This is a long post about how I lost my marbles and ended up sweating and paranoid in a french port carrying a suitcase and my guitar, running away from french hicks and trying to convince the backwards people that I am supposed to be on a boat that I can't pay for and shouldn't really be on at all.
It all sounds very dramatic but aside from the moments where I really did think I didn't exist and this was all part of some twisted reality TV show I was quite confident in my ability to escape the backwards lands and make it home, and if I learned anything from this it was to NEVER LEAVE MY HOUSE EVER AGAIN. I am making this post for
The whole fucked up shennanigan started a couple of years ago when I developed a TASTE FOR HARD LLIQUOR AND ROCKIN DRUGS. This is not really the important part of the story so I'm not going to go into details (this is not lifejournals) but long story short I ended up in hospital bleeding stomach acid into my blood and I developed lots of crazy psychological problems like SMASH ALL TELEPHONE and SPIRAL INTO DEPRESSION GET FAT. I think these few sentences really sum up who I have been over these past couple of years. Congratulations GW you have just delved into my life, be gentle. OH HEY I GUESS I SHOULD MENTION that one of the major causes of stress have been my abusive step father who has bankrupted my mother at least twice and is in the process of doing it again. I will say now if agent graves ever gave me a gun and one hundred bullets I would not hesitate to unload every last one of those bullets into his chest.
Anyway for whatever hundreds of reasons and problems I had, I finally ended up on the SHRINK COUCH who very cleverly managed to surmise that I am "STRESS/DEPRESSED/ANXIETY RIDDEN." Thanks for your smashing Diagnosis doc.
So I spoke about this with a few people, friends first and when I finally plucked up the courage, family. Some of you have heard stories about my Dad. He is not really ALL THERE in the social department. I guess I would compare him to someone like Frank Fitts in his reaction to LIFE OCCURENCES.
"Hey Dad, my cat died I am pretty sad can you leave me alone and stop telling me that I am a waste of life for one day?"
"YOUR CAT? IT IS JUST A CAT... WHAT IS A CAT? FEELINGS OVER CATS? RRRRRRRRRR"
His reaction to my many life problems was pretty similar to the above line only it was more like: "You are depressed? Perhaps we should send you to France to do hard labour on a farm away from life, friends, alcohol and other things with chumps who you can't understand."
For whatever reason I agreed to do this I don't know why. I guess AT WORST it would give me a month of not having to be told I was a soulless waste of life drifting aimlessly through time by the man who's life sums up everything I don't want to be. In his mind of course it was SEND MY FAT LAZY SON TO FOREIGN COUNTRY GET HIM OFF MY BACK AND MAYBE HE WILL SHED A FEW POUNDS, HEH.
Either way I said to him I WILL LEAVE FOR FRANCE IN AUGUST DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT, and put the whole concept of going out of my mind entirely.
I had a few commitments so I let people know I WILL BE GONE IN AUGUST FOR A MONTH SORRY GUYS, at which point the phone rings. "Jake (this is my name, my crazy dad named me after a John Wayne film... Jesus Christ I have made a point to NEVER WATCH THIS FILM EVER I hate John Wayne, the film is called "Big Jake" tell me if it is good.) I am booking your ticket to France now but August is out of the question... Can you go in two weeks?" Sure why not two weeks. Hang up the phone. Back to my commitments, SORRY GUYS I WILL BE GONE FOR A MONTH IN TWO WEEKS. The phone rings again, "Jake, Change of plan... I have booked your ticket for Friday."
And so it happened that I was off on Friday, he offered to give me a lift out to the boat, I had some money and I could make my own way back on the 28th which was when my ticket returned. This wouldn't be too bad I thought, I mean I can chill out, I've got my guitar, it's sunny and when I get there I will be the only person around for MANY MILES except during working hours.
