misadventures Archives

Sometimes It’s Not Us It’s Them, Tales Of Misadventures

19 May 2021

There are occasions when a sequence of unfortunate occurrences seem to to line up like holes in a Swiss cheese, and dump a whole load of hassle on us. However there are also occasions when we have hassle due solely to dealing with other people. Whoever coined the phrase ‘The customer is always right’ obviously never had any customers.

We are going to note just a few of the times that thing’s have gone a bit Pete Tong, without any help from us.

Educated Idiots

The first couple of tales involve what a friend of my mind refers to as educated idiots. Basically those in a position where they need to be educated, and you also assume that education correlates to intelligence.

The University Of Oxford

Now, a few years back a close friend had been contracted in to provide a Ferris wheel for a ball at one of the colleges in Oxford. His wheel was a really nice example, well decorated, plenty of lights and well maintained. William, the owner, rang me to ask if we had been paid up front for that job. As it happens we had. ‘That’s good’ he noted, ‘The Dean of the college has told me the ride is a disgrace and wants it taking away.’

I was a bit confused by this as I knew it was a good ride. William had no idea why, so I sent him to see the Dean and ask.

When he rang me back he couldn’t talk for laughing. Eventually we got to the bottom of it. Now, a Ferris wheel is constructed by building two parallel spoked wheels, and then hanging cars at the end of the spokes for the guests to sit in. William had got the two wheels constructed, but not yet fastened the cars on. It seems the Dean had looked at the ride, sans the cars, and assumed that his students would have to cling to the ride as it rotated forty feet in the air. His comment was ‘They could be killed if they fall from that height.’

The cars were pointed out to him, and he calmed down at that point so all was good.

The School Headmistress

The second case involved a primary school in Kingston Upon Hull. To set the scene I need to tell you about our first blog. We launched that in the early days of the internet, and still finding our feet about what to write, we tried all sorts of humerous posts.

On one, we had been moaning about the difficulties of securing good staff, so announced that we were going to clone Arthur. Arthur was a sort of casual business partner that was only little, and resembled a smaller version of Austin Powers.

Anyway, after a few posts on the problems with our cloning process, we proudly announced that we had succeeded and created New Arthur. This post was accompanied by a picture of the rubber goblin below.

It wasn’t quite as successful a cloning as we had hoped but we didn’t think it was bad for the first attempt. We kept the joke running all season. We pictured him holding a stick of candy floss, and remarked how well he had done. Learning to make candy floss and so on.

Now, back to the hero of our tale. We had been booked to provide a candy floss cart for a small school fayre in Hull. The headmistress rang us to apologise but she needed to cancel the booking. Now this happens occasionally so it isn’t a problem. We enquired as to the reason just so we could keep a record. ‘Well’, says she, ‘I don’t want to be rude or nasty but it’s your new staff.’

I admit to being nonplussed at this point as we had recently took a couple of kids on for some casual work, and they were doing really well, so I couldn’t understand her problem. So I asked.

Scary Staff

‘Well,’ she replies, ‘I don’t want to sound awful or anything, but we are a school for young children. I think your new staff will frighten them, he does look rather scary.’

I must admit I was still a bit non compos mentis and didn’t follow.

‘You know the one, Arthur, the one you have cloned!.

Oh FFS, she meant the rubber doll, I admit I burst out laughing at her as I thought she was playing a joke. Only she wasn’t and got rather abrupt at this point. This was in the pre Dolly the sheep days, so not only was human cloning not a thing. But we hadn’t even managed to clone any other mammals. We explained this to her, and also that even if human cloning was a thing, it would likely be beyond the finances of a small entertainments company to fund.

In the end she kept the booking, but expressed her opinion that we shouldn’t lead people on with false stories

Oh and an interesting fact, Dolly the sheep was so named, because she was cloned from a mammary gland. The scientists looking for a name, couldn’t think of a more impressive pair of mammary glands than Dolly Parton’s.

Enter The Military

We love military jobs, they usually run on time, the people are great fun and the discipline that is inherent in that world means we rarely have an issues.

One of my best event managers Ian, had taken a photo booth to a base. He rang me to say that he couldn’t take much more abuse from the Major in charge. Not a problem I told him, dismantle the booth and come home. He was worried that we wouldn’t get paid, but I told him to leave that to us. We don’t allow our staff to be abused for any amount of money.

Anyhow, we didn’t hear from him so rang to find out what he was doing.

‘Oh, it’s OK, we are best friends now.’

‘Oh, and how did you manage that.’

‘Well, I was in the toilets at the same time as he was, so I thought I would try one last time, and said OK mate. He turned looked me up and down and said what the f**k has it got to do with you. Oh, nothing, only before you go back in the party, I would wipe that cocaine powder from off your top lip, being military and all I don’t think that will go down too well’

Ian said that the guy turned up 5 minutes later with another soldier, told him that anything he needed the other guy would get for him and put it on the Majors bar tab. If you need a smoke break just close the photo booth down, whenever you want. In fact said Ian, I think if I ask for his wife for the weekend he would probably bring her over.

So no matter how hard you try. Things can trip you up through no fault of your own.

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Event Planning, Fun Story, funfair events, Funfair Rides

Tales Of Misadventures, Helter Skelter Woe’s

28 March 2021

We are proud of our safety record in the funfair industry. Having never had a serious accident or incident with members of the public.

