The first time I hitchhiked from London to South Wales, I thought to myself, this should be easy. A straight motorway all the way from Chiswick to Newport. What could possibly go wrong? Got the tube to Chiswick Park and was forced to pay my fare by the ticket collector, then I faced a walk of about a mile along the Chiswick High Road, a walk which took me past Gunnersbury tube station. Got to a big roundabout on the A4 or rather underneath it, and stood by the side of the road with my little cardboard sign saying South Wales please. It was a Friday about 5pm and there was a lot of traffic heading for the M4. Ten minutes later and I was on my way, in a beat up old white BMW 318. Took me as far as Swindon where I soon got another lift off a geezer going to Bristol. Not bad I thought, two thirds in two lifts, you can't get better than that. The nice chap said he would drop me at the services before he turned off for Bristol and that I would have no problems getting a lift from there. I highly doubted that and said so, to which I was told I could be dropped off on the first junction of the M32 the little motorway that dipped into Bristol. Cool, said I and off we went. What a naive twat I was. The kind gentleman let me go as promised at the first junction of the M32. Twenty long cold minutes later it had gone dark and I was starting to wonder if I had been wrong about the services or not. The traffic was quite heavy but going the wrong way. Eventually a van stopped and the gentle builder let me climb in and roared off up the sliproad only to ask me "Where are you headed". I thought that I had been holding up a little cardboard sign so as to dispense with that sort of trivia, but he obviously had or could not read it. I told him, "South Wales please" Unfortunately, though he was headed for the M4, he was going to go back towards London and totally the wrong direction for Wales. He lowered me down at the roundabout where the M32 and M4 connect. Here I waited and waited. The nice man from earlier on had not let me off there as it was a motorway roundabout with motorway rules and regs including the one I was breaking, No Pedestrians. I waited a bit more. Sly looks at my watch gave me bad news. It was now ten o clock on a Friday night. I waited and waited. I waited a bit longer. Suddenly a car pulled up and as I was running towards it another car pulled up behind it. Wow, thinks me, three hours of nothing then two at once. The first car that had stopped was now driving off and I was left with only one. I ran towards it and to my relief it did not drive off like the other car. The driver was sexy, young and beautiful and I did not hesitate in getting in there (the passenger seat). She looked me in the eyes, smiled, made me go all wobbly inside and then asked me where I was going. So I told her. Obviously she had not been able to read my sign in the dark. Unluckily for me she was going to somewhere south of the Midlands. She offered to drop me off at the next junction so I agreed and off we went. Only problem being was that the next juntion was with the M5 which she was going to head north on. Oh well, the next junction on the M5 it is then. She dropped me at some service station and I had to find the footbridge and cross over it to wiggle my thumb on the other side. I did not wait long to get a lift off a family of four on their way to South Wales. Great, at last I am going to get out of England. I was crammed in the back of their car with the two kids and an empty suitcase I was returning to my Dad feeling awkward and unwanted by the whole family bar the old man who spent more time interrogating me in his mirror than he did looking at the road. Got to the Severn bridge, he paid the price and we went over it. Eleven thirty at night and I had got to Wales. Whoops, my mate who would probably get it in the neck from his wife for the next couple of days was turning off at the first exit not two hundred yards into Wales. Shit. Bollox. I stood there with my thumb out but the traffic had dried up. The occasional car was going too fast to stop by the time its occupant(s) saw me. I was cold, I had an awkward empty box to carry, my sign was now obsolete and it was nearly midnight. Quit while you are ahead Was I going to get a lift? Was I going to sleep here on the roundabout? Would the next car to stop be driven by Fred West and his dicey wife especially as this was in the days before they had caught him and I was within twenty miles of his gaff? Would I get run over by drunken fucking drivers, it being Friday night and late? I was getting too cold to stand around so I decided to walk a bit and warm myself up at the same time. The motorway was out of the question. Illegal and too dark. I remembered that the A48 ran almost parallel with the M4 from Chepstow, two miles north of where I was, to Newport. So I headed for the A48, swinging around and shaking my thumb each time I heard a motor behind me. Yes, a lift, and all the way to Chepstow. Got dropped off at the roundabout with a sign pointing to Newport 18 miles. Looked at my watch, midnight. Started walking and stuck my thumb out every half hour. About an hour into my walk three cars all stopped at once and out poured the old bill to look inside my suitcase. Wankers. Not for being old bill, or for doing their job but just because of the absolute crap they came out with to justify them poking their snouts in to my case. Apparently they had recieved reports of a man with a box going mad in Chepstow. If that was true then they were stupid to have believed it. Needless to say, I did not fit their bill so I was not arrested and given a locked hotel room. Or a lift. Keep walking and walking, legs ache, back aches, feet are in severe pain and I keep walking. Hard to stay awake so I have a ten minute kip in a bus shelter. But the odd car goes past and stirs me awake. I continue to walk towards Newport, then by 5 in the morning I am there in the town centre waiting for the first bus to go up the valleys. 7 o clock so I have two hours to wait. Sleep a bit more in the bus station. Get woken up by the police again, who must think I am harmless as they do not bother to get out of the car. Then I get woken up once more at 6 o clock by all the Newport buses arriving in the station. I must be tired as it is a good ten minutes before it dawns on me that I could go to my Mums on a Newport bus and have a better kip there. So off I went, gave the bus driver 30 pence and got him to take me home.