The best holiday I never had.

So let me tell you about that time that I got nicked drunk-driving a skidoo through an Icelandic branch of Argos. I was on holiday (in Iceland) because quite frankly it’s really rather beautiful and also I rather like Sigur Rós and I couldn’t pass up and opportunity to wander around the volcanoes and fjords listening to Jónsi gently wailing away and rubbing a bow of some kind all over his guitar strings.

Anyway, after a long (by which I mean short) day of volcano viewing, accompanied by “( )” (the Untitled Album), I retired to the hotel bar to warm myself up again with a couple of rum and cokes. The cold was biting outside, despite the fact I was wearing one of those stupid fucking sleeveless coats that posh twats wear. One might almost have thought the sleeves were important.

After three or seven drinks I was feeling warmer again, but the problem was that I hadn’t brought a Lightning cable for charging my phone. So I picked up my wallet and popped outside to hail a taxi so I could head into the town and buy one - after all, it was only 3pm. And it was the endless day so it wasn’t ever going to get dark and my fancy watch that showed you when sunset was was having a total meltdown over it.

The taxi was unusual in that it was a skidoo, but if I’m honest, after nine or so rum and cokes it wasn’t bothering me too much. In fact, I was quite excited about the whole thing, until it turned out I had just got onto the skidoo that was intended to pick up an MI6 agent as part of a sting that would result in some concrete shoes and a dip in a freezing lake.

My first inkling that something was wrong was when the skidoo driver turned around and pointed a gun at me, which was rather rude and I said I would be leaving him a bad review on TripAdvisor. Luckily, at that exact moment a low-flying tree branch was coming up and it smacked the carelessly un-helmeted driver squarely around the head. He was out cold, and collapsed into my lap head-first. I was proud of my response.

“Whilst you’re down there…”

Since nothing interesting was forthcoming, I shoved him off the speeding vehicle and concentrated on how to drive it, which was frankly not that easy. I have no trouble with my Mini Cooper, but something with skis and tracks? Much harder, and a lot less grip. There was really not much hope of getting anywhere, so after a few abortive attempts to steer into convenient snowdrifts, I gave up and slammed the brakes on.

Brakes? Great idea in a Mini with Michelin tyres on a good road. Not a great idea on a skidoo on snow so powdery it makes the best cocaine look lumpy. The tracks locked, and I couldn’t control anything. Sadly, I couldn’t control anything right up to and past the point of shooting off a small cliff.

Luckily, the local branch of Argos broke my fall, but after about twelve rum and cokes I wasn’t able to fill in the little sheet with the tiny pencil, and they called the police because I said “twatflannels”. You can probably fill in the blanks from there.