We have had a couple or three minor ‘incidents’ usually involving me, or Arthur (a one time collaborator) or in one case a poor sod we had shanghaied to work for us for the day. For some weird reason, they all involve helter skelters in some form. Perhaps subconsciously that’s why we got rid of our last example a few years back.

Fred Thompson’s Lighthouse Helter Skelter

My maternal Grandad, Fred, was one of the industries characters. He owned a massive amount of rides over the years, but also seemed to buy things like dodgems with no cars, only to sell the track and then buy a set of cars with no track. The helter skelter however he did own and operate right up to his death.

Not one of the smaller square latticework rides, this was the huge steel structured ride which was shaped like a lighthouse or pepper pot. Whilst Grandad was basically on his death bed, the famous Nottingham Goose fair rolled around. Due to some internal family politics, the offspring that usually took the ride to the fair refused to do so. So Uncle Garry, my dad, and by extension me were drafted in to set the ride up. None of us really knew what we were doing, but there were a couple of long time staff members helping, and another operator with the same type ride at the event, came and offered advice when we needed it.

The Great De-Rig

We managed to set up OK, and we ran the attraction for the three days of the fair. On the Sunday morning, we got up for the derig, only to be welcomed by a torrential down pour. Great, to compound matters the two staff members had done a runner, couldn’t blame them really. So it was left up to the deadly duo (Uncle Garry and Dad) and me.

Not fancying pneumonia, I had wrapped myself in a rubberised wet suit, and wellingtons. I had started in the top chute (the U shaped part of the ride that you actually slid down), undoing the bolts that held them together. You unfastened the twenty odd chutes then usually started at the top chute and took them down one at a time. Due to the water, I slipped into the chute and started to slide down. Because of the wet suit I couldn’t generate enough friction to stop my descent. Not a problem I could slide to the bottom and walk back up the steps so I just sat back and accelerated.

Which would have been OK, had not the other two started removing the chutes at the bottom and working their way up. The result was me imitating an Exocet missile exiting a launch tube as I shot off the number 7 chute, about 15 feet in the air. Luckily they had handily stacked all the other chutes in a nice row on the floor to break my fall.

After recovering from my high speed exit, I pulled myself together and climbed back up to try again. Now at this point, some poor innocent funfair enthusiast happened to walk past. Little did he know the fun he was going to be subject to. Looking back he was a bit like a Turkey strolling past Bernard Matthews just as he finished sharpening his knife.

“Oy Mate”, shouts Uncle Garry, “Fancy a job on the fair?” The poor sod did. Fifteen minutes into his new career he managed to fall down the steps at the front and break his arm. We packed him off the the local hospital, not expecting to see him again. Given that a&e was usually synonymous with about an eight hour wait.

He Comes Back

In the event he surprised us, as about forty minutes later he came back. Walked up the front steps into the centre of the ride, then holding his newly potted arm aloft like a badge of honour, perhaps Nottingham’s version of a purple heart, he shouted up, “Its me, I’m back!”

Now, this had an immediate and unfortunate effect. Uncle Gary and I were at that point taking side sections off the top of the ride. These were held on by massive bolts, think of something the size of a lemon. Gary had in his hand one of these very bolts, just as our unfortunate hero shouted up to us.

Garry turned quickly to see who it was, and unfortunately lost grip of the bolt he happened to be holding. With an aim worthy of William Tell, the bolt hit the guy slap bang in the centre of the forehead. Dropping him to his knees and producing a rather large egg shaped lump and a rather unfocussed look.

“Erm, listen guys”, he managed to croak feebly, “I think I am gonna resign, I don’t wanna work on the fair no more.” This time we didn’t see him again, can’t say I blame him really.

Some People Just Never Learn

Now, I swore this was enough to put me off helter skelters for life. So of course, a few years later, Rennie (another occasional collaborator) suggested purchasing a square type helter skelter that he knew of between us. It was a bit rough but we had the skills between us to rebuild it, and like the fabled lemmings, I hadn’t had any brushes with death for quite a while so I went for it.

We got it back to the yard, semi erected it and started on the multitude of jobs. One day I had climbed to the top and noticed that the bracket holding the highest section of steps on was cracked. Badly cracked, in fact it was held on by a sliver of paint. I thought to myself then that the next job should be to weld it back together. Just then, fate, in the form of my mother in law, turned up with a bacon sandwich and coffees for me and Renny. Being partial to a bacon sarny I shimmied down for breakfast.

After wolfing them down, and feeling recharged. I collected a large 8ft by 4ft wooden panel that needed affixing to the top of the ride and ran up the steps with it. As I stood on the topmost tread of the topmost section of steps, the malicious gods looking down decided that was the instant that the sliver of paint holding the steps on would finally expire.

Wooden Parachute

They say that in moments of extreme terror, your life flashes before your eyes. Truth be told this didn’t happen, but I do distinctly remember that time seemed to slow on the way down, as I plummeted earthwards holding a large sheet of wood above my head. My first thought was “Bugger, I should really have welded that bloody step up”, followed closely by “I bet this is gonna hurt”, followed by “This is taking some time,” followed by the sound of a person hitting the wooden floor, followed even more closely by the sound of a large wooden panel hitting a person, and almost simultaneously the sound of a section of steps hitting a wooden panel.

