meant we were not going to have to stay on that dull, straight, strength-sappingly mundane road anymore. However there was another miracle awaiting us. As we approached we realised that though it was the middle of the night this shop was letting people INSIDE!

To anyone who doesn't live in a city like London this may sound pretty unamazing but I had never seen this before. During the hours of darkness petrol stations close their doors and install idiots behind bulletproof shielding (presumably to protect them from frustrated customers forced into attempted murder by their inability to get the guy to understand they want a sandwich and a dime bar and not a pack of alkaline batteries).

Yet we were now allowed in to browse the drinks cabinet, peruse the crisp aisle and select at leisure from the pastry product cooler. We bought pasties, crisps, sweets and hot chocolate. That drink was amazing. I was so cold it was like pouring molten lead down my throat.

We walked on, using the still hot polystyrene cups to keep our hands warm. We were lost though. We didn't know which exit to take from the roundabout. It turned out we took the wrong one. Winnersh triangle was only 100 yards away at that point. No matter though, we needed to walk to be warm. This was a mission now. We talked of forgetting the train and walking back into London on the A4.

Around 6AM we got to Winnersh station. Joy of joys there was another miracle garage next to it and we sat and drank chocolate till the train arrived at 8.

Back to Last Week Though

Some of you may remember that I began this by telling you Dave came up last weekend and I was looking forward to it because some adventure like the one above was likely to find us with very little effort.

He came late on Friday and we headed out on Saturday morning to visit the nearby town of Chester. We hadn't gone 100yds from the house when our homing instinct for the picaresque was activated. We were walking along talking about house prices when a woman in her sixties began to whisper to us from across the street. I didn't hear it but Dave stopped and we crossed to investigate.

This lady had 3 small bags of soft sand in her car, she told us, and they needed to be moved ten yards but she did not have the strength. We happily took thirty seconds to do this for her. She asked if we were brothers (to anyone who knows us that must be hilarious) because she could see "A family resemblance".

We were about to leave when she asked us if we like fruit cake. This is not the kind of question most people have to ask of Dave and I; the affirmative answer being quite clear by simply looking at us. We told her yes, looking forward to a small slice to eat as we walked down to the station. She disappeared and returned with a whole, homemade, fruit cake carefully wrapped.

We were taken aback. This thing was clearly worth about £5 (an estimate we later raised to £10 having tasted how good it was). This is quite a good rate of pay for 30 seconds work. She clearly wouldn't take no for an answer and so we strolled away.

This clearly wasn't a full-on adventure but it was quite a weird experience. One minute we didn't have fruit cake the next we did.

Anyway we went to Chester, which I thought was a great place. I bought some nice Camembert from a very good cheese shop and embarrassed Dave by having a passionate conversation about the cheese with the assistant.

We went to a pub and then we went home. Not the most exciting day then.

When Melinda (my aunt and boss) asked if we had had any of the adventures I had told her I was sure would sneak up on us I had to admit we had not (except for the cake).

Melinda and Richard then decided to go out and get pizza and left us in charge of Edward. Dave and I were flummoxed. A weekend without an event we could dine out on for months? This had never happened before.

Then the phone rang.

It was Richard. My Aunt and Uncle were about a mile away outside the pizza place. They had managed to lock the keys in the car and needed a taxi. This was all very funny to us at home and I began ringing cab firms.

It was Saturday night and nobody had a spare car to send so I tried to ring Richard back and got the operator. I tried again and the same happened. I checked the number and found they had called from a payphone having left their mobiles at home. The 'operator' was in fact a bunch of kids who seemingly lived in the phone box.

So, there was pizza getting cold, a car that could be stolen, no taxis and it was raining. What could we do?

David had the first brainwave by asking Edward if he knew where the spare car keys were. He did and so we now had a plan, get the car keys to the pizza place.

We couldn't all go as Edward would slow us down and we didn't want him to get wet. David couldn't go because the knee would slow him down and he didn't know the way. That left me.

I was just going out the door when Edward said "Take my micro scooter it will be quicker". Genius, I thought.

And so it was that in the space of 5 minutes I went from sitting watching Saturday night telly to riding at breakneck speeds, through torrential rain, on a child's micro scooter that has a big warning sign on the handlebars that reads 'DO NOT USE WHEN WET'.

I had some slippery moments at first but was soon in control. My route took me along the main road and then down a sloping side road and onto a path through a piece of common land. This path is actually a fairly steep hill with a bollard at the bottom.

As I approached the side road I was already seriously wet. I was also going quite fast.

Once I hit the slope I knew there was no stopping until I got to the end of the path through the common land. I just managed to control the turn onto the path and then the revelation hit me.

I had never been this way in the dark before and so had failed to notice something fairly fundamental. The path had no streetlights.
Being wooded as well this made it pitch black. So I am now going down a 45 degree incline at about 40mph on a micro scooter in a thunderstorm, in complete darkness.

I closed my eyes and saw no difference.

It was at this point I began screaming. I didn't stop for 200 yds ( a distance I covered in about 0.5 of a second).

My cry of sheer terror was cut short by my need to concentrate. The bollard was fast approaching. I had to steer the scooter around it without steering it into the nettle filled ditches at the edge of the path. I thought I could do it at first but as I got nearer it became clear I hadn't done enough.

The scooter would pass but my trailing leg would hit the object, shatter in 16 places and then detach, flying off leaving me to ride the scooter with one leg. I had to take drastic action.

I hopped.

I switched legs, heaving my big butt out of the way just in time to miss the bollard. This ruined my balance and I went veering from one side to the other like a drunk.

I regained control as the slope flattened out but there was one more surprise for me to face.

Due to the heavy rain there was now a 4 inch deep, dirty puddle across the path. I was still doing 30mph on the micro scooter and couldn't slow down. I had to go through.

Water jumped up and soaked me like on a log-flume ride at a theme park. My glasses were soaked and I was blind again but the water had slowed me and I was able to stop and recompose myself.

I carried on around the final corner to the pizza place and found a very surprised Melinda standing alone without the pizzas. Richard had managed to hail a cab and had gone home to get the keys that I had gone through so much to bring there. My entire 'mission' had been pointless.

When I got back David and I celebrated the fact we hadn't broken our chain of pointless events, while I filled him in on all the details to tell his friends for the next few months.

This is what happens when we get together.

I look forward to the next time.

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