I used to drive a lorry, mostly at night. This one time I'm on the way home down the M1 and dive into the Welcome Break services as they always had the cleanest crouchers. I had just settled in a trap about half way down the room when some urgent footsteps hurry past, not quite running, but certainly not relaxed. A door to a nearby trap slams and there is the sound of someone practically ripping their trousers down, such is their urgency.
Then came the noise.
I've pondered long and hard how to convey to you all the truly bestial range of sounds this bloke was producing. Imagine someone with third degree burns, covered in iodine slipping in and out of conciousness while the morphine wears off.
Overlay this with the sound you would get if you pumped large volumes of air through a straw dipped into a bucket of warm McDonalds milkshake.
I was understandably helpless after having listened to this for about 15 minutes. I was biting my lip with my hands clamped across my mouth while I rocked around on my own throne with tears rolling down my face. I had to know who, at 2am, could possibly be in such a state, what did they look like, how old were they,how could they still drive in that state?
I had pretty much regained my composure, and remembered to do my own paperwork, when I heard the other trap open. I opened my door and observed a well dressed, respectable looking businessman-type individual in a decent pinstripe suit, 5'8", a little overweight, probably late forties, shuffle past, ashen faced and looking not a little dishevelled. He seemed to be avoiding my enquiring gaze, can't think why.
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