Suffice so say, I survived, a bit battered but without breaking anything important.

Arthur

The final entrant into our tale of woe, didn’t really involve the helter skelter, beyond the fact that I happened to be midway up the ride when the problem was brought to my attention.

We were at a corporate event in Salford. Renny ,Arthur and I with a range of attractions. Arthur, being afraid of heights tended to steer clear of the Helter Skelter, instead bagging the job of looking after the moonwalk. This was an inflatable attraction, that was enclosed in a dome. Arthur got himself comfortable on the front step, in front of the slit in the front that acted as a doorway. Because the dome had a high speed fan continuously blowing air in to keep the thing inflated, you tended to get a high speed stream of cold air blowing out the front. On perhaps the hottest day of that year this was a bonus for Arthur keeping him nicely chilled.

Glowing

Anyway, there I was half way up our slide, when Arthur wandered over and shouted up “My head hurts”, oh FFS, “Look in the glovebox of my car there are some headache tabets” I replied without really taking any notice, tricky things these big slides so I was paying attention to what I was doing.

“I didn’t say I had a F**KING headache”, said Arthur, “I said my F**KING head hurts!”

When I looked I could see his issue, “FFS Arthur don’t walk out the gate of the park”

“Why he asked?”

“Cos you will stop the traffic, you look like a set of traffic lights on red”

Dear me, his full forehead and face were glowing, and I mean glowing, like he had been stood a bit close to Chernobyl when it went up. I saw him about a week later when the skin had started peeling off and he looked like the singing detective. He ended up with scars on his forehead the sunburn had been that bad. Serve him right for lazing on the step all day.

It’s Not Just Us

Another operator I know of ended up with two broken legs, when one day he was at the top of his helter skelter painting it. He happened to glance upwards, where the clouds were moving due to a stiff breeze. Becoming disorientated, and believing it was the ride moving he threw himself over the side, in the belief that it was better than being inside the ride when it hit the ground.

And yet another guy, was at Yarm fair in the North East, and managed to fall from his ride landing on a street sign and breaking a number of ribs. Whilst in hospital he was laid in bed with his hand dangling over the side, when his visiting mother leaned over the bedside cabinet to give him a kiss. Unfortunately the cabinet was on wheels and being shoved against his hand managed to break three of his fingers.

Eventually the health and safety executive decreed that fall arrest equipment needed to be worn when working on these things at height. To give them their due most operators did both buy and use said kit. The one guy I know that put them to test still managed to break his ankles, when I enquired how, he explained the the standard fall arrestor worked by expanding and slowing you descent without too much of a jerk. Sadly it needed about twelve feet to work and he was only ten feet high when he fell, so he hit the deck before it arrested his fall. He seemed quite cheerful though and vowed that in future he would only fall off higher up.

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Fun Story, Funfair Rides

Exploding Fire Extinguishers

3 January 2021

Tales Of Misadventures

In my younger days, I often played Russian roulette with the fuel in my vehicles. Many of them I knew to within about 500 yards how far the fuel would take me. I remember once my dad taking my sister out for a driving lesson. I was laid under a small lorry I owned repairing something when I heard my dad walk up the drive.

Seems he ran out of fuel about 4 mile up the road, there wasn’t mobile phones in those days, and he didn’t have any money on him for fuel, so he had walked all the way back to get some. Hearing him shout to my mother ‘Where is the little bA*&^rd, I am going to kill him. I decided discretion was the better part of valour and stayed where I was.

Redcar Gala

I had booked a shooting gallery into a gala in the North East town of Redcar. This particular gallery was built into a 6 wheeled Foden lorry. At the time it would average about 12mpg, so was fairly thirsty. Anyway, I arrived at Redcar, drove onto the allocated pitch, and it promptly conked out of fuel. Oh well, I would operate, get the day over then worry about refuelling.

As it turned out it was a bit of a poor day, and everything was finished by about 5pm.

My at the time mate Arthur, owned a transit van, I asked to borrow it so I could go and fill a 5 gallon drum up with diesel. This would allow me to then return with the lorry to the fuel station and fill it up.

The Fuel Station

I arrived at the fuel station, and in truth pulled up to the pump a little faster than I should have, I was in a hurry. As I braked, again a bit sharp, I heard an almighty explosion, and my world instantly turned white.

Now, I had read in the past about people arriving at the afterlife and seeing a bright white light. This white light was more of a murky grey, but hey, I couldn’t see brimstone and fire so I figured I had gone up, not down.

I was wondering what had killed me, brain aneurysm, heart attack, stroke? Now at this juncture, I became aware that I couldn’t actually breath, and my respiratory tract appeared to be full of gritty, awful tasting stuff. I have to admit, I wasn’t impressed with this afterlife, I mean, whats the point of life after death, if you couldn’t breath and you had a bloody awful taste in your mouth.

I wondered if I was going to spend eternity in the bloody van, or if there was more, so scrabbling around I managed to open the door. As I exited I tripped, landing on my knees and that bloody hurt. So the afterlife where I couldn’t breath I could feel pain? I was wondering about a transfer to the other realm, on the basis of I wasn’t feeling the love in this one. I vaguely remember Sunday school lessons, and I couldn’t recall this being mentioned.