LITTLE DID I KNOW that I was actually entering a timewarp back into the 18th century where working hours were 6am - 11pm, everyone spoke in reverse and the only thing to eat was bread and water. This was going to be smashing I could tell. I will skip forward in time the boring stuff about ARRIVING IN FRANCE other than to tell you that the ferry was completely empty as I left save for the dregs of the GENERATION X. Scumbags reading literature like "High Fidelity" with ripped jeans and bags reading "Viva la revolucion" and "Fuck the government." Generally it was just REALLY BORING. I will get ahead a few days to the point in time where I found that I had developed a cough. This is probably just me using it as a chance to complain but JESUS CHRIST IT WAS PAINFUL. The exact date I don't know but it was 3am and I found myself unable to breathe. Not WHOA I HAVE A TIGHT CHEST unable to breathe I mean the breath really was not coming. (THIS IS WORRYING TO ME.) I figured the best place to find air was outside so I made a run for the door and found myself naked in the middle of a field, on my knees in cow shit throwing up all over my hands. (This is a pretty embarassing for me but I figure it at least adds some kind of entertainment to my story.) I was pretty ill and this is not great when you are LOST IN FRANCE.
The cough got increasingly worse from there, to the point where I was coughing up blood on a regular basis and if I knew where a doctor was I thought it would be a good idea to at least try and find one. The problem is the french farm workers were not exactly conversationalists and what little english they did speak was reserved for ordering me to deconstruct combine harvesters for six hours in the blistering sun. Pretty much this was turning out to not be the holiday I was expecting (and I was expecting it to be pretty shit in the first place.)
"Hey Guy! I know you want me to carry these milk churns to the village but I am coughing up blood. In my country we usually take that as a sign to rest..."
"Ooh blood huh? That sounds pretty bad, hey when you get back can you mow all the lawns."
I decided to ditch the milk churns and lay off my FARM DUTIES. It was time for me to take some serious solid snake action and find a MEDICAL MAN. I knew there was a computer in the farm and I didn't really feel up to hiking to the next city to get to the internet cafe. I would infiltrate the COMP CUPBOARD and look up a doctor.
I knew where the computers were, in a big locked cupboard at the back of the farm and I knew where the keys to the door were so this was pretty easy. The only thing I didn't know was which key it was and I was hunched over the keyhole, trying key after key, hunkering french man appeared behind me. He was talking french so of course I didn't understand him but I made damn sure not to turn and look him in the eyes for fear he would steal my soul, or at the very least be able to control my actions with the power of his mind and/or facial expressions.
This time the key worked and I closed and locked the door behind me leaving the backwards monster behind. He was probably furious but I had more important things to worry about, like surviving.
There were two computers in the room, something that looked like it pre-dated DOS from the 60's and a beast of a machine running windows 95, cabling a 56k modem. I took the windows 95 option because whatever the other blinking black screen was it was probably no help for me. (It was like a BBC Computer or something.)
Maybe I am just shit at the internet but my attempts to find a medicine man in any of the nearby villages fell short. Maybe it was because the computer was all french and the keyboard was backwards or because I was sweaty and paranoid. Either way I took this as a chance to space transmission something that had been on my mind. Paranoia was building and it was pretty bad of me to do so but at the back of my mind all I could think of was STEEL'S COUGH WAS CANCER AND I AM COUGHING UP BLOOD MAYBE I AM DYING.
I broke for the village which had an english pub in the hope that one of the locals could help me find a doctor. I literally burst in through the door screaming "I NEED A DOCTOR, IS ANYBODY A DOCTOR IN HERE?" (As you can see I really am losing my mind at this point. It must be the lack of real human interaction.) "I'm a doctor" someone yells producing a card from his wallet. "A doctor of film studies at the local university, what do you need?"
If I had the strength in me to floor this man I would have done but I chose to ignore him, both due to the fact that he was a brickhouse of a man and also because I had just clambered ten miles up french hills to get to this place. "I need a real doctor you smart-ass. Where can I find some meds!"
Turns out he was a pretty friendly chap who pointed me in the right direction. I finally found the medicine man, or the medicine woman in this case and I was sweating, wheezing and coughing up speckles of blood all over her waiting room floor. She could only speak in the backwards language so I found myself shouting very loudly and drawing crude diagrams of my symptoms. "BLOOD YOU FIENDISH WOMAN! I AM COUGHING UP BLOOD." hammering my finger down on a piece of paper of a badly drawn man spitting.