In The Back

As I lay there I became aware that my breathing was returning, I also noticed that a lady at the next pump was looking at me quizzically. I asked her if I was in the afterlife, and she replied “No love, Redcar”

Being a bit non compis mentis at the time it took a while to process this. I wondered if she was an idiot, and why did they let idiots into heaven, but gradually realised I might not be dead. “Am I then, not dead?” I enquired, she looked at me funny, obviously wondering why an idiot was knelt in front of her asking funny questions. “Eeerm you look kind of weird, but I don’t think you are dead, I mean I can still see you”

I must admit, not being a student of the afterlife, I am not sure whether her being able to see me counted for anything. As realisation dawned that my demise was, as Mark Twain once noted, ‘greatly exaggerated’. I climbed to my feet and decided I needed to investigate. Best place to start was, I thought the back of the van.

Opening it I spotted the culprit. It turns out that Arthur was the proud owner of one of the worlds largest dry powder fire extinguishers. A fire extinguisher which has it happens was missing its safety pin to prevent accidental discharge. Seems that my enthusiastic braking had tipped the bloody thing over, whereupon said fire extinguisher had gleefully and molevalantly discharged what seems like half a tonne of dry powder in a matter of seconds.

The Aftermath

Now, as I took stock, I realised just how much mess I had caused. The entire van front and rear had a thick coating of powder. The cars at the side of me had received an instantaneous colour change. And you could no longer see through the window of the fuel station.

I still needed fuel, so filled the drum, secured it in the van and went in to pay. Cue howls of laughter from the occupants of the garage. Turns out I also was covered in powder. As one helpful prat, sorry person remarked, I resembled an anaemic ghost.

I got in the van to set off back and discovered I had a problem. The window was obscured, like, totally, I had to wipe peep holes in to see. I pulled over and decided I needed to ring Arthur and prepare him for what I had done to his van. He answered the call. I managed to croak “Arthur, your van”, That’s as far as I got, as I erupted into slightly hysterical laughter, Arthur screaming down the phone “What have you done to my van” didn’t help, I blame the contents of the powder, gotta have some effect right.

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Fun Story, Funfair Rides

Fiery Dodgems, Tales Of Misadventures

17 December 2020

Just a short one this time about a fiery dodgems ride. For a number of years we provided attractions to a college near Nottingham. The guy in charge Michael was really laid back and grew to be a good friend.

Anyway over time they kept expanding the campus at this college, so we went from attending with 5 or 6 large rides to eventually there was only room for the dodgems.

At last even that space was cut down, Michael told me he had lost about a third of the empty space and could I find him a dodgems to fit what was left. None of ours was suitable, but I managed to find another operator with a specially cut down version.

The Joys Of Using Someone New

Now I had never used this ride before, but to be honest it was all I could find to fit so I explained this to Michael and he was happy to go ahead.

The ride wasn’t the best visually when it turned up, but the safety checks were all present and correct, and it had received its annual inspection not long before.

The first half of the day went off without a hitch. We had games units there and catering so everyone was having a good time.

Riding A Dodgem When Your Are Blindfolded

Michael came up to me after lunch with a hand full of facemasks. He explained that the dodgems had actually been sponsored by a school for the visually impaired and that a number of students from the school had came to take a ride on them. He went on to say that would it be ok for the sighted riders to wear face masks to give them an idea of the struggles the other students faced.

No probs, I thought that was quite poignant, and a really good idea.

Blazing Inferno

I kept thinking it was a good idea right up until the point where one of the dodgem cars burst into flames. Well, that’s a bit dramatic so I will explain. The power to the dodgem car motor is transmitted through the metal floor, and through the pole that is sticking up from the back of the dodgem car.

The whole body, being in contact with the floor is usually negative polarity, and the pole is attached to the positive, as it is a D.C. power system, not the same as your usual household supply.

The section of the car where the pole enters is insulated to prevent the pole shorting to the body. Sometimes because of the continual movement of the pole, the insulation degrades. Normally you get a few sparks and you repair the insulation. Occasionally you do get an actual fire, again no big deal, you stop the ride extinguish it and either replace the insulation or remove the car.

Not this day. This day the insulation decides to burst into flame. But here’s the thing. Everyone on the ride was either blind, or wearing a facemask. So the cars were still running around the track with no one any the wiser.

Frank Spencer With An Extinguisher

The guy in charge came running out with a big fire extinguisher, which was good. In his panic he hadn’t thought to hit the emergency stop on the ride, which was not good.

He then proceeded to chase the burning car around the track to extinguish it. Thing is, the guy in the car was happily trying to drive around in circles. Seeing as he was blindfolded and didn’t know what was happening.

More to the point, the rest of the cars were still going at full tilt. The guy with the extinguisher was knocked down three times before he managed to catch the car on fire.

Of course once he set the extinguisher off there was an almighty ruckus. Imagine being blindfolded driving around in a dodgem car. Next thing you have a jet of compressed dry powder shooting down the back of your shirt.

The true star was Michael. Whilst this had been occurring, he and I had been leaning on the safety rails watching the drama unfold. Michael didn’t bat an eyelid, he just looked at me and said “Is it supposed to do that?”

“Hmmmn, not sure” I said, “Don’t think it is”

Now if you would like to hire dodgems that don’t spontaneously combust, get in touch.

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Fun Story, funfair events

Oktoberfest, Old Nazi’s And Customs Officers

10 November 2020

Tales Of Misadventures

A few year ago I started importing lights from a German company. They were based at a little village called Waakirchen in Southern Germany, not far from Munich.

The first order I picked up was for about 5K worth. So being the initial order I decided to drive down and collect them. The Munchen Oktoberfest was on at the time, so I decided to go for a few days and visit the event. A good mate of mine told me he would come with me so I booked a crossing from Hull, the plan being to drive the 1200 kilometers over the first day.

At the time I had a little clapped out Nissan Cherry. It was that bad when my dad bought it, that my mother wouldn’t ride in it. I loved it, it was like a little rally car, I ended up spreading it up the A1 just outside the Metro Centre in a 6 car pile up.

A Pile Of Cash

Now a the time, being young, and skint, I didn’t have the money readily available to pay for these lights. So the deal with my customer was that he put the money in the bank before I left. As we were loading up the car to set off, he turned up in person, apologised for not loading my bank account for me, and gave me a bag with the cash in. I shoved it under the seat and we set off.

Arrival In Deutschland And Cool Fräuleins.

When we arrived in Munich, we had a bit of trouble finding an hotel. The fact that the cities biggest event was in full swing meaning hotel rooms were in short supply, hadn’t occurred to us. We eventually managed to find a doss house in a seedy part of the city. I admit when we got in the room and it was decorated with what would now be termed LGBT posters, and the leaflet on the bed had times for the live sex shows in the hotel we were a bit perturbed, but hey, two single lads we were out on the town.

We found a rather nice little bar, pretty much empty but we had just drove 1200 KM and needed a drink. The two barmaids were absolute stunners, tall blond Aryan goddesses. I had learnt some pidgeon German, you know how to order a beer, tell a girl she had beautiful eyes, that sort of thing.

So I hit them with the full charm, like focused laser beams, thought it would knock them bandy. Bloody nothing, not even a smile. FFS we were going to have our work cut out here. I know they were supposed to be cool and Teutonic and all, but this was icily arctic.

By now the bar had filled up, when I turned round and actually took notice, it was full of young men sat kissing each other. Aah, perhaps the barmaids lack of response was for a reason.

After a bit of a pub crawl we headed off to our hotel.

The Oktoberfest

At the time, it was widely considered that the continental fairground attractions were a few years ahead of the best the UK had to offer. When we hit the Oktoberfest, we realised they were a couple of decades in front. Everything was just, bigger, faster, moderner, better decorated.

We had a full day there, including sampling their beer served in those bloody Steins, jeez, its a wonder they are not a nation of alcoholics.

After we had our fill, of the Oktoberfest and the beer. We headed back to the hotel. I had parked our car out the front of it, and just as we set off to the festival, I had opened the boot to retrieve my coat. Setting off back I put my hand in my pocket and realised I no longer had the keys. I asked Matthew if I had given them to him, I hadn’t as it turns out, I had left them in the lock of the boot. A bloody car thieves Christmas present. With 5K of someone else’s money under the drivers seat.

Feeling sick as a parrot we got back in double time, to find the car still there, with a note under the windscreen wiper saying, “Found your keys, left them in the pub over the road!”, in English to boot. Imagine if that had been say Sunderland. There would have been a note on the empty parking space saying found your keys left your car in the river Wear thanks for the cash.

Adolf And The SS

We successfully collected the lights and stuff without further incident. As we weren’t in a hurry we had a more leisurely drive back towards Holland. Coming across a really small rest stop, we decided to have a quick drink. We parked up and went to the two ladies manning it. They were rather abrupt and told us that they didn’t in fact open for 20 minutes. An elderly gent sitting at a nearby table asked us if we wanted a drink. When we nodded he gestured for us to follow him. Being 17 and a bit naive we did so.

He took us to a house over the road and down into the basement. Which happened to be a fully kitted out bar, something that would put some commercial establishments to shame. He poured us all a beer. While Matthew was trying to make small talk with the guy, I wandered around the room. One wall was covered in photos and I was interested to see them. When I got close up, it turns out they were all framed pictures of Adolf Hitler with groups of SS men. The largest photo had Adolf stood with a young officer. I couldn’t be certain but it looked a little like the guy who had brought us down there.

Having recently seen the film Boys from Brazil, and in my teenage imagination expecting a guy with a dentists drill to pop out any minute. I hurried Matthew along, thanked our host and we lived to tell the tale.

Took All This Lot For A Holiday Did We Sir

When we reached dear old blighty, we disembarked the ferry and set off towards the immigration sheds. Now, if you have ever done this, you will know there are two lanes. Goods to declare, and nothing to declare. I promptly drove into the nothing to declare side.

An officer stopped me with a wave of his hand. “Are you aware sir, that this is the nothing to declare lane.” all very polite and congenial.

“I certainly am officer”, says I with my most respectful grin.

Now I should say at this point, that the pile of equipment we had purchased whilst in Germany filled the car to the roof. In fact the seats were pushed as far forward as they would go so we could fit everything in.

“So you have nothing to declare son, is that correct?” he retorted.

“Yup” says I. “Oh, so you have taken this lot for a holiday to the Oktoberfest have you, Bloody well pull over there and don’t move till I come see you”, well, his politeness didn’t last.

We sat there for the best part of an hour whilst everybody else disembarked. When he finally came to see us he had a more authoritarian attitude.

“Now son, would you like to explain why you don’t think you have anything to declare when your car is full to the gunnals?”

“Yes says I meekly, here is my receipt, as you can see I paid VAT in Germany for everything, and as their rate is higher than ours, I don’t need to pay you, sir”

Oh his face was a picture, he basically told us to piss off home.

Munich Oktoberfest

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Fun Story, Funfair Rides

The Grim Reaper, Tales Of Misadventures

3 September 2020

This is a tale of disaster and destruction caused by a close friend of mind who is a dead ringer for the grim reaper. Let me introduce Fred. Fred is is the sort of guy that if you had a problem would be the first there to help you. If he had a £1 and you needed it more than him he would let you have it.

He does however have a couple of issues. First is his propensity to eat. By eat, I don’t mean take enough calories in to survive. I mean eat like a garbage disposal machine on steroids. He once went with a family group to an Indian restaurant. The waiter came to Fred first, took his order then started to leave. When another guest asked the waiter where he was going he replied “To the kitchen with your order.” No mate, that is Fred’s order, the rest of the table want food as well.

Claim To Fame

For a time he had a minor claim to fame at Harry Ramsdens Fish and Chip shop in Hong Kong. It seems they had a challenge, eat their special fish and chip dish and you got it for free. So Fred being Fred was up for the challenge. When it arrived they reported that it was the size of a small shark. It was huge, with a pile of chips you could have used for mountaineering exercise, and enough mushy peas to fill the moat at the Tower of London.

The waiter explained the rules, you had a set amount of time to eat it, you couldn’t share it etc. When he asked Fred if there was anything else he needed to know Fred told him, “Yes, can I have some slices of bread and butter please as I am quite hungry.” Suffice it to say Fred demolished the dish and ended up with his picture on the wall.

Giant fish and chips — **Any One For Fish And Chips**

A Modern Day Frank Spencer

Fred’s other trait, is that he is a combination of the grim reaper and Frank Spencer. Now if you are too young to remember Frank, check this video out. Basically he was what could charitably be described as an idiot. He meant well, and tried his best, but whatever he did would set off a chain reaction that ended up in chaos and mayhem.

When the Challenger space shuttle exploded, Fred was in America. He was somewhere in the region when the tsunami hit a few years back. And I have no doubt that once scientists get to the bottom of Covid 19, Fred will be a link in the chain, probably with something he ate.

I was once with him at a Masonic social event, when 2 buttons popped off of his shirt, flew across the table and hit a guy in the eye. He promptly turned and punched a neighbour because he though he had attacked him. That’s the sort of thing Fred can create without even trying.

Fred and His Rides

Anyway, Fred owns a couple of children’s funfair rides, and occasionally we contract him in for jobs. A couple of days after one such contract Fred rang to tell me he had encountered a problem on the job. Now, my standing instructions are that problems are to be reported to me as soon as they happen so that I can contact the client and try and sort it out, rather than them ringing me days later upset. So I immediately went into a rant, questioning the marital status of Fred’s parents when he was born, and introducing him to some other Anglo Saxon phrases. In between a pause for breath, Fred interjected that it hadn’t actually happened on the job. Good, that calmed me down a bit. What he said happened was, well I will let Fred tell you in his own words!

The Pheasant

When I set off home in my transit van, towing the ride, the motorway was closed due to an accident, so my sat nav diverted me cross country. I was sat at a nice 60 mph, on a single carriageway road, when I hit a pheasant.

The said pheasant, was catapulted at high velocity, across the road, whereupon it happened to smack the lead rider, in a pair of cyclists, smack bang in the side of the head. He promptly disappeared over the edge of the road, and down a 20 ft embankment.

Now, I felt partially responsible for this state of affairs, so I pulled up to help him. Coming the other way, was a lovely elderly couple in a beautiful vintage car, that I later learnt from them, they had been 15 years restoring it to its current state. They also saw what had happened, and pulled up on the other side of the road.

I climbed down the bank with the other cyclist, his mate was a bit battered and shaky, his bike wheels were bent into weird shapes, so we helped him back up the bank, and then retrieved his bike.

A splattered pheasent — **Not the actual pheasant**

The Incredible Hulk

The cyclist sat for a few minutes pulling himself together, then asked what had happened. I pointed at the pheasant, feebly twitching at the edge of the road and explained. The rider, stood up, then ran at the pheasant and booted across the road.

Straight into the path of a four door pick up truck. The driver instinctively swerved, and ran straight into the elderly couples vintage car. Turning it into a pile of parts scattered over a wide area.

As the pickup came to a stop, the door opened, and what can only be described as a white version of the incredible hulk unfurled himself from the interior. As he walked towards us all, he growled “I have just driven that out of the showroom, its my first ever brand new motor, I am on the way to show me mam, Where did that fu***ng bird come from?”

Exit Left

Deciding that I so wanted to continue living, I pointed at the cyclist, and said he kicked it. Mr Hulk, promptly hit him with a crashing right hand. That sent him over the edge and back down the embankment. He then proceeded to jump on the other cyclists bike in an attempt to create some modern art.

At this point I finally understood the phrase discretion is the better part of valour. Not wanting my initial part in the disaster to be brought up. I decided to test the acceleration of a transit van towing a ride to exit the area. Looking back as I set off, the second cyclist was clinging to the hulks neck, in a vain attempt to save his bike. The little old couple were sat crying by the roadside over their demolished car.

I don’t know why things like this keep happening to me!

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Event Planning, Fun Story

This Time It Wasn’t Us, Tales Of Misadventures

17 July 2020

Over the years we have had our fair share of tales of woe. Thankfully I am happy to say that we never upset the client as we always managed to either put them right, or hide our involvement

This tale is slightly different, in that the client most certainly wasn’t impressed, but thankfully this time it wasn’t us, we were innocent bystanders.

On The Job

Ian, one of our event team. Had been sent on a little job in London, which we had been contracted for by another events company. We work closely with many of the major events companies out there, and a great deal of the smaller ones.

This particular job was in a large office building, and we were only supplying a dessert cart. Anyway Ian had rang me to tell me there was a delay in getting into the loading bay. Not an issue for us as we would take about 10 minutes to set up.

The company we were working for had quite a bit of kit to set up, so they were getting a bit anxious over the time frame. Ian rang a short while later to tell me that they had been given permission to enter the load area. The other team had jumped into their van, reversed at high speed straight into a metal post. The upshot was that the back doors were so deformed, they couldn’t open them, and the vans side door was nonoperational so they couldn’t use that either.

Whilst Ian was making a few trips carrying our equipment in, he said they were in a panic and attacking the back doors with bars trying to force it open.

Oops, Some Mothers Do Ave Em

About 20 minutes later he rang again. Seems they had managed to open the back doors. One of them had gathered up a collection of metal poles which were part of a sidestall and gone charging up a wide staircase and straight through a huge plate glass door. Ian said there was glass everywhere! Oops, not a good start for them.

Smashed Glass — **Not The Actual Entrance, But You Get The Idea**

About twenty minutes later Ian phoned yet again. Seems they had set the first of these stalls up. And the guy who had gone through the glass door was stood admiring his stall erecting skills. When unfortunately the top pole, which he hadn’t secured properly. Fell down, hitting him on the head and rendering him unconscious. Ian said that this time there was blood everywhere. I think he would have done Frank Spencer proud.

They had to call a first aider, who in turn called the buildings health and safety, who in turn told them to remove their equipment and leave. Ian explained that although we were contracted by them, we weren’t actually part of the same firm. So they allowed us to stay and operate and we did get paid. A tale of woe, but like a say, not ours this time.

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Fun Story

Mixing Idiots And Electricity.

1 July 2020

Tales Of Misadventures.

For some reason, many of our tales of mishap seem to involve electricity. This one however really wasn’t our fault.

When I was still a youth, before I made the jump into the corporate market and I was still operating at traditional funfairs. I had a sideline, I used to design and build lighting control systems. When you see the lights flashing on the funfair rides, or at Blackpool illuminations, they have an electronic control system to flash them in the correct sequence. My first ever business was building these controllers.

A friend of mine in Scotland, used to act as an agent for me. I would build the units he would sell them. Now, many of the funfair rides at that time didn’t operate from standard 240v household type electricity. Instead they used a 110 volt Direct Current system. This was an older, but safer form of electric. You can hold a live wire in your hand without any ill effects. The one drawback to it, was if two wires touched they tended to spark and arc very badly. You could touch two cables together and move them apart a number of inches and keep a flame of electric present between the two.

Blinded By The Light

The lighting systems for these 110v powered rides tended to be very high current. Often needing to power three or four hundred amps of lighting. The mains connection tended to be brass bolts of around an inch diameter to carry the load. There were three main connections, one for the negative supply. One for the positive supply, and the final one for the common feed to the lights. The last two were actually joined together by a large brass busbar because they were of the same polarity.

My friend turns up one day with a unit for repair. Looking at it, the common and positive brass bolts had been melted down to nothing.

WTF!, happened I asked. When he finished laughing he managed to tell me. The guy that had purchased the unit, had misread the wiring diagram, and connected the positive and negative supply to the two bolts that were joined together. Basically a dead short. Now, he couldn’t start the generator. Not surprising as the dead short basically presented an infinite load and the engine wasn’t powerful enough to turn the dynamo over.

So, he had the bright idea of having a member of staff hold the cables ready. He would start the generator and when it was running, the said stooge would push the cables onto the brass bolts connecting the electricity.

The result he reported, was a massive flash of light. What he rather though Hiroshima would have looked like just after the bomb dropped. This was followed by a huge flame. Which not only melted the bolts to nothing, it also removed the poor staff members moustache, eyebrows and most of his fringe. In fact he said, the guy very much resembled a chimney sweep. One who had just cleaned out a particularly filthy chimney.

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Event Planning, Fun Story, Funfair Rides

My Kingdom For A Welder. Tales Of Misadventures.

18 June 2020

What happens when you don’t take a welder.

We put a lot of work into being professional, giving our clients an excellent service and hopefully securing regular repeat business. Sometimes though I think we are a bit like ducks, all calm and serene looking on the surface, whilst paddling furiously underneath to keep things going.

We seem to go for extended periods of time, without any major problems or issues. Then all of a sudden the gods of spite rear their ugly heads to slap us about a bit.

A few years ago we were contracted to provide a small family funfair for the opening of NUS Mutuals new headquarters. I wrote about our run in with Princess Anne’s bodyguards at the same event.

In the event, we got set up in the nick of time, operated to the clients satisfaction and was all derigged ready for the road by about 11pm. That should have put us on getting back home for around 2am.

We sent the girls on ahead in the car, I was in a lorry towing a children’s ride, and Arthur was in another lorry towing a trailer loaded with equipment.

Arthur

I’ll introduce Arthur, he could loosely be described as a business partner. There was nothing official, but we tended to do some of the larger jobs together. Physically he looked a bit like Austin Powers, only much much shorter. Think of a 4ft 10 version of Austin Powers, glasses and all and you would be on the right track.

Anyway, I was just approaching Tamworth services when I gets a phone call from Arthur.

“One of the wheels on my trailer is hot”

“How Hot” I enquired.

“Too FU*&^NG hot to touch”, was his expert opinion. That sounded like a wheel bearing was on its way out. I told him I would wait for him in the services.

When he arrived I found he was pretty accurate in his diagnoses, It was too hot to touch. I told him to jack the wheel off the floor so we could see how bad it was. When he did the wheel promptly fell off. The bearing wasn’t on its way out, it had left the building, deceased, kaput, as dead as a very dead thing.

Collapsed Wheel Bearing — **Not our bearing, but one remarkably like it.**

When Spares Are A Good Idea

Luckily, the bearing was the same type as used on the wheels of the children’s ride I was towing. I always keep a couple of spares in stock, as they have failed on me in the past. No probs, half an hour and we would be back on the road. We cleaned the stub axle up, changed the bearing, put the wheel back on, and I told Arthur to tighten the locking nut to hold everything in place.

Slight problem he told me, the threads had been damaged and the nut wouldn’t go back on. Crap, we will have to weld it on. “Got a welder” he asked, I did in fact have one, 100 miles away back at base. Why havent you got one was my retort, “Because I didn’t know my FU*&^NG wheel bearing was FU*&^NG going to FU*&^NG fail” was his eloquent reply.

My Kingdom For A Welder

So there we were half past midnight stuck in services on a Sunday morning with no welder. Luckily I thought of my Uncle Michael. About 60 miles away in Nottinghamshire, at that time he would have just been coming in from the pub. A quick call and he agreed to leave a welder at the gate of his property for us to pick up.

Cue a 2 hour round trip for the welder. We got back set the welder up, ran a cable to the power generator, started it up, and welded the nut on. Only we didn’t, as Arthur touched the welding rod to the nut, the generator stopped.

Having just installed it the day before, it didn’t have a fuel tank fitted, instead the fuel was in a five gallon plastic drum. This had moved en route and pulled the fuel pipe out so the engine was starved of diesel. Not an issue, we have purged the fuel system of air plenty often in the past.

My Kingdom For A Battery

We did that, turned the key, and nothing happened, the sodding battery was flat. Now we needed jumper cables, which were also back home. No problem, we were in a services, you could go and buy a set from the garage. You know the type, they are £3.99 a set, only in the services they add a 0 on the end.

No matter the cost we needed the bloody things. We connected them up and yay, the damn thing started. Only the rattling and crunching indicated that the starter motor hadn’t disengaged. It was now being torn apart by the engine running.

Arthur looked at me, “Just weld the FU&*^NG thing on and we’ll repair the starter tomorrow.”

We limped home just as it was becoming daylight, a three hour trip turning into around 8 hours.

Cheap Jump leads — **Our Highly Valuable Cheap Jump Leads**

Read one of our earlier tales of woe.

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Fun Story

When You Are At The High Rollers Table

29 May 2020

Tales Of Misadventures

Our catering company is called Candy Floss Crazy. Our first ever offering was candy floss. However in the very early days we didn’t actually own a candy floss machine. We used to borrow them from family members until we could afford our own.

On one occasion, when we were contracted to give floss out at the opening of a brand new casino, we borrowed a machine from my wife’s uncle.

On the night of the event, we were situated next to what turned out to be the high rollers table. The Chinese guests were throwing chips down on the roulette numbers like they were going out of fashion. I counted up one spin that come to about £20,000. And they were all like that.

When You Deal With Cowboys

Anyway, about 30 minutes before the end of my hire I hit a snag. The family we had borrowed the machine from, were a bit of a cowboy outfit. At some point they had changed the electrical cable inside the head of the candy floss machine. Now, this part of the machine heats up to 186C so needs special heatproof cabling. Not so on this machine, they had used cheap two core flex from B&Q. The result was when it eventually touched the heating element, it burnt through and caused an electrical short.

This resulted in the electric tripping off. Shit, that also put the roulette table out of action. Things then got worse. Because it was a brand new casino, no one knew where the trip switches were located. SO, call the maintenance guy right. Well no, it was a Sunday evening and he wasn’t working. So they couldn’t get hold of him.

The upshot was it took them about 25 minutes to restore the power, all I could do was keep clocking up mentally how much they were going to charge me for lost earnings. Once the power was on, the manager shouted across to me your good to go you can start making it again. Gulp, “Oh, it takes 10 minutes to warm my machine up and I finish in 5”, I lied. Luckily he bought it and I packed up and came home without a bill for the £250,000 I had racked up. Candy floss crazy indeed.

Nowadays we only buy new machines, and have them professionally serviced regularly. So if you want to hire a candy floss cart then get in touch.

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