Whatever the diagnosis was I didn't really understand it, but it didn't stop her bounding after me with a piece of paper sporting a big bold £50 on it. Apparently in backwards countries it is required that you PAY for your health service. Where do your fucking taxes go huh? Anyway this was a big blow to my funds. I did not have much money with me and I still needed to cash in my prescription and get those fucking meds. The pharmacy was next door and the woman did speak a bit of english. Enough english to say "THAT WILL BE £80!" (This is all euros okay, I do not know where my euros symbol is on this keyboard.)
ya shit. I did not have £80 with me. I poured out my wallet and scraped together what I had... £76. It was close. Maybe I could convince her to let me get away with it. The look on her face pretty much said NO, perhaps I could ditch half the course of meds but she'd already bagged it and I was in a pretty dire situation. I still don't know what's wrong with me but the backwards doctor thought that these tablets would cure me, I grabbed the bag and made a run for it leaving all £76 of my money on the counter. (I am now the proud owner of £0 entirely.) But I do got the meds. This is great, perhaps I will now live, or maybe the backwards medicine woman was telling me "YOU ARE GONNA DIE BUT THESE MEDS WILL EASE YOUR PAIN."
And I'm back on the farm. It's the end of the day so FARMHANDS are gone and I am up in my roofless bedroom with the birds and the bats trying to find something to wash down these meds. I am rummaging through cupboards around the farmhouse looking for shit that the previous owners might have left behind. Anything that's NOT WATER. I found two things. A full bottle of Calvados and half a bottle of cough syrup. (I think it was cough syrup, it tasted like cough syrup.)
This is deadly waters, I am supposed to be out here to become free from alcohol. But it's mighty tempting and the cough syrup is an added bonus. I have strong willpower so I decided to save the calvados for luxurytime and used the half a bottle of cough syrup to wash down my meds (I have a cough anyway, perhaps it will help.)
Let me tell you I had a crazy dream this night. This is the dream where I think I am asleep and I wake up in my room, which is empty. I feel confused and there are lots of emotions flying around but now I actually do wake up, and the room is full of cows and I am screaming and I don't understand how these cows got into my room and then finally I actually do wake up and I am coughing up blood and being sick still. The meds haven't worked yet and my marbles are rolling out the door. This is the spiral of Jake going out of control and you all have front row seats to the aftermath. Don't worry I've been decompressed.
I am feeling pretty tense and I am ready to make a break from the farm at this point, (around the two week mark.) but I've run out of money and I have no way of getting back to the coast. I know the general direction (north) and solid snaking back into the comp cupboard I check google maps and scribble down the names of the roads that will get me to Le Havre, my destination.
A FEW DAYS LATER (and things are much worse.)
I'm ready to make a break for it now, my bags are packed, I've got half a bottle of the calvados left and my guitar is broken at this point in time. The only problem is getting away before these french monsters realize that I am escaping this foul place. The best time to leave I assume is the middle of the day because they will not expect me to leave while they are here and I need all the daylight I can manage to get to the coast. So I run for it (for real) through the woods and down windy french country lanes to get to the village.
I HAPPEN TO KNOW that the french are big fans of hitchhiking and overcoming my fear of being sliced up into a duffel bag and fed to the pigs I manage to get my thumb to the road. That shit only happens in America anyway. It probably took about TWO HOURS OF AIMLESS WANDERING for some old man to actually stop. (maybe because I am filthy and bearded and look like I've just crawled out of the sewers, the people don't like me.)
"HELLO OLD MAN! DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?" I'm yelling into his window.
"Yes."
What luck! I do not know hitchhiking etiquette but I don't want to scare him off before I'm inside his car so I slam my suitcase and guitar into his backseat and jump in next to him.
"I will not give you sexual favours for this ride old man. I just want to be clear about that."
This makes him laugh but I don't see the humour in my words because I am genuinely terrified right now. I tell him I am heading to Le Havre and he tells me he is not going that far but he will drop me off at some place called Caen.
"So what's your name?" He asks me.
This is it, Danger at the first turn, this old man is trying to steal my name. Even worse, to steal my words. For whatever reason other than the fact I am becoming very paranoid I decide it is best to give him a fake name. "Marlon Brando" I say in a fit of panic and thank god he did not seem to get it. Or maybe he did and didn't really care.
"I am a fugitive of the eighteenth century old man. I am being hunted by french farmers and I am making my escape. I am not homeless but I want to thank you for assisting me because otherwise I fear I would be dead for certain."
SHIT HAPPENS IN A VERY LONG CAR JOURNEY AND FOR SOME STRANGE REASON HE DECIDES TO TAKE HALF AN HOUR OUT OF HIS LIFE TO DROP ME RIGHT OFF AT THE PORT IN LE HAVRE. I FEEL LIKE THIS OLD MAN SAVED MY LIFE AND I DO NOT KNOW WHAT HIS NAME IS IN FRENCH, MAYBE JEAN OR JEANE OR JEUNET OR SOMETHING BUT I CALLED HIM JOHN.
"You are a golden man John. Please take my well read copy of Choke in return for saving my life and learn life lessons of your own from the wisdom sealed inside it's pages."
He waves me goodbye and I curse him as he leaves because I have just given him my only form of entertainment over the six hour boatride a head. And I'm not in the clear yet for there is MANY MILES OF SEAWATER in front of me and I have not the money to bribe these ferrymen.
I pretty much stumble into the harbour and up to the front desk. "EXCUSE ME LADY, PARLAIS VOUS ANGLAIS?"
"Yes." This is the second time this has happened. I must be luckier than I thought I was.
"There seems to be a problem with my ticket. It says here I'm supposed to be coming back on the 28th but this is wrong. I booked my ticket for today."
I do not know if I am pushing my luck here but this seemed like a pretty well thought out plan for someone like me.
"Of course sir, there is a £15 change charge for any amendments to your ticket." (Oh dear!) "Now hold on a minute. YOU made an error in my ticket and I have to pay for you to fix it. I clearly stated when I ordered my ticket that I wanted to come home TODAY and it says here the 28th, and now you want to charge me? This is outrageous!"
So french ferry lady went to get the manager and it turned out through NEGOTIATIONS that this changing fee could be waved if the error was on their part. My ticket was amended and I am left sitting in the waiting room with the family people on their way home from holiday.
You might think that I am home free here but this is where shit really hit the fan. I had an existential crisis where I recognized every single person in that french port waiting room. These people are the extras to my life and I was becoming increasingly paranoid, anxious and irate. I must have looked like a lunatic because people seemed to be avoiding me. Passing glances at me and then whispering to each other. (Let me tell you this does not help paranoia.)
I'm creeping towards the check in and I see a big BAG X-RAY MACHINE ON THE OTHER SIDE. Thank god I don't have any dangerous materials in my .......
It clicks to me at this point that while working on the farm I did buy a VERY BIG HUNTING KNIFE, not because I am a thug but because you often needed to cut ropes and slice the throats of sheep. The knife was useless to me now but I did feel like it was about to get me arrested. The panic was creeping in and I made a break for the mens room trailing my guitar and suitcase after me. I locked myself in a cubicle and started to dig deep in my bag for the knife. I knew how to deal with this thanks to movies so I took the back panel off the toilet and dropped the knife in, out of my life forever. (It was pretty cheap anyway.)
Home free.
This all sounds very dramatic especially as I really did start to unwind during this experience but as dramatic as I make it sound I'm really just using at as a chance to complain and I knew that AT WORST I would have spend one night rough while my girlfriend transferred some money into my account. There was no real risk of danger and I just worded it like that because it is more interesting. Pretty much I had a shit time but it's not THE WORST THING IN THE WORLD. I am making this post because a couple of people asked me WHAT HAPPENED. Well now you know.
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how i lost my marbles